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#helmut x reader
wanderingalien142 · 2 years
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Sleeping Soundly
Zemo x Reader
Summary: On a mission with Sam, Bucky, and Zemo the group is one bed short. Zemo and you draw the short straws and have to share a bed. 
Word Count: 1786
Warnings: Mention of Zemo’s dead son... fluff... let me know if I missed anything
Side Notes: I intended to make this around 700 words... idk what happened... enjoy! Also please don’t yell if the ‘Sokovian’ (German) is wrong I’m stupid and only know English so blame Google Translate...
Translations:   Liebling = Darling
“Ich würde mit einem Dreijährigen schlafen. Ich bin sicher, ich kann eine Woche mit dir überleben.”
“I would sleep with a three year old. I’m sure I can survive a week with you.” 
Walking into the hotel lobby Sam, Bucky, and you let Zemo go and book the rooms like normal. Standing back you talked to Sam and Bucky about the mission. You’d be there for about a week if everything went alright, that was unlikely given your track record. Zemo then cleared his throat causing you all to look at him. 
“Unfortunately they only have two rooms left.” Zemo started now joining the rest of you. As the host helped another couple who were staying there. 
“So? That’s fine we’ll just split the rooms. Bucky can go with Zemo and I’ll go with (y/n).” Sam said thinking it’d be no big deal. Pointing to us respectively as he talked. 
“No, hell no.” Bucky started, “I know one of us has to be babysitting him but I will kill him if I need to share a room with him all week.” 
“Ok then I’ll go with Zemo and you can share a room with (y/n).” Sam reasoned. Rolling your eyes you looked at Zemo. The boys as you and Zemo called them, would often talk like you two weren’t there. Zemo and you often joked about this and it helped you two to actually get along decently well. You soon bonded over literature and music to the demise of Sam and Bucky. Often having conversations in Sokovian annoying them to no end. 
“There is one other problem.” Zemo started now being the center of attention. “One room has two beds but the other only has one king size bed.” He finished. I groaned having an idea of how this would end. 
“Well then who’s getting stuck with (y/n)? Cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” Bucky said. 
“Well you could at least be nice about it!” You exclaimed, offended but you understood. Zemo looked confused wondering what you were referring to. “One of you two could share a bed with Zemo. Or you two could take the room with one bed.” You suggested.
“Yeah that’s not gonna happen, you get along with Zemo anyway. Bucky and I have both shared a bed with you, it can be Zemo’s turn.” Sam stated. Bucky nodded in agreement and all you could do was roll your eyes. 
“May I ask why all the aversion to sharing a bed with you? Surely it can’t be that bad.” Zemo said, still confused as no one explained the situation. 
“I don’t know why they’re making such a big deal out of it.” You started, “I sleep restlessly, I pull on the covers and kick apparently.”
“Apparently! One time I tried to kick you and you kicked back with no mercy! I got a bruise on my shin, and you never woke up!” Bucky nearly yelled. You facepalmed knowing he would never let you down. Zemo looked a little surprised, you kicked and bruised a super soldier in your sleep. You had fought Bucky while conscious many times but it was still impressive. 
“Oh you’re so dramatic the bruise was gone by the next day!” You tried to reason. You hated how this made you look in front of Zemo, and to the strangers who overheard you. 
“Ok how about when you took the blankets from me?” Sam asked. 
“I thought you went to get another.” You said quietly now realizing you didn’t know the whole story and afraid of what Sam was about to say. 
“Yep, and then you stole that one only to throw it on the ground next to you.” Sam said, sounding almost offended. “I tried to get it back but you kept doing the same thing. I eventually just got a sweater and sweatpants.” 
“I’m sorry, believe me I wish I could control it but I’m not conscious.” You said having officially given up on trying to reason with them. 
“It doesn’t bother me. I will take the room with (y/n) and the boys can take the other room.” Zemo said very casually while looking at you. He then turned to take the rooms, leaving all of you stunned. And you were grateful that you didn’t have to continue this conversation. 
------------------------------------time skip to the rooms-----------------------------------------
All of you decided to relax for the night as it had been a long flight. You would meet up in the morning for breakfast and go over everything. You were unpacking with Zemo, hanging up the nicer clothes you had to wear later on for the mission. But the way Zemo agreed to share a bed with you like it was no big deal still bugged you. He had just heard a couple of horror stories of how bad you were. 
“Zemo, why did you agree to this?” you asked, finally breaking the silence that had settled between you two. He stopped unpacking and glanced at you with that smirk. 
“Why are you so worried about it, liebling?” He asked, “I for one am very excited about being in bed with a lovely lady such as yourself.” He stated, now grinning. Looking down you blushed. Zemo would flirt with you from time to time but you thought nothing of it.
“Ich würde mit einem Dreijährigen schlafen. Ich bin sicher, ich kann eine Woche mit dir überleben.” Zemo continued. You sometimes forgot he had a wife and child, other times his paternal instincts were obvious. You just nodded in response. 
A little while later you had both taken a shower and gotten changed into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. Zemo was sitting in the bed with a book wearing a t-shirt and shorts. You instinctively got in at the edge of your side of the bed. Part of you was uncomfortable being in bed with someone else. But mostly you just didn’t want to kick him or steal the blankets. 
“Good night Zemo.” You said and turned off your light. 
“Good night (y/n).” Zemo replied. Setting down his book he also turned off his light. 
-----------------------------------------one sleep later----------------------------------------------
Waking up to the sun hitting your face you slowly opened your eyes. The alarm clock on the side of the bed read 8:13am. You groaned knowing you had to get up and ready to meet the boys for breakfast and officially start your mission. You had an alarm set for 8:15am so you reached over to turn it off to avoid the noise. But felt a weight around your stomach you hadn’t noticed before. You then became glaringly aware of the pressure on your back and legs. Not to mention the steady breathing on your neck. 
While sleeping Zemo and you had started to cuddle. He was currently behind you, his torso almost flush with your back, arms around your waist, legs slightly tangled, and face in the crook of your neck. You were now wide awake with immediate panic setting in. How were you going to get out of this situation without waking up Zemo? You were quickly snapped out of your thoughts by the alarm going off. You were frozen. Zemo groaned and reached over you to turn off the alarm. 
He then went back to cuddling you! Holding you a little closer now than he had been. Still frozen and unsure of what to do Zemo then mumbled into your shoulder. “Good morning, liebling.” His voice was rough and sexy and it helped absolutely nothing. 
“Umm Zemo?” You began. 
He mumbled into your shoulder again, “Yes?”
“Can you let go of me?” You asked cautiously. Zemo slowly shifted and began to let go. Not fully but enough to where you could turn around or get out of the bed. The warmth coming off him dulled and part of you missed it. Instead of getting up you turned around to meet his face, which was much closer than you thought it would be. His eyes were closed still, clearly not wanting to wake up.
“Zemo… why are you cuddling me?” You asked wondering if this was an accident. Opening his eyes he looked at you. 
“When you were tossing in your sleep you moved to my side of the bed. I went to move you over but you held onto my arm and wouldn’t let go. I eventually fell asleep again holding onto you as you were me. We must have shifted while asleep though because we were laying differently than when we had woken up.” He explained while stretching a little. Meanwhile your eyes were wide with embarrassment and face as red as a strawberry. 
“Zemo, I am so sorry. Today I’ll see if we can get another room, something with two beds. That way neither you or the boys have to deal with me.” Apologizing, you began to get out of bed. Hoping that you could forget the whole thing and another room opened up. Also praying that he would say nothing to Sam and Bucky later. 
All of a sudden he grabbed your wrist. Looking down he had that smug grin on his face. Oh no. “There’s no need for another room. I did not mind cuddling with you, in fact I believe it may have solved your restlessness.” Zemo said. You looked at him in shock. He sat up and explained further. “After I began to hold you, you stopped kicking. It actually helped me sleep as well.”
You grinned a little while still blushing like a maniac. His words were comforting. “Can we not mention it to Sam or Bucky? They might kill us if they found out we were cuddling. Also that I kicked them repeatedly for no good reason.” You asked. 
Sitting up and grinning, Zemo answered, “I won’t say anything until you feel comfortable doing so. But I do hope we can do this when we go to bed tonight. Before you latched on to me you did smack me in the face… twice” 
“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?” You asked and without thinking grabbed his face in your hands and checked if he was alright. Suddenly realizing what you were doing you blushed even more but before you could move Zemo put his hands over yours. 
“I appreciate the concern but I am okay.” He lowered your hands but still held them, “And as much as I would love to lay here with you all day we should get ready lest Sam and Bucky burst into our room.” You nodded in agreement and you both went to get ready. 
As the day went on you found you were much more excited to go to bed. 
And Zemo found himself flirting much more than he had before. 
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OK OK BUT HEAR ME OUT
You’re living with Helmut Zemo and you’ve been roommates for a few years. Helmut is gone for the day doing god knows what and you wanna do something nice for him so you look up Turkish Delight recipes. You spend a few hours making all kinds of flavors and they turn out really well. Helmut gets home super late and sees you jumping about super excitedly. He asks what you’re doing and you rush to him with a covered bowl. “I made you something!” He looks suspiciously at you but unveils the bowl and just stares. He’s deadpan and your smile slowly fades into a furrowed look. Does he not like it? “Helmut?” He takes the bowl from yiu hands silently and places them on a table before crushing you in a huge hug. It’s quiet for a few moments with you just holding him be for he quietly whispers “thank you”. You two spend the rest of the night eating Turkish delights and watching movies before passing out on each other.
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mypoisonedvine · 4 months
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𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader
@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.
word count: 4.3k
warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?
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"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."
He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.
"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."
"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."
He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."
"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.
"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."
He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."
"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"
You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...
"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."
Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.
"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."
"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."
"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."
You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..
"You see, after evading you so many times—"
"Narrowly," you interjected.
"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"
"That's not—"
"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"
Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.
"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"
You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.
"Because you're the person who knows me best."
You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."
"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."
"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"
"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."
Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.
"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"
"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."
"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."
You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."
"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"
"Don't step any closer," you warned.
"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."
He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.
You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.
You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.
"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"
"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."
"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."
He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.
Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.
But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.
"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.
"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."
"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.
"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."
His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered.  Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely.  You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good.  His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky.  And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?
“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added.  “That’s something we share, too.”
He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient.  If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it.  But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills.  “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.
“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained.  “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”
Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially.  You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this.  “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.
“That’s what you want?” he taunted.
“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.
“Make me,” he challenged.
Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor.  You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.
He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin.  His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion.  “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered.  You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.
“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.
“Wouldn’t what, dear?”
“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.
He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it.  “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”
A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.
“I don’t need to.”
He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you.  You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.
Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response.  Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it.  The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.
He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.
You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck.  “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt.  “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”
“And that time you shot me.”
“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.
He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder.  He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie.  You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.
Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it.  Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away.  
When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes.  “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.
Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way.  Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust.  You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you.  He was ruthless, in fact.
Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement.  He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.
“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”
“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier.  Maybe that was kind of the idea.
Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.
“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly.  “You played dirty.”
Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever.  You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!
"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."
He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.  
Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple.  You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.
You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you.  It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.
“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled.  “You missed it, didn’t you?  Chasing me.”
When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.
He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body.  “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment.  “What a filthy whore you are.”
“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.
“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him.  “Show me how bad you need it.”
As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat.  Desperate for anything he would give.  You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible.  “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.
His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you.  “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.
But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head.  He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan.  “I’m close,” you panted sharply.
“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed.  He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan.  “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”
You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster.  “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you.  It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed.  It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.
If only he were satisfied by that.  With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.
“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred.  “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga.  I want you dripping.”
You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you.  The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.
“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”
“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.
“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised.  “I only need to feel you come one more time.  You want a rest, don’t you?”
You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.
“Then give me what I want.”
Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy.  But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.  
You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.
It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin.  When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace.  You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep. 
Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going.  Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.
He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water.  He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass.  “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water.  You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.
The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.
You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were.  It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…
If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.
Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him.  He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly.  “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.
“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.
“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.
“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.
“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt.  “I mean, I drank the water, so—”
“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”
“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.
“Enough?” you chuckled.  “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough.  I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate.  I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”
“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.
“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.
“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.
“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”
Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.
“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga.  No one else will ever see you again.”
You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision.  As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.
“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”
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myfictionaldreams · 1 year
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Day 8. Fucking Machine - Helmut Zemo
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Kinktober Day 8. Fucking Machine - Helmut Zemo
Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, bdsm, dom/sub, mouth gag, crying, begging, degradation, restraints, fucking machine, squirting, nicknames, no use of y/n
my main masterlist 📚 // kinktober masterlist😈 // AO3 Link 
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“But- but I wan-want you”, the sob shook your chest, as you sucked in a deep breath, finally having the freedom to talk as your gag was removed, but your eye mask remained in place, soaked with tears.
Helmut tutted from somewhere to your side, “now, you know only nice gets get me, and what are you?” he asked in a condescending tone.
Trying to control your breathing, you took another deep breath, ashamed by your next answer, “a whore”.
“Yes, a whore who couldn’t keep her hands off of her cunt even after I instructed her to wait for me to get back. So some would say, you deserve this punishment dragă, if only you weren’t such a brat”. The disappointment in his voice was what upset you the most, kicking yourself for giving in to your desires so quickly.
The piece of material used as a gag was placed back over your mouth, cutting off any begging that you were about to continue with. You cried more like a baby, you knew you deserved this punishment but it was relentless, you should have known not to mess with your husband after the bad mood he’d been stuck in.
He had returned home, finding you in the shower, hand between your legs and you hadn’t even heard him come in to see you mumbling his name frantically trying to get off. His hand was on your arm before you could react, pulling you from the shower, water dripping everywhere and you knew better than to fight back.
You knew where he was taking you as he was tossed onto the bed, wetting the sheets. You’d expected him to position your body over his lap and spank your arse until you were sore and then fucked you nice and hard until he forgave you.
Instead, Helmut had handcuffed your wrists to the corners of the bed, eyemask and gag then attached so you couldn’t follow his movements or beg anymore that you were sorry, he’d heard it all before, you just couldn’t help being a brat sometimes.
Next were your legs, they too were strapped so that they were now spread wide for him to complete whatever plan he had decided upon. There were some shuffling noises and something heavy sounded like it was being dragged across the floor, you knew exactly what was happening, knowing how heavy the machinery was.
This led you to where you were now, you weren’t even sure how long it had been, hours? A few minutes? All you knew was that a dildo attached to the end of the fucking machine had been doing in and out of you for what felt like an eternity. Helmut continued to make sure you were lubed up well but every time you came - which seemed an excess amount - your cunt would contract so hard that the dildo would slip out and you would squirt all over it.
The machine was loud and your husband was in control of the remote, turning it faster and slower until you were quivering into an orgasm, time after time. Each thrust had you shifting up and down the bed, slowly at first, whirring with each movement and then an unnatural speed where the dildo turned into a blur and your cunt just had a constant pounding against all of those beautifully sensitive nerves until you were screaming and withering.
It went on and on, again and again, the machine fucked you all the whilst Helmut watched until finally…it all stopped. There was a ringing in your ears, dribble running down your cheek, you were well and truly fucked, you weren’t even sure if you could lift any of your limbs, and everything felt floaty.
Helmut knew you better than you knew yourself, knew the exact moment when you went from orgasmic bliss to one more thrust and you’d be passing out. He started by removing the machine, then undid your arm and leg straps, your gag and then finally your eye mask. You didn’t open your eyes at first but after a few taps on the cheek and a kiss on the end of your nose, you looked up to the man leaning over you with a proud smile.
“Talk to me princess” he encouraged, pulling you in close to his side so you could take in his warmth.
“I’m ok,” you mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, his hand softly stroking the side of your face, wiping away and the remnant of tears. “Intense but it was good”. Helmut didn’t respond, you held him tightly as sleep finally found you.
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multifandomfix · 6 months
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Losing Your Virginity To Helmut Zemo Would Include
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He always tries to be a gentleman, and will bring up the topic of past partners and experience with you before your first time together.
Though he would be surprised at hearing you’re a virgin, he wouldn’t show it with much more than a raise of his eyebrow, and certainly wouldn’t judge you for it.
He’d feel honored to be your first, and rest assured, you are in the best hands with him. He’ll make it all about you, never rushing, never pushing you beyond what you can handle. Zemo wants you to be comfortable, first and foremost.
He will let you take the lead on what you know and feel safest with doing, and gently guide you further as you go. His touches are always soft and loving, and he whispers words of encouragement and checks in on how you’re feeling.
Zemo will warm you up by going down on you. The way his head looks between your legs makes you blush, and you’re quick to moan when he makes contact.
When you’re ready for more, you’ll quietly let him know, and he’ll ease you in, letting you pick a comfortable position before he eventually penetrates you.
It’s all very slow and easy, allowing you to adjust to accommodating him, and then it’s fully up to you as to the pace from there on out. If you want him to go deeper, faster, anything, you just have to say the word.
Ultimately, he wants to be sure you’ve fully enjoyed yourself. If you haven’t finished, he hasn’t done his job, and that’s something he won’t allow.
After it’s all over and you’re laying next to one another, he caresses your hair, allows you the opportunity to talk about it if you want, and ask you if you need anything. He will have a glass of water on hand for you to hydrate and the way he looks at you is just so sweet that you find yourself melting into his eyes, knowing you made the right choice to save yourself for him.
For anon
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Helmut Zemo: @unexpected-character, @lilyontheloose, @puppy-coded, @marinarashakeyobooty, @marvelgeek09, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @music-bird, @chaotic-mushroomz, @mbruben-stein, @sunflowergurlsposts, @danimorgan1708, @jkthighs, @onlykeres, @floresferae, @stressydepressyandlemonzesty, @multifandomlover01, @tokyo-liv, @geekyandgay98, @sweetyprincesschaos, @yetanotherattemptatanaccount, @lady-darkswan3, @an0nimowe, @postcardgirl425, @garlicbreadrry, @bestfriend491
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loki-quinn · 1 year
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Baron Helmut Zemo is so pretty!
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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.
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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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mariaxxxxx · 6 months
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Red fruits (MarvelboysxFem!reader) series masterlist.
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Summary: You were a sweet, ripe, juicy fruit; ready to be devoured. Marvelboysxfem!reader!)
Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, menstrual sex, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.
A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.
◦ parte 1:Cherry (bucky barnes/winter soldier x fem!reader) - The Soldier takes care of you when your monthly blood appears suddenly. (+18)
◦ parte 2: Strawberry (Loki x fem!reader) -
◦ parte 3: Blackberry(Steve Rogersx fem!reader) -You shouldn't have had too much to drink at that party, blackbarry. (+18)
◦ parte 4: Raspberry (T'Challa x fem!reader) -
◦ parte 5: Dragon fruit ( Namor x fem!reader)- You beg K'uk'ulkan to give you a baby (+18)
◦ parte 6: Blueberry(Helmut Zemo xFem!reader)-
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Squeeze tits
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bullet-prooflove · 1 year
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Intoxicating - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader (NSFW)
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Rated M for Smut
Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower   @sapphiredreamer26   @wolfers-stuff   @zemoshatz   @1deadpool26     @majestymoon    @purebloodwitch  @blackleatherjacketz  @ marvel-starwars-kenobi-zemo ​
It’s unhinged the way you feel about Helmut, the things you let him do to you. He’s a slow burn, a controlled fire that erupts through your senses eating up every essence of your sanity as he fucks you against the vanity in the bathroom of the manor house you are currently a guest in. There’s a party going on the other side of the door, but he is relentless. His gaze fixes on yours in the mirror, and he smiles, that deliciously sinful grin as his breath ghosts across your ear.
“You’re intoxicating.” He tells you, the fabric of your dress bunched in his fist. “I could fuck you like this for hours my love, keeping you on the precipice of pleasure.”
“Please Helmut.” You whisper, reaching behind you, your fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I need you; I need you to make me come.”
He arches his hips, the new angle hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, the one that makes you cry out in ecstasy. That familiar flush is creeping across your cheeks, you bring your hand up to your lips to cover your mouth, to hide the euphoric moans that punctate the air every time he thrusts into you. His hand grasps yours, fingers entwining as he pulls it away slowly steering it towards your clit instead.
“None of that.” He chides, his teeth grazing that deviant little area underneath the curve of your jaw. “I want everybody to know how good your Baron fucks you.”
His presses your fingers against that needy little nub, guiding them in slow circles.
“Come for me my love, I want to feel you clenching around my cock.”
You feel that moment of rapture coming, it builds, and it builds until it hits you like a force of nature, swallowing you up and drinking you down. It’s violent and consuming, coursing through your body like electricity as it sears through your synapses. It’s too much, you’re drowning in it as Helmut, threads his fingers in your hair and tilts your face back towards the mirror so that your eyes meet.
“Look at me.” He rasps against your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Look at what you do to me.”
He buries himself right up to the hilt, hips stuttering as he spurts deep inside you and it’s the most sensual thing you’ve ever seen because it’s a moment where he allows you to see his vulnerability, his adoration, his bliss.
It’s exhilarating the way this man loves you, the way he forces you to abandon everything else to chase your pleasure.
“I love seeing you like this.” He tells you, his lips tenderly brushing over your shoulder, his gaze drinking you in through the reflection in the mirror. “So ruined, so debauched, filled with me. There’s nothing in this world more beautiful.”
Fan of Zemo? Don’t miss any of his stories here by joinng his taglist!
Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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hannibal-solos · 7 months
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The Bloody Baron: Chapter 3
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Victorian Vampire!AU
Series Rating: Explicit 18+, Minors DNI
Word count: 3.1k
Chapter Warnings: Smut, Oral (f receiving), Brief descriptions of blood, vampire feeding
Masterlist
You feel him move to stand in front of you, tears escaping from behind closed eyelids. If a thin layer of skin was your last line of defense, then so be it. You’d keep your eyes shut as long as you’re able. He wants control? He’ll have to fight you for it. 
“Do you really think…” You feel him press himself against you, hands oh so gently cupping your face, the ghost of his breath whisping across your nose and cheeks. 
“That you can keep your eyes shut forever, little one?”
“Baron Zemo, what a delightful surprise!” 
Your heart rate increases as you hear the voice of an older gentleman nearby. You don’t move, stock still in his embrace, facing the alter. 
“Open your eyes, liebling, or I’ll drain the old man dry.” He hisses against your ear. 
Your eyes snap open, darting to the owner of the voice: a kindly old man, dressed in his church robes. He smiles at you both congenially, making his way to where you stand. 
You keep your eyes on him, doing your best to smile even though your cheeks are likely tear-stained by now. 
“Ah, reverend. It has been too long.” You feel Zemo’s eyes on you, burning holes into the side of your face. 
The reverend shuffles closer, enough to clap a hand on the Baron’s back, the other shaking his hand heartily. 
“We have missed having you at our services, but we do understand how busy you are! Now sir, are you going to introduce me to this lovely young woman?” 
You do your best to shyly look at the ground, biting your lip to appear embarrassed rather than risk meeting the Baron’s gaze. 
To your horror, his hand comes into view, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are downright predatory, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk as if to say gotcha. 
“This–” he stares into your soul. “Is my lovely fiance.” 
The reverend gives a joyful shout, clapping his hands together with glee. 
“Congratulations sir, a happy occasion indeed! When is the wedding?”
“We hadn’t decided yet, you know how overwhelming planning these things can get, She wanted to seek solace in the church to help settle her nerves.” 
You turn to smile at the reverend, wiping your tears away with your sleeve– hoping you embody the essence of a near-hysterical bride-to-be being comforted by her loving fiance. 
“I do apologize reverend, it was all just too much– I felt the need to be somewhere free of all the questions of gowns, menus, and invitation lists for a few hours.”
The Baron all but crushes you into a hug, placing a firm but gentle kiss to the top of your head. 
“It was good to see you, reverend, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get the future Baroness home and into bed. It’s been an awfully long day for her.” 
I have a feeling it’s going to be an awfully long night as well. You think with a grimace, pressed into Zemo’s embrace. 
“Of course, of course! I do hope you feel better soon dear, I promise it all gets much easier with time!” 
Without much effort Zemo turns you in his arms so you’re both facing the exit, quickly making your way back down the steps of the church, and onto the busy street. 
You do your best to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, anything to keep your mind from succumbing to blind panic. As you walk, you make eye contact with the gentleman who helped escort you into the church. You avert your gaze as quickly as possible, shame burning your body from the inside. 
You feel a tug on your arm, and faster than you can blink, you’re in an adjacent alleyway, the Baron looming over you– hand wrapped around your throat while he uses the other to lean against the wall, caging you in. 
Wide-eyed with terror, you glance back at the alley entrance and open your mouth to scream out of instinct, only to feel the pressure from the Baron’s hand swiftly cut off your air supply. 
“Look at me, liebe,” he growls into your ear. “I admire your willpower but you’ll find it’s no match for my own. How long do you think you can last before you pass out? Do not let stubbornness lead you to stupidity.”
All too soon the spots are dancing in front of your vision once more. You’re clawing at his wrist in desperation, his iron grip on your throat never faltering as you feel his breath against the side of your face. 
Self-preservation kicks in, and you shift your head so you're looking at him once more, his crimson eyes gazing down at you with fury. 
“Good girl.” His grip relents–allowing you to sputter for breath–but he does not remove his hand from your throat. 
His eyes rake over your form, appraising you. 
“I must say, you got much farther than I’d imagined. But your greatest advantage was also your downfall: your friends helped keep me on your trail.” 
You feel your heart ready to burst out of your chest, a faint line of sweat appearing on your forehead. 
Oh god, Wade, Vanessa, Agatha, what have I done– 
“You needn't worry, no harm has come to any of them. Yet. Although perhaps I should pay a visit to the handsome young Vicar who laid his hands on you, hmm?” 
“He’s–he’s just a kind stranger who believed he was doing a good deed, nothing more– I swear to it!” You stutter out as best you can, hoping to spare him. 
“Hmmmm.” He hums as he gives your neck a light squeeze once more, using his gloved hand to turn your face this way and that, examining you. 
Your gaze is locked upon his own, terrified that if you look away he’ll cut off your air once more. He seems to have come to a conclusion of sorts, as his blood-red gaze snaps back to your own, lips curling to reveal sharp fangs once more. 
“Perhaps I was too kind in my previous offer. I’m going to mark you so thoroughly that there will never be any doubts as to who you belong to.” 
His hand moves to your hair and then slowly, too slowly, he tilts your head to the side, before sinking his teeth into your neck once more. He moves at a snail’s pace, almost savoring your pained whimpers as he laps up the blood that flows from the wound. 
You’re openly weeping by the time he’s finished feeding, terrified gaze now upon his own once more, blood dripping down his chin. 
“Now, give me a kiss, libeling.” 
At his compulsion you find yourself leaning into his touch, his hand still in your hair as you press your lips to his–doing your best to ignore the lingering taste of your blood on his mouth. He deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth ardently, as if he wished to fill every corner of your mouth with the mix of your essences. An internal battle rages as you scream inside your mind for you to stop this, stop enjoying this! But the inner voice is drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat ringing in your ears. 
He pulls away gently, one hand still fisted in your hair as the other grips your chin, allowing him to move your face so he can lick the last remnants of blood away from your shared kiss. 
To your surprise, he uses his teeth to remove one of his gloves, and bites into his own wrist, bringing the fresh wound to your lips. 
“Drink.” 
Your lips attach to his wrist, drinking, licking, and sucking from it like a woman possessed. The pain from both his teeth and his hand on your throat seemed to subside almost instantly, the ache in your feet gone, replaced with a kind of euphoria burning through you. 
“Enough.”  You stop, un-latching your mouth from his wrist, eyes wide. 
It was as if the blood from his veins had been strong red wine shooting straight to your head, and you were a drunkard, ready to beg for the next few drops of heaven. You sway slightly, your whole world off-balance. 
“What…” You have trouble finding your tongue. Too many questions race through your mind. What was what? What’s happening to me? What’s going to happen to me? 
He chuckles lowly, bringing your attention back to his handsome face. Your eyes linger longer than would be termed decent, but you can’t seem to help yourself. Your initial attraction to him has been magnified, and while the fear still lingered at the base of your skull, desire was at the forefront now. 
“Now you’ve tasted me just as I’ve tasted you. We’re bonded by blood, little one. All that you feel, I feel. And you will feel as I do, only less so.” 
Your mind races. Was the desire you were feeling his or your own? Or some sort of lethal concoction of mutual attraction you’d been trying to avoid? Trying to tamp down in the name of sense and rationality since the fateful moment you’d first encountered each other? 
He steps closer to you once more, eyes never leaving your own. 
“I know what it is that you want. That you crave. Give yourself to me fully, little one. I can give you all that you desire, and more. More than you could have ever dreamed of, if you’ll only call yourself mine and mine alone. To deny yourself these pleasures is to needlessly extend your mental anguish day by day, craving what you believe you should not have, should not desire. Destroy what you were, and give yourself over to what you can become.” He leans down so his nose touches your own, so close you can feel his breath from his lips leave to mingle with your own. His eyes are brown once more, no longer that haunting shade of red. He’s asking you. And you’re running out of reasons why you should say no. With money, title, land, you’d be able to help your friends. Never have to worry about where your next meal was coming from, or about how you were going to make next month’s rent. 
You chose life that night in the manor. So why not let yourself live?
“Yes,” you whisper, so lowly you were unsure you’d even said it out loud. 
His smile is wolfish and genuine as he leans down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss. Your arms move to wrap around his neck as he effortlessly scoops your legs up, locking them around his waist. 
The kiss is all-consuming, your combined desires only feeding the fire in your lower abdomen as you unconsciously grind yourself against him. He growls into the kiss, and steps back from the wall with you still wrapped around him. You’re about to pull away from him when you feel a rush of wind. When you open your eyes, you’re back in his home, with Zemo kicking the door open with a polished boot. Another wisp of air later and you’re in a grand bedroom, you can only assume it’s his. 
You don’t have time to gather your bearings as he drops you onto the plush mattress. Your hair scattered around you like a halo he was determined to knock off your head, cap lost somewhere in the lightning-fast journey from the church alley to his room. He crawls over you from the end of the bed, looking every inch the predator you know him to be, eyes red and mischievous. You hastily kick your shoes off, and remove the old cardigan, tossing it to the side. He leans over you, reaching for the collar of your shirt. You gasp as he rips it in two without much effort, exposing your heaving chest to his hungry gaze. 
He wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud before very gently taking it between his teeth. His hand sets upon your other breast, mimicking the motions of his tongue by rolling and lightly pinching it between his fingers. 
He makes his way downwards, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes–until he reaches the waistband of your borrowed trousers. Rather than rip them, he has the fly undone before you can blink, pulling them down your legs hastily, and eyeing your panty-clad sex with renewed hunger. 
The drone of your blood in your ears is downright maddening, you can hardly think, hardly breathe with his face that close to your core. This wasn’t a new experience to you, but his intense gaze coupled with your mingled desires made you shy away from it. 
“Ah, ah.” He tuts, following it with a sharp nip on your thigh. You startle at the love bite, and look back down at him, face hot with embarrassment. 
“Eyes on me, shatz. Don’t hide from your desire.” 
Your heart thumps wildly against your ribcage as you watch him slowly delve between your legs, gasping when he licks a broad stripe up your cunt. 
“I can feel how desperate you are for it, little one. Is all this for me?” He asks, that insufferably attractive cocky grin making an appearance once more. 
Any witty remark you’d had loaded dies in your throat as he turns his attention to your clit. 
“Yes,” you sigh out, breathless. “All for you, only you.” 
You’re fighting to keep your eyes on him, to stay coherent, while he looks like he’s enjoying a gourmet meal between your legs–insatiable in the pursuit of your pleasure. 
All too soon you’re reaching your high, coming apart with his mouth still firmly attached to your sex. You instinctively reach for his hair, and he lets out a groan as you tug at the luscious strands. 
He unlatches himself from you and brings himself to face level, leaving open-mouthed kisses until he reaches your lips–tongue diving into your mouth to let you taste yourself once more. 
Removing your hands from his hair, you trail them over his chest, down, and under his shirt as he lets you remove it with a twinkle in his eyes. You feel a pang of shyness as you reach for his belt, and his hands cover your own, guiding you in its removal. 
With a hammering heart, you reach into his trousers to remove his member, gasping at the heat of it when your hand makes contact. He must be growing impatient, as his trousers are gone in the blink of an eye, your hand still firmly wrapped around him, beginning to gently pump, applying light pressure that makes him hiss through his teeth. You’re overcome with the urge to lick it, to once again taste him as he’s tasted you–but he interrupts your pursuit, and you whine. 
“Next time, little one. We’ve both waited long enough, wouldn’t you say?” 
All you can do is nod, entranced once again by his eyes, his lips, his chest. 
He chuckles wryly, before giving you a searing kiss, all teeth and tongues. You’re trying to catch your breath when he pulls away, and he moves to position himself behind you. With one hand on your waist and the other in your hair, you feel the light scrape of his fangs over your neck, but the fear is gone, only desire remains. 
“Should you feel pain you do not want, tell me. Whether through the bond or with your words. I expect you to be vocal for me, little one. I want to hear your pleasure as well as feel it. Understood?” 
You nod enthusiastically, the anticipation washing over you and threatening to drag you under. 
He tuts, and gives your hair a slight yank. 
“Use your words.” 
“Yes, I understand, sir.” 
“Helmut, little one. That’s the name you’re to cry out when I make you fall apart over, and over again. You’ll be using it more than once before the sun comes up.” 
“He-Helmut” you manage to stutter out as he bottoms out inside of you, allowing you only the faintest of moments to adjust before he sets a punishing pace. The hand that was in your hair moves to grip your throat, keeping your back flush against his chest as he takes his pleasure from you; his hand around your throat lightly gripping but never fully squeezing: a lingering reminder of your promise to him.  
The pleasure is unlike any other you’ve experienced: he seems to know exactly what you want, what you need without having to say it–his own desire mingles with yours in a way that’s almost unexplainable. You can tell he’s trying to hold back from hurting you, afraid of breaking you in his pursuit of pleasure, so you turn your face to him to capture his lips in a messy kiss, hand reaching up to cup his jaw. 
When you part lips once more, you whisper: 
“I’m yours, Helmut. All that you have to give, I can take it.” 
He must sense the truth in your words, as his crimson eyes flash before he pushes your face into the mattress quickly, hands moving to bruise your hips as he sets a downright painful pace that leaves you clawing the sheets as you feel his pleasure mix with your pain. 
You can feel through your bond that he must be close to his climax, as he reaches forward to bring you flush to him once more, one of his hands coming to rub practiced circles on your clit while the other tangles in your hair, craning your neck and exposing the column of your throat to him. 
“Mine. Just as I am yours,” he whispers. 
He places a heated kiss to your throat before sinking his fangs into your neck, and insurmountable pleasure rocks through you, as if your own ecstasy had mixed with Helmut’s and was now washing over you in wave after wave of euphoria. 
His hips begin to stutter as he reaches his own climax, spilling inside of you. He stills, fangs lingering in your neck, lapping up the blood as it trickles out of the wound. Slowly, he removes his fangs, and licks away every errant drop from your shoulders, your neck, your breasts. 
You’re utterly exhausted, sleep beginning to tug at your eyelids already. He chuckles and brings you to lay against his chest, your core still fluttering around him with aftershocks. 
“Sleep, little one. You have a long day ahead of you.” 
You begin to drift off in his arms as his thumb gently strokes your pulse point. 
129 notes · View notes
mypoisonedvine · 3 months
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NEED to read zemo/bucky/reader and I feel like you would nail it!!!! maybe with 98?? LOVE YOU J.D!!!!!!!!
oh my god I haven't written a threesome in SO LONG and of course this turned into a whole oneshot UGH. oops
98: "what happens next in your fantasy?"
warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!!!), threesome, oral m and f receiving, spitroast, overstimulation, hair pulling, slapping, degradation and praise, brief mention of smoking?, basically just nastiness with almost no plot at all!!
word count: 4.4k
100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!
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"I shouldn't have said anything, okay?" you whined, hoping he'd drop the subject-- and Zemo walked in right then, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to change the topic.
"What shouldn't you have said?" Zemo pressed, and you sighed.
"It's-- it's nothing," you shook your head, "I just had a really weird dream last night."
"About?"
You wanted to end it there, but Bucky had to chime in, of course. "Let's just say, this dusty old apartment was getting to see some action for the first time in a few decades," he informed Zemo proudly, who smiled knowingly and continued his walk to the kitchen.
"Ah," Zemo nodded, "I see."
"I swear, I've never had a dream about you like that before," you explained to Bucky.
"I wouldn't take it too personally, James," Zemo suggested as he poured himself some tea. "The subconscious is a completely unpredictable place. We can dream about almost anything, whether or not we desire it in waking life."
"Well, see, that's the weird part," you admitted, shifting nervously in the chair as Bucky stared at you. "You were there, too."
That took his attention away from the tea, certainly; he set down the kettle and came back into the sitting area, leaving his cup behind. "Still, many people believe dreams have meaning... I happen to be one of those people," he added.
"You didn't mention that before," Bucky frowned at you.
"Well, I was going to..."
"I was there, doing what?" Zemo pressed.
"Sitting in the corner reading Machiavelli," you joked. "No, you were, you know... part of it..."
"How was it?" Zemo asked instantly, getting yours and Bucky's eyes on him then.
"Huh?"
"In the dream, having both of us," he clarified, "did you enjoy the experience?"
"U-um, I mean, I don't really remember..." you coughed.
"I don't think that's true," Zemo grinned. "You're wearing it on your face now— is that why you couldn't look at me this morning in the hallway?"
Your face got warmer. "Do I normally look at you?" you deflected.
"More than you realize," he answered cryptically.
"So, it was good," Bucky assumed. "It's obvious, you can just admit it."
You did hesitate, biting on one of your nails, but you nodded, and they both smiled. "Yeah, it was... it was really good..."
"Which one of us was better?" Bucky wondered. "It was me, right?"
"You were... I don't know, you were just different," you shrugged.
"Ugh, that's such a cop-out," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Don't be afraid to hurt his feelings."
"No, really— it's hard to compare," you insisted. "You were sort of, you know, sensitive and... patient, and you—" you looked at Zemo— "were kind of... intense."
Zemo smirked. "I've been told that before, actually. I mean, by people who got the real experience."
Bucky looked with a concerned expression over his shoulder at Zemo. You found yourself biting your lip for a moment.
"I know you won't answer this question, but I have to ask," Zemo began, "did you climax?"
"Oh god," you whined, hiding your face behind your hands.
"See? She did," Zemo smiled, maybe wider than you'd ever seen. "Perhaps even more than once."
"Please shut up," you groaned.
"Holy shit," Bucky smirked, "you really liked it, huh?
"What do you say, James?" Zemo prompted, looking at Bucky, and making you get a little wide-eyed. "Shouldn't we give the girl what she wants?
"Isn't that, uh— I mean, wouldn't that be... weird?" Bucky stammered, cheeks flushing.
"You're so sheltered," Zemo mocked with a small laugh. "Sharing a partner is very thrilling when the correct amount of trust is involved."
"Wait, wait— it was just a dream, I wasn't, you know, suggesting it," you explained nervously.
"I know," Zemo replied, "I am."
There was a tense pause, where all you could hear was your own beating heart.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Zemo offered, “I know it’s a strange thing to say.  Just come here, darling.”
Though your legs were shaking, you got up off the chair and approached him slowly.  He met you in the middle, reaching up to quickly caress your jaw when you were close enough.  Bucky seemed to watch the whole thing in disbelief.  “I-I’ve never—” you began.
“It’s alright,” Zemo assured you softly, “I won’t judge you, or mock you— there’s nothing wrong with what you want.”
You nodded slightly, another form of silent permission, and he leaned in to kiss you— gentle at first, but strong enough to make your knees feel a little weak.  He deepened it quickly, putting a hand at your waist as his tongue began to tease your lips… but just when you pressed into him, ready for more, he pulled away.  He smirked at the way you leaned forward for a moment, but then he looked over at Bucky— you couldn’t quite read his expression, perhaps a bit of disbelief and… more than a decent share of arousal.
He stood up, and stepped up to you two, and you could tell he was in over his head— but you pulled him closer by his shirt, sighing as your hand felt his chest through the black fabric.  “I— I’m not sure how to—” he mumbled.
“Me either,” you smiled, “just kiss me, Bucky…”
He did, though he seemed slightly less confident about it.  What started as a shy and soft kiss turned into something more almost instantly— something hungry.  He pulled you closer by your waist, he slipped his tongue into your mouth; it was clear, somehow, that he had been waiting for this chance for longer than you realized.
You gasped into Bucky’s kiss when you felt Zemo’s lips on your neck.  There were four hands on you, running over your body, and you were struggling to keep track of which belonged to who…
Zemo pulled you off of Bucky and spun you around, kissing you roughly again.  He was less careful this time, and he was reaching up under your shirt as well; you whimpered a bit, arching your back instinctively and pushing your ass into Bucky’s— oh fuck, he was hard.  You couldn’t believe how worked up you were already.
Zemo groped at your chest, purring as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers.  You whined and pressed your legs together, feeling him smile before he broke away to look at you with a sparkle in his eye.
“So sensitive,” he praised as he pushed your shirt up to get a good look at you; he sighed at the sight, both hands cupping your breasts and massaging them carefully.  “You’re so beautiful…”
When his hands moved down, Bucky’s took their place; you shivered a little at the metal hand’s cool touch, but it was actually more of a relief than anything considering how hot you’d become.  He was a little more aggressive with the way he touched your tits— if not quite rough.  He was panting in your ear as he held and rubbed them; and Zemo was already pulling your pajama shorts down, exposing you even further… god, why did it turn you on so much.
“Look at you,” Zemo praised with a sigh, running his hands up and down your body.  “I know you must be so wet already, darling, look how desperate you are… you’ve been wet since you woke up from that naughty dream, haven’t you?”
You didn’t have to answer— he was already putting his hand between your legs, exploring your folds, both of you groaning at how slick and sticky you were.  “Fuck, I can hear it,” Bucky noticed, and you clenched inside as he said it.
Zemo gently pushed a finger into you— but you were so wet it didn’t even feel like a push, it felt like your hole just sucked him in.  He was looking right into your eyes as he did it, but that was a little too much to handle for you, mentally, so you let your eyes fall shut just before he slipped the finger back out again.
"Feel inside her, James," Zemo encouraged, "she's so warm."
Bucky sighed, rubbing his fingers around your entrance. "I-I'm going to," he mumbled in your ear, "but... not 'cause he told me to or anything."
You whined when two vibranium fingers pushed inside you, making you lean back against Bucky while Zemo’s hands pushed your shirt up even higher, giving him better access to put his mouth on your tits.  “F-fuck,” you sighed, putting a hand on the back of Zemo’s head as he swirled his tongue around your nipple— he was incredibly, annoyingly good at that, but then again, so was Bucky with the way he gently opened you up with his fingers.  “Oh my god, just like that,” you panted.
“Who are you talking to?” Bucky wondered.
“Both of you,” you whined, “fuck, don’t stop.”
Zemo moved his mouth to your other nipple, suckling harder at it, making your hips rock on Bucky’s fingers; and Bucky growled approvingly, starting to thrust them a little more confidently inside you.  “I can’t believe you didn’t soak through those shorts, doll,” Bucky whispered in your ear, “you’re drenched.  You wanted this that bad?”
You could only nod dreamily, too lost in the feeling.
Though you weren’t sure how they coordinated it, they both stopped touching you at the same time; you whined quietly, clenching inside as you longed for either of their fingers to fill you again.
“Take the rest of it off,” Zemo instructed you— but it wasn’t too firm, more just a… friendly suggestion.  “Let us see all of you.”
Stepping out of your shorts that had fallen to the floor and pulling your shirt up over your head, you tried to fight the urge to cover yourself— after all, here you were naked in Zemo’s living room, with two fully clothed men eyeing you up and down.  It was hard not to feel… scrutinized.
"What happens next in your fantasy?" Zemo purred.
"I-it's not my fantasy, it was just a dream," you insisted.
"Then let me ask you another way: what happens now?"
Instead of answering with words, you simply sank down to your knees in front of them, keeping eye contact with Zemo as you started to open his belt.
The smug look on his face should’ve driven you crazy, but it only pushed you further; Bucky, thankfully, seemed to get the idea of what was going on and began to open his belt and jeans for you.  You loved his eagerness, even if the way Zemo seemed content to just let you do all the work was a turn-on, too.
Soon enough, there were two hard cocks in front of you.  Just the idea of that was already intimidating— but both of them, at eye-level, was actually nearly overwhelming.  You took hold of them both, stroking slowly to try to wrap your head around this as easily as you could wrap your hands around them.
Not sure where to start, you did a mental coin toss and found yourself leaning towards Zemo first, wrapping your mouth around his tip and letting your eyes fall shut.  Zemo hummed, pushing your hair back as you bobbed your head. You only sucked him for a few seconds before switching over to Bucky, though you tried to keep a hand stroking each one while you moved back and forth.
It felt filthy and strange and surreal, but your biggest concern was that you were going to get so wet you’d start dripping onto the floor or something.
Yes, you’d watched porn like this before, but you never really thought you’d end up doing it— especially with these two.  You felt pretty comfortable assuming they never thought this would happen, either… but they got into it shockingly quickly: soon, you weren’t even the one deciding where you went, they simply got more and more impatient and began to guide you back and forth.  You blinked your eyes open a few times to look up at them, but in the end you found yourself totally lost in it, just leaving your mouth open them and letting them take turns fucking it until you weren’t sure who was who anymore.
Not much was said (least of all by you, with your mouth full) aside from a few mumbled curses here and there— except for one moment, where Zemo seemed to mutter to Bucky: “I don’t think she expected to like this so much.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.  You were drooling, with tears striping your face— a side effect from repeatedly choking on both of them— and you were nearly desperate enough to rub yourself
Though you weren’t sure how or when Zemo had gotten in your head like this, you had to admit it was convenient right now; “You want more, don’t you?” he noticed, and all you had to do was nod before they pulled you up to your feet.  Zemo bent you over quickly, before you’d even really found your balance, and stood behind you.
You gasped as Zemo’s cock slid inside you suddenly, holding on tight to Bucky’s arms for balance— immediately you were rocked forward with hard, needy thrusts.  
“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Zemo hissed.  You hadn’t really heard him talk quite like that before…
You groaned at the feeling, amazed at how easily he fit inside, but clearly all the anticipation had prepared you well.  Bucky only let you have a second to adjust before he shoved your head back down and pushed his cock into your waiting mouth.  You were happy to oblige, though, and sucked him even more eagerly than before with fast bobs of your head and more pressure from your tongue.
Bucky’s fingers tangled into your hair, and his hips pushed forward to fuck deeper into your throat; you heard him groan, but it was muffled as he bit his lip.  You gagged, and they both moaned lowly.  “I can feel when you choke on him,” Zemo informed you with a grunt, “your little cunt squeezes me tighter.”
It must have been Zemo’s hand that slid up your spine and held onto your shoulder— it must have been Bucky that reached down to feel your tits— but if was your hand that ended up between your legs, rubbing your clit quickly simply because you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.
“So desperate,” Zemo mocked— or praised, maybe?  The difference was hard to define.  “You want to come?”
You hummed in agreement around Bucky’s cock, before he forced you to choke on it again.  You never expected him to be so aggressive, nor how much it would make you crave even more.
“If you want a turn with her, James, you’d better take it now,” Zemo offered, voice thin as he tried to catch his breath.  “Any more of that and I won’t be able to stop myself again.”
Bucky roughly pulled you off of Zemo and sat back on the couch, turning you around to face away from him and pulling you into his own lap; that doll nickname felt a bit more literal when he tossed you around so easily.
You gasped as Bucky slid inside, and moaned as you realized you could so easily feel the difference between them.  “Fuck!” you cried out loudly, louder than you really meant to, as Bucky instantly began bouncing you on top of him; you were trying to move with him, but he was so much stronger and basically just using you however he wanted… it made you moan even more and roll your eyes back in your head as you realized that.  “Fuck, Bucky, oh my god—”
“See how much louder she screams for me?” Bucky grinned.
“That’s because her mouth isn’t full this time,” Zemo countered with a laugh.  “That can be corrected.”
Bucky was certainly much more… impatient in the way he fucked you; Zemo, meanwhile, was as controlled as ever as he guided you to lean forward, gently opened your mouth, and slid just his leaking head inside.  He purred as you suckled at the tip, looking up at him with watering eyes.
“Can you taste yourself?” Zemo asked you with a smile, humming when you nodded around him.  “You really soaked me, darling— I expect you to be a good girl and clean all that off.”
You moaned at the praise and took him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to lick up every drop of your own wetness off of him.  You surprised even yourself with how shameless you were, pulling your mouth off to run your tongue over him instead, moaning as you licked him clean.
Bucky fucked up faster into you until you could barely focus on the task before you, but you still found a way: you kept Zemo’s cock in your mouth and let him hold your head, keeping you steady while Bucky moaned louder and thrusted harder.
You moaned more and more around Zemo until he pulled you away and you gasped instantly.  “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded harshly, holding your head up by your hair.
“So good,” you yelped, “it’s so fucking good!”
He surprised you with a slap across the face, but you moaned right away.  “Fucking whore,” he spat.  “Look how badly you need to be treated.  You want to come, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, fuck, please—”
“Well, James,” Zemo hissed, “aren’t you going to help her?”
Bucky sighed and moved one of the hands on your hips down between your legs, rubbing you quickly and harshly.  Your thighs were shaking instantly; actually, pretty much all of you was shaking.
“She’s coming, James, don’t stop,” Zemo barked out another order, holding you tight by the jaw and looking right into your eyes.  “I want you to come until you can’t possibly take it anymore,” he explained with a growl, “don’t tell me to make him stop until then, is that clear?  Show us how much you can take, nothing less.”
You nodded as best you could with him holding onto your face, and tried to lean in to put your mouth on his cock again, but he held you there.
“No,” he corrected, “I’d rather get a good look at this.”
Bucky’s hand on your clit was relentless, the pressure almost too intense for you to take— but you had to take it, you had no other choice.  It started off almost slowly, a gradual descent into the numbing pleasure of your orgasm, but it didn’t stop; Zemo already made it clear he wasn’t going to let it stop until you were at your limit.  Your moans were shaky and broken from how hard Bucky was fucking you, and your eyes were rolling back already but you could’ve sworn you heard Zemo chuckle at the sight of you.  Did you really look that fucked up?
“Good girl,” he purred, “keep going.  You can take more.”
You whined louder, higher, sharper; you weren’t sure how much more you really could take of this, but you wanted to do as you’d been told and not tap out until the absolute last second.
You knew you were crying, only because you felt the hot tears running down your cheeks.  You heard Zemo encouraging you distantly, but you couldn’t quite make out any words, just the dark and sweet tone of his voice.  You heard Bucky, too, groaning deeply while you felt his fingers digging tighter into your hips.  Could he feel everything he was putting your body through?
“Fuck, stop!” you heard yourself blurt out, and instantly Bucky’s hand moved away— but his thrusts didn’t slow down.  It was just the right amount of relief, and you blinked the blurriness out of your vision.  It was almost like part of it didn’t even really hit you until then, until the aftershocks reverberated through your body.
“That’s it,” Zemo praised, “you’re alright, we’ve got you.”
“Oh god, o-oh god,” you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably— they were both holding you up, you would’ve toppled to the floor if it weren’t for them
“Fuck, m’gonna come,” Bucky groaned.
“Inside,” you gasped, even with how little mental clarity you had in that moment.  “I want it inside.”
“Fuck,” he said again.  “That’s so— god, baby, look what you fuckin’ do to me… I’m gonna come inside you.”
“Yes,” you begged with a sob, Zemo grinning as he watched you.  
Still numb and clenching uncontrollably inside, you felt the way he pumped harder and harder and harder— until it slowed down and he let out the most delicious, long groan.  You whined, but smiled, as he loosened his grip on your hips and relaxed under you, his moans and heavy breaths seeming to drip with satisfaction.  “Fuck,” he said, one more time, deeper than ever, before falling back on the couch limply.
Zemo lifted you off of Bucky— apparently a little sooner than he was ready for, because you heard him hiss as he slipped out of you— and guided you with him onto the couch, pulling your back into his chest.  He knelt behind you, kissing the back of your shoulder as watched you try to come back to reality.
“I should let you rest for a moment,” he noticed, “but you don’t want me to, do you?”
Weakly, you shook your head.
He moved in closer to you and you felt his cock, still wet with your spit, rub against the inside of your thigh— and even after all that, you arched your back deeper in invitation.
It made you blush when Zemo slid into you again, thinking about him filling you alongside Bucky’s load, especially with the way he groaned lowly into your ear.  “You want me to fuck his come even deeper into you?” he taunted, and you whined but nodded.  “I thought so.”
Everything felt so… sticky, in a disgusting but sexy sort of way; you were overly-sensitive inside, each thrust feeling so good with the fading sensitivity of your orgasm still present.  You leaned back against Zemo with a sigh, letting him hold you close and fuck you however he wanted, more than happy to just be his toy now.
“Look how cute you are when you give in to me.  You want me to use you, don’t you?” he noticed with a groan, and you whimpered but nodded ‘yes.’  “Of course,” he growled, kissing along your neck with more and more of his teeth each time.  “You want me to fuck you however I want?”
“Yes,” you sobbed.
“But this isn’t about what I want,” he explained.  “This is what you wanted.”
“Oh god…”
“You wanted us both to fuck you, at the same time.  One cock isn’t enough to satisfy you?” 
“Not anymore,” you admitted with a sigh, and he started to thrust faster and harder into you.
It turned very quickly from slow and sensual to rough and ruthless; he wrapped a hand around your neck to keep you close as you moaned and cried, anxious already to come again.  “Touch yourself,” he ordered with a hiss in your ear, “make yourself come around my cock.”
“F-fuck,” you choked out, but slid a hand over your body and between your legs to obey him quickly.  You were already so fucking close, and you knew you shouldn’t go so hard on yourself when you were so sensitive, but your desperation made you really rub hard and fast in search of that growing tension.  “Yes, fuck, m’gonna— oh god—”
“I know, darling,” he cooed, “just let go.  It’s alright, I’ll hold you— come for me.”
You didn’t literally black out, but you did sort of… lose time, in that moment.  It was like you were just floating in pleasure for a while and then all of a sudden you were laying back on the couch and you weren’t even sure where Bucky had gone and Zemo was proudly holding your legs open.
“You look so beautiful like this,” he informed you, and you blinked back at him shyly.
You expected the warm, sticky feeling as their come leaked out of you… what you didn’t expect to feel was Zemo’s mouth on your pussy, eagerly lapping it up and sucking on your clit as your eyes shot open and you gasped and moaned with surprise.
“Dude,” Bucky grimaced, “that’s fucked up…”
Zemo just hummed and took his mouth off of you, giving Bucky a confused look.  “She tastes amazing,” Zemo defended, “maybe even better after our… contribution.”
You laughed a little at the description, until he leaned down and latched onto you again, making you gasp and run your fingers through his hair.  “Fuck,” you whined, bucking your hips against his face.  Your clit was already overstimulated, and the way that he flicked it with his tongue made you shiver all over.  
Your hold on his hair made it a little easier to push him away when he sucked too hard on your sore clit; he was more than strong enough to keep going, but he stopped anyways and let you push him back with a smug, slickened smile.  “You really should try it, James,” he encouraged, “you’ll only want more once you do.”
Sighing in relent, Bucky knelt down in front of the couch— yes, at some point he’d gotten off of it, and you were too high on orgasm dopamine to notice it— and Zemo helped you adjust your hips towards him so he could just dive right in.
He gave one long lick over you first, making you shudder, and seemed to get more excited and aggressive quickly as he held onto your thighs and started to push his tongue inside you.  “Oh god,” you whimpered, and Zemo watched proudly for a moment before turning his head to kiss up your leg.
“Poor thing,” he cooed between gentle presses of his lips to your skin, “you probably thought we were done with you, didn’t you?”
~
You were on the couch nursing a cup of tea, your feet resting in Bucky’s lap on top of the pants he’d changed into after his shower; Zemo was on the balcony having a cigarette.  That was the scene Sam came back to, and he seemed to notice something was off just by the way he raised an eyebrow as he entered the living room.  “Hey guys,” he greeted.  “What did I miss?”
“Not much,” Bucky shrugged, “just a pretty quiet morning…”
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Me reading terrible fic on ao3, because I'm desperate for a certain man and I have nothing else left: I'm a survivor. I'm a warrior. I can do this.
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multifandomfix · 2 months
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A Protective Hand — Helmut Zemo
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Summary: While at an underground party gathering intel about the Flagsmashers with Zemo, he gets a little more protective than is necessary.
Word Count: 777
Warnings: Zemo calls reader his wife
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The pulsating beat of electronic music reverberated through the air as you and Zemo seamlessly blended your way into the eclectic crowd. The atmosphere buzzed with the frantic energy of the underground club, but you were there for one purpose — gathering crucial intel on the elusive Flagsmashers.
Zemo, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, moved with grace and confidence —if perhaps a few awkward dance moves— a stark contrast to the raw and chaotic surroundings. His sharp eyes constantly scanned the room, assessing potential threats and gauging the reactions of those around you. As you navigated the crowded space, Zemo's presence felt both reassuring and slightly unnerving.
The intel you sought was rumored to be within the grasp of the party's attendees, many of whom were connected to the shadowy world of the Flagsmashers. Zemo's contacts had led you to this underground gathering, where secrets were exchanged amidst the thumping bass and dimly lit corners.
You and Zemo played your roles seamlessly, undercover operatives seeking information, disguising your true purpose with laughter and casual conversation. The dynamic between you and Zemo, however, took an unexpected turn when he subtly, yet unmistakably, became more protective.
It started with a subtle touch. A guiding hand on the small of your back, perhaps meant to be an innocently protective gesture as you weaved through the dance floor. Zemo's watchful eyes never strayed far from you, his awareness heightened as he assessed every face in the crowd. The intensity of his gaze, at times, felt like a shield guarding you from unseen threats.
As you engaged in conversations with potential sources, Zemo's protective instincts became more apparent. He positioned himself strategically, subtly creating a barrier between you and the rest of the party. His actions spoke louder than any words could. It was a silent declaration of his commitment to ensuring your safety in this dangerous game of espionage.
In one corner of the dimly lit venue, you found yourself engaged in a conversation with a seemingly unassuming partygoer who might have ties to the Flagsmashers. Zemo, ever watchful, stood nearby, his cold, calculating gaze never leaving the interaction. The air crackled with tension as Zemo's demeanor shifted, his protective instincts reaching a new level.
As the conversation progressed, the partygoer's tone grew more assertive, and Zemo's patience wore thin. Without a word, he stepped forward, a silent warning in his eyes. The partygoer, sensing the shift, excused themselves, leaving you alone with Zemo.
"You're attracting the wrong kind of attention," Zemo remarked, his voice low and authoritative. His protective demeanor, while slightly overbearing, carried a genuine concern for your well being. You wanted to be mad, but you truly hadn’t been making any progress with the stranger, so it’s not as if he’d disrupted the mission at hand.
The dance floor pulsed with the rhythm of the music, and Zemo's grip on the situation tightened. With a subtle nod, he guided you toward a quieter corner, away from prying eyes.
"Caution is paramount in these situations," Zemo reminded. His words were unnecessary, as you already knew them to be true, but they also held a note of genuine worry. "The Flagsmashers are not to be underestimated."
You nodded in understanding, knowing this was neither the time nor the place to fight him on the issue. Besides, you appreciated Zemo's commitment to the mission and, oddly enough, to your safety. As the night progressed, you couldn't shake the feeling that Zemo's protective instincts had forged an unspoken connection between you, transcending the confines of the mission.
Finally, you gained some intel in an overheard conversation on the dance floor. Yet, when you made to leave and reunite with Zemo to fill him in, there was one man that would not let you escape so easily. He’d grabbed your wrist and tugged you back. A noise of surprise escaped you and your eyes immediately darted back and forth, searching for Zemo. You knew he wouldn’t be far.
And he wasn’t. You no sooner turned around and there he stood. “I ask that you release your hand from my wife,” he stated. Your brain short circuited. His what? But the threat worked and the hand immediately left your person.
Suddenly, you regained your wits and played along. “Thank you, Helmut,” you replied, making sure your voice was sweet as sugar. You took a step closer to him and he followed your lead, putting his arm around you. You looked at him adoringly, which you found wasn’t all that difficult. Finally, the man left, and Zemo walked you out, keeping you close. You’d done well and you couldn’t have asked for a better partner.
For anon
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Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @ayanthegreat28, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @bitchr-mkay, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure
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loki-quinn · 10 months
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Dom Baron Zemo aesthetic
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@ironstrangefrostohmy @intheformofstars
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