#zemo fanfiction

[blackleatherjacketz]

Work of Art

Baron Helmut Zemo x Original Female Character

Summary: Zemo is interested in how his new partner would look after certain *activities* while Sam and Bucky are out running errands.

Warnings: NSFW! 18+, Explicit Smut, Hand Kink, Eye Contact, Hand/wrist Kissing, Soft Dom Zemo, Zemo Being In Love With Gustav Klimt’s Artwork, Intellect Kink?, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Zemo Describing Klimt’s Paintings in Great Detail, Colors

Notes: I had a sex dream about Daniel Bruhl as Zemo last week, and I haven’t known peace since. I had to change a few things for logic reasons, but here it is. Also, this is just as much a love letter to Gustav Klimt as it is to Daniel Bruhl. Enjoy!

WC: 2.1k+

Read more MARVEL stories!

Tags: @bullet-prooflove @skittle479 @genevievedarcygranger​

The setting sun of the unfamiliar country shines through the windows and into the living room, casting a rainbow of light through the glass teapot that separates him from her. It expands across the table and onto the floor, stretching beyond where they sit in reds, greens and blues until disappearing just short of the door in a purple haze. He stares at her from behind the plume of steam that rises from the pot, two identical cups filling nearly to the brim as he studies her every move.

“Darjeeling?” He raises his eyebrows with the question, the chestnut hues of his eyes glinting amber in the warm evening light.

“Please,” she nods, scooting forward in her seat to finally enjoy his company without the judgment of her two partners. She hopes she can figure out what it is about him that makes her pulse quicken and her stomach flip every time he gets close to her. Was it his accent? His title? His intellect? Maybe it was a combination of all three. “Thank you,” she nods again.

“Of course. You know, unlike our mutual friends, you strike me as a woman who appreciates the finer things in life.” He starts, setting the pot down before sliding one of the saucers across the coffee table toward her.

“Is that so?” She leans forward to touch the handle of the mug he pushes in front of her, deciding to brush her fingers over his knuckles in the process.

He pauses as she touches him, lips parting and breath stilling as he tilts his head to the side as if to think through his next move. She knows that everything within his grasp holds the potential of turning into a movable piece on the giant chessboard of his life, a game he aims to win at nearly any cost. But she also knows that he was willing to dominate the kings and queens of the board to avenge a lost love, a result of passion and attachment, a sign of weakness. She hopes to use those long, deep stares he’s been giving her these past few days to bind him to her, to distract him long enough to spill some of his secrets and place a crown on her own head.

“I can’t imagine James or Sam would be able to appreciate a good cup of tea or glass of wine the way you and I would.” He keeps his hand beneath hers as he straightens his posture, now looking her in the eye through thick and heavy lashes. “Or a work of art.”

“Art?” She holds his stare in return, continuing to trace the hills and valleys between his fingers as the tiny hairs on the back of his hand stand on end. “I wouldn’t think that you, of all people, would support the arts.”

“On the contrary.” He releases his grip on the mug’s handle and weaves his fingers between hers, deftly stroking her palm with his thumb. “Anything can be a work of art if you choose to see it that way: the fall of an empire, the structure of a building, the curves of your face.”

Her mouth falls open as he continues to caress her skin, a thousand tiny tingling sensations spreading out from their point of origin as he presses into the heel of her hand. He scoffs as a knowing smirk tugs at the corners of his lips and brings her hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Are you familiar with the works of Gustav Klimt?”

“The Austrian impressionist?” She whispers, wondering where he could be going with this. “The painter?”

“A symbolist, actually.” He encircles her wrist with his opposite hand, his fingertips soft and gentle as they trace the veins that snake their way up the back of her arm. “A common mistake.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” She mutters with the little air she has left in her lungs as he strokes her arm like a trained masseur.

She watches in amazement as he opens his mouth to kiss her palm once more, this time a little deeper, a little longer as his tongue briefly parts his hungry lips. She leans forward as the tingling sensation shoots up her arm and into her chest, extending far beyond the trail his mouth leads as he kisses his way down her wrist. She can almost feel those eyes of his travel up her shoulder, noting the goose flesh racing up her axilla into the pounding pulse of her neck. His glare is nothing short of magnetic, drawing her in like a sailor to a siren as they quickly darken with desire. She isn’t entirely sure now if this seduction plot was a plan of her own, or if he’d merely tricked her into thinking it was her idea to begin with.

Either way, she sees no reason to pull back now.

“Klimt was a genius,” he stands up from his seat on the couch, keeping his fingers clasped in hers as he makes his way around the coffee table, pushing it aside. “He found beauty in nearly everything he saw.” The baron kneels in front of her, pushing the table back even further with his body as he finally settles at her feet.

“The symbolist parts of him were found mainly in his landscapes.” He pulls his hand away from hers, releasing it only to touch the intricate pattern of the dress that barely covers her thighs at this angle. He takes his time tracing the dozens of beaded triangles on the expensive cloth he picked out just for her to wear, hoping she appreciated it. “The concentric circles of trees in the forests, blades of grass in the meadows, the tessellation of leaves,” he elaborates as he smooths his hands down her legs, resting them both gingerly on her knees. “And the flowers in bloom are all different representations of the masculine and feminine.”

His chest expands as he pauses for a moment to take her in, the object of his desire, before exhaling and proceeding with his lesson. He slides his thumbs between her knees and pushes them apart, forcing her skirt to ride even farther up her hips as his lips curl into a smile. “But Klimt’s most famous paintings featured gold leaf and the women in his life.”

She swallows hard as she looks down at him for the very first time, his tall stature always drawing her chin upward to get a better look at him until now. This angle seems to suit him, the fading sunlight catching in his hair as it falls from behind his ear in front of his forehead. She can practically feel her bones shaking in anticipation as he holds her knees in his palms, that confident smirk painted permanently on his lips.

“Klimt knew that a work of art shouldn’t be rushed.” He glances up at her, sliding his hands over the tops of her thighs at an agonizing pace. “That something so beautiful should be studied at length before he would dare put it on canvas.”

She holds her breath as he ignites a fire beneath her skin, spreading her legs as the warmth of his hands ventures up toward her center. She can feel that fire rise up into her belly as his fingers tease the fine hair on her thighs, reaching the hem of her underwear as she finds herself rocking into them, silently urging him to pull that final barrier between them apart.

“He had many lovers, most of whom he painted,” He pulls back the cotton between her legs, sliding his fingers between her moistened lips before gliding them up and down. “Only after bringing them to a state of elation.”

“Yes,” she breathes out as he fondles her, his fingers the most skilled she’s ever felt in her entire life. “I remember that.” She moans as he stokes that heat, spreading her moisture over the length of her sex as he keeps his eyes on her.

“Good.” He increases his pressure on his way up to stimulate her clit as her hips begin to move in tandem with his hand. He grins like the Cheshire Cat, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he persists in his carnal efforts. “They say his painting of Judith captures her at her most vulnerable state.” He slides his fingers inside of her walls, standing up as he pushes on her bud, rubbing a deep tantric rhythm into her core.

“Oh!” She utters, grabbing onto his shoulder as he continues his ministrations. “Baron!”

His smile widens at the mention of his title, but he only continues his lecture. “Lips flush, cheeks rosy, eyes heavily lidded,” he turns to sit down next to her on the couch, keeping his fingers warm inside as he whispers into her ear. “When I first laid eyes on you, I knew I had to see you like that.”

“Yeah?” She gasps as he lifts her leg over his lap, stretching her muscles as he delves his fingers even deeper inside of her. “Oh!”

“Yes, and you’re almost there, my love.” He curls his fingers upward, grabbing onto the base of her neck with his opposite hand as he sends messages of bliss all the way up her spine and into her brain. “Tell me when you see gold.”

She nods as he speeds up his handiwork, the sound of her slick the only thing she can hear besides her own shallow breaths and the beating of her heart. She can feel him push that final signal up through her, each of them building on top of the last like a line of dominoes bringing her closer to the edge. She looks down as he nearly breaks his wrist trying to please her, knocking down every one of them in succession as if they were laid out in an intricate shape painted by Klimt himself. Dozens of branches split off from her center, spiraling as they fall into her arms, legs and feet before curling in on themselves as her body shakes from the euphoria.

Her orgasm continues to spread through the tips of her fingers and the roots of her hair as she finally turns to look at him. She can feel those golden stems of ecstasy grow and brighten within her, splitting in half, breaking free until they reach every inch of her body through his magic fingers. She cries out as he doubles her pleasure, wrapping her foot around his leg to keep herself steady as her entire body begins to seize in his lap.

He moves his hand from the back of her neck to her jawline, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him as the sun shines one last time through the stained glass windows. Its yellow rays hit his eyes at just the right angle, illuminating the amber of his irises into a vibrant gold as he unravels her completely.

“I see it,” she confesses, now putty in his hands. “I see the gold.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, slowing his rhythm between her legs before planting a kiss onto her cheek. He pulls his thumb off her bud, careful not to get anything on her dress as he slowly drags his fingers up and out of her silky spent sex before bringing them up to his lips. “I knew you would.” He takes his time tasting her, those golden eyes of his rolling back into his head as his lips reach his knuckles.

She shivers as she watches him savor her, this deadly powerful man literally brought to his knees for nothing more than a chance to experience her beauty in person, to sample the fruits of his labor. Part of her now wishes that he could be someone else, someone who isn’t so devious, so wild and unpredictable, but she knows that’s part of what drew her to him in the first place.

He opens his eyes and draws his fingers from his mouth, letting go of her chin and stroking her hair with a newfound sense of adoration. “You look just like her now, a true work of art.”

She lets the echo of her climax shake its way through her, consciously calming her breathing as he combs through her hair, watching his chest rise and fall as a guide for her desired rate. She unhooks her foot from his calf before letting her hand drift down his neck and chest, reaching down between his legs to return the favor.

“Ah!” He stops her, clicking his tongue as he grabs her wrist. “You should rest before they get back. Drink your tea. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

#baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #daniel bruhl #zemo smut #zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo fanfiction #marvel

[marvelslittlewhore]

How I think Zemo would teach the reader how to jerk him off.

WARNINGS | 18+MDNI! smut, handjob, praise

NOTE | I also wanna say I'm very gay so I may not get some stuff right. -MaKayla 💜

котенок = kitten

You трахни котенка, если ты не перестанешь, я кончу = fuck kitten if you dont stop im going to cum.

я собираюсь кончить- в кончить- = i'm going to cum- I'm cum-

            ◃◦---------------●--------------◦▹

Zemo definitely sits in a big, luxurious chair. It doesn't matter where he just has one in every room. And in any room and chair, he'll take you in.

He would be spread his arms on the arm rest, scooted to the edge of the seat, and legs spread really wide. He'd make you undo his pants. He wants you to get comfortable with the feeling of taking his cock out.

He'll would slowly instruct you. "OK котенок now take my cock out, it's ok," he'd say it to you softly he doesn't want to scare you away. He looks at you, and you look like a frightened puppy.

First, he jerks himself off to show you what it looks like but he makes sure not to cum yet. Zemo wants you to make him cum. He wants you to work for it.

Zemo grabs your hands and places them on his cock, when he does he hisses and you jerk away.

"Did I do something wrong!?"

"No котенок your hands are just very cold."

"Sorry, Baron."

He'd grab your hands again. This time, he was ready for the coldness.

Oh, might I add Zemo is a very vocal man during anything sexual.

He'd place your left hand on his thigh while the other was wrapped around his cock.

Zemo would put his big hand over yours to slowly start you off.

He showed you to slowly go up and down and when he moaned louder to start going faster. Then he started to show you to twist your hand slightly.

"That's it котенок, good girl, now on your own." He'd put his arms back on the arm rest.

You'd slowly started to jerk him off, going up and down, and a slight wrist flicks here and there.

"Now котенок start playing with my balls with your left hand but keep jerking me off."

You took his balls in your hand, fondling them.

"'M I doing it right?" Your words started to slur the more horny you got from watching your man pant and moan

"котенок you're doing it so right, oh fuck".

You wanted to start going faster so you did.

In the spur of the moment, you put his balls in your mouth. You licked and sucked at them while you used 2 hands on Zemos cock.

"Fu-, oh fuck. Kitten, you've gotta slow down. You're going way too fast."

You wanted to be naughty. You wanted to go faster.

"трахни котенка, если ты не перестанешь, я кончу." He was too lost in his pleasure to speak English.

"я собираюсь кончить- в кончить-"

He is cumming in second all over your hands and on himself.

He had finally come down from his orgasm high.

"Good job котенок you did so good, good girl."

            ◃◦---------------●--------------◦▹

Taglist

@lokigirlszendaya

#zemo smut #zemo fanfiction #zemo x you #zemo x reader #zemo x reader smut #zemo x fem!reader #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #baron zemo smut #marvel smut

[nocapesdahling]

Life Eternal

Helmut Zemo x F! Reader

My Masterlist

Prequel to Cousin Helmut (Can be read as a stand-alone)

Summary: Helmut Zemo is an Addams. When an Addams falls in love, they fall fast and they fall hard. After the loss of his Heike, he never thought he would love again. Until he saw you.

Rating: M (18+, Minors DNI please)

Warnings/Tags: Smut - Unprotected piv sex; Implied sexual content; Crossover; Darker Zemo; Darker Reader; These two are made for each other; Artist! Reader;  Canon-typical Addams Family elements, such as casual discussions of and attitudes towards murder, violence, and poison; Macabre; Possessive Behavior; Love at first sight; Implied Dom/Sub; Implied breeding kink; One mention of exhibitionism; Brief mention of bondage; Some references to polyamory; Slight Canon divergence

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: It only took a year, but it’s finally time for the long-promised Cousin Helmut prequel. This is officially my longest one shot I’ve posted, which I’m rather proud of and I really hope you enjoy. Have a very happy Halloween!

Being in prison had given Helmut a lot of time to think and to remember. He didn’t have much choice. He was alone with his thoughts and there wasn’t much else to do in solitary confinement, besides working out, sleeping, or reading books and newspapers, so he spent his time reminiscing.

One of his first childhood memories was of his mother. They were sitting eating breakfast, which Oeznik brought them — Oeznik had been his mother’s companion for as long as Helmut could remember and he had always looked the same. 

Helmut watched her add something, which he later realized was arsenic that morning though sometimes she favored cyanide instead, to her tea, stir it, and breathe it in with contentment. His mother’s dark red lips curved into a small smile that contrasted with her dark hair and black dress. His father was out of town that weekend, so she was wearing her favorite hemlock berry lipstick that she said made her lips tingle. She only wore it when his father was traveling because it was too strong of a poison for his resistance levels and his father could never resist kissing his mother, poison lipstick or not, so there would have been some unfortunate trips to the hospital.  

Helmut was a child and wanted to do everything his parents did, especially his mother, so he asked for some for his juice. His mother laughed, her chuckle low and mesmerizing, before smiling at him.

“Oh, my Helmut. You are not ready for arsenic yet. I’ve only just started you on corn cockle, my little monster. We have to work our way up to arsenic, cyanide, and belladonna. Now drink your juice, and we will learn more about the Plague. We’ve reached the picture portion of the lesson, isn’t that exciting?”

He smiled and eagerly drank his juice. He loved his mother’s lessons. It was only later in life that he realized most children were not served poison by their parents and that most mothers did not teach their children about the Plague, about wounds, or how to use all manner of weapons before they reached the age of 10. Fencing and swordplay were always his favorite, and he enjoyed practicing with his Uncle Gomez whenever he and his Aunt Morticia came to visit.  However, his mother was not a typical mother. She was an Addams and that made all the difference.

Helmut Zemo was only half Addams and it was a well-kept secret in Sokovia. The Addams Family had a bit of a reputation throughout Europe, and his mother had wanted him to keep his heritage hidden as something of a trump card. 

His father was a normal man and a Baron of Sokovia, who fell in love with a beautiful woman that he met at his parents’ funeral. As his mother told it, she had been on vacation and after visiting some family buried in the graveyard and having a lovely séance, she had seen the funeral and decided to attend. She loved funerals and didn’t want to miss what looked like a delightfully unhappy one. As his father told it, even if she had been uninvited, she had bewitched him at first sight. He had fallen madly in love and asked her to marry him within weeks. To the surprise of the rest of the Addams clan, she accepted and Helmut was born a few years later.

Looking back, his childhood had been idyllic, full of mayhem and his mother’s lessons in how to be an Addams. He only wished there had been more murder involved. He excelled at his mother’s lessons and wanted to put them into action, so when it came time to choose a career, he chose the military without a second thought. It was expected of him as a Baron’s son to serve in some capacity, but he went outside the norm and chose to join a covert kill squad after training. It let him indulge his Addams’s side in the best ways. The danger excited him, giving him a thrill when he almost died and even more so when he killed. He enjoyed what he did, relishing in the thrill of the hunt and the joy of leaving no survivors.

Then, he met Heike. She was a doctor at the hospital, where he brought an injured member of his squad, and when he met her she was covered in blood. It appealed to his baser instincts with the smear on her cheek being particularly lovely in contrast to her eyes. She had been and still was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. While Helmut’s last name might have been Zemo, he was an Addams through and through; when an Addams fell in love, they fell hard and they fell fast and he was no different.

He still chuckled to himself when he thought of Heike’s reaction to his gifts of flowers after they started dating. It took him a while to realize that she wanted roses with flowers still attached. His mother had always cut the blooms off and Helmut preferred them that way too. The thorns were the best and most dangerous part of a rose after all. Yet just as his father had learned to gift his mother bouquets of poison plants, Helmut learned to gift Heike bouquets of actual flowers.

They married within the year and Carl followed soon after. It was quickly apparent to Helmut that Carl was normal. He had not inherited the Addams constitution, traits, or ability to cheat death, so for the sake of his son he reined in his Addams side and played at being a normal man, a normal father. And he was good at it, even as it chafed at him. His mother had prepared him for this too. He always excelled in his childhood acting lessons. If he wished sometimes that he could go commit a nice murder, then he stopped himself with the thought that Heike needed him. That Carl needed him.

Then, they died along with his father. They went where he could not follow, at least not yet. His mother had been on a “trip” at the time, hunting down a serial killer, so she was not there to protect them. To save them. He knew that he had only survived Sokovia because he was an Addams and that his family did not have that benefit. Oh, how he wished they had.

He called his mother with the news, knowing that she would help him in what he had resolved to do, and let his facade disappear. It was time to let his Addams side out to play again, the side that relished violence and was good at it — the one that would help him get his revenge, no matter the cost. Hiding did not matter anymore, not when you lost practically everyone you cared about all at once.

His mother helped him with his plans, which came to fruition in exactly the way he hoped. Well, besides his death of course. He had been ready to die, ready to join Heike six feet under in a matching coffin. He wanted to rot next to her for all eternity, but he would face the keen torment of living for a while longer it seemed, biding his time in prison.

He had a visitor today. It had been so long and as he opened his eyes and caught sight of the Winter Soldier, he smiled a devilish grin that he hid using the shadows and began to speak. Longing…

His escape from jail was exhilarating . It was nice to stretch his legs again and engage in some casual violence, though the guard had barely put up a fight. How disappointing. He wondered what his Uncles would make of it. After all, he hadn’t had to kill anyone or set off any explosions. He left the guard alive to avoid suspicion and to curtail the scale of the manhunt for him, and he had a feeling that Uncle Fester would deduct points for that.

It was a pleasure to see Oeznik again, looking the same as the last time he had seen him. Helmut had never asked Oeznik what he was because it wasn’t his business, though he had ruled out whatever Lurch was. Oeznik had served his mother and now Helmut faithfully for many years and he knew that he would continue to do so for many more, so what did it matter?

----

Ah, Madripoor. He had missed it, the people, the lights, and most of all the aura of danger that permeated the air. This was his kind of place. He only wished that they had been there for pleasure and not on a mission. Surely, there were plenty of people here that no one would miss. Oh well, he would do what was necessary. Having any additional fun would draw both Sam and James’s suspicions.

Sharon Carter and her stately residence had been a surprise, but now that they were here he was determined to enjoy the party. It had been too long. Prison had kept him from his vices, and now it was time to indulge.

He surveyed the room from the bar, feeling the presence of James and Sam alongside him. He would start with a drink, then maybe a dance. If he were lucky, then he’d get to use the knife he’d pilfered from the plane. He had plenty of practice blending in and even as every fiber of him wanted to cause “trouble”, he would resist it. Somewhat. A little trouble wouldn’t hurt anyone. Much. His mother had chosen his middle name of Tribulatio for a reason.

But then as he glanced towards the artwork, Helmut Zemo spotted you and froze. He never thought he would feel this way again, not after Heike, but there you were in all your glory and beauty and he fell. He fell as an Addams did — hard, fast, and with no regrets.

He began to approach you and as his Uncle Gomez’s words ran through his mind on how to woo a woman, his walk turned into more of a prowl and people unconsciously got out of his way — scattering like prey in the presence of a predator.

You hadn’t wanted to attend this party but Sharon Carter, one of your few friends in Madripoor, had insisted. She thought that you spent too much time working and not enough time having fun, so here you were.  You would rather have been home, preparing for the week ahead or painting, but you figured that since you were here that you might as well admire the artwork. Your attention had been drawn by one of your favorite paintings, Artemisia Gentilischi’s Judith Beheading Holofernes, which was supposed to be in The Uffizi at the moment. The music and the other guests had faded away as you stood entranced by the painting and its use of chiaroscuro.

You almost jumped when you heard an accented voice speak close to you, “A beautiful painting, isn’t it?”

You turned your head to look at the man next to you, only to stop short. He was more handsome than you’d expected him to be and now that you were looking at him you couldn’t seem to stop, taking in the details of his clothes and the angles of his face until you met his amused eyes. He smirked at you, having noticed your appraisal, and tilted his head towards the painting.

You cleared your throat. “Yes, I’ve always thought so, though I don’t find many others who do. Many find it too gory for their tastes.”

He turned his face away from you to look at the painting, giving you a view of his profile, which was just as handsome as the rest of him. You wished you had your sketchpad with you in order to capture this man and his features. You hadn’t felt this inspired in ages.

“I find the moment that the artist has captured and the way she has depicted the women compelling. They are front and center, determined, strong, and in control. They have chosen to do this deed and are unafraid of getting bloody while doing so. They are powerful.” His voice seemed to linger over the word bloody.

You nodded along, listening to him voice what you had always thought out loud. “Exactly. You do not find it frightening? It was considered so for its time.”

He turned back to look at you, stopping his scrutiny of the painting, and smiled with a small upturn of his lips. “It is often the so-called horrors of life that are the most arresting. It is a beautifully depicted scene, but not as beautiful or bewitching as you.”

“As me?” Your voice showed the surprise you felt.

“I found myself enchanted by you from across the room and knew I had to approach you. That I would not rest until I had.” He stepped a bit closer to you as he spoke and you enjoyed his increasing proximity.

You stared at the man in shock. If this had been anyone else, then you would have found his comments and closeness a bit creepy. Yet for some reason, you didn’t. You found him as compelling as he apparently found you.

“I find you handsome as well. Striking. It’s been difficult to keep my eyes off you.” Your voice was hesitant as you spoke because you weren’t sure how he would take that. This was new territory for you and not at all what you had expected for tonight.

“Perfect. Then, you feel it too.” He smiled and stepped closer, while reaching out a hand. “Would you dance with me, draga?”

You placed your hand in his and were unsurprised to feel slight gun calluses. This was Madripoor after all. You could tell that he either wore gloves while handling a gun or it had been some time. You knew you were one of the few, who didn’t have them, at least not from a gun. Knives left different calluses. You had refined your skills with a knife after arriving in Madripoor. The streets were dangerous and you needed a way to protect yourself that was more dangerous than attempting to stab someone with a paintbrush. In your old life, you never would have considered that you would enjoy the feeling of a knife in your hand so much.

“Ah, but before we do, I have gotten ahead of myself. I am Helmut Zemo, my beauty. And you are?”

You were embarrassed to think that you hadn’t even thought about exchanging names, too consumed by his presence. You gave him yours and enjoyed the way it sounded in his voice as he repeated it.

“Now, we may proceed.” Helmut was smirking as he gestured towards the dancing crowd and he seemed to relish in your laugh.

You walked hand and hand to the dance floor, where he proceeded to make you laugh harder than you had in a long time with his moves. He then pulled you into what you vaguely recognized as a waltz without a care that it didn’t match the music and was causing the people around you to stop and stare. He was going to be Trouble. You followed his lead and forgot about everything else.

After you danced, you walked the gallery together, looking at the paintings and talking about anything and everything. None of the paintings prompted a similar amount of attention from either of you as Judith Beheading Holofernes, but that was to be expected. Nothing was as arresting, when your attention was fully devoted to Helmut and his to you.

As he watched you smile at him, Helmut spoke to you about what he had done to avenge his family, watching your face change to a serious and thoughtful expression. He wanted you to go into this with your eyes open. He also wanted to impress you, even if most people would not have been impressed by murder and arson, but he couldn’t help but want to show off. He knew the Addams side of his family would have been impressed.

He expected you to be horrified as any normal person would be. He was prepared for you to run from him. As though he would let you. He did not expect the look of intrigue that came over your face. It was not difficult to read and he wanted to see that expression directed at him again. He told you why he did it of course — about Sokovia, Carl, and Heike — and you understood and admired his resolve. He had done it for love and he had succeeded. What was more attractive than a competent man, who would do anything for his loved ones? What would he do for you if you were counted among their number?

You told him more about you and how you ended up in Madripoor. It had been because you had no choice, not really. Due to the Blip, you had nowhere else to go and you felt like you needed to be there because that was where the real art was. It was how you’d become friends with Sharon, visiting her gallery and falling into conversations with her about the different pieces. Yet something else about Madripoor had drawn you in and once you were in its claws, you couldn’t have escaped even if you wanted to. Which you hadn’t.

Helmut devoted his full attention to you, admiring the way your eyes lit up while discussing the art and your fascination with the city before responding.  “I understand the appeal of a city like Madripoor. I do. The savagery is beautiful here. People are in touch with their base natures in a way that I find compelling.” Here Helmut paused and grasped both your hands in his and looked deep into your eyes. It almost felt like he had hypnotized you with both his eyes and his voice. It wasn’t hypnosis per se, but his mother had taught him a few skills to gain and keep someone’s attention that he’d never forgotten. “But would you leave here? Would you come with me?”

“Come with you? We’ve only just met, Helmut. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought as you looked at him. It didn’t feel like you’d only just met. It felt like you had known each other for lifetimes.

“My beloved, does that matter? You know me and I know you. I do not want another.” Here he paused and pulled you closer, your breasts pressing against his chest. You wondered if he could feel your nipples through your dress, and had conflicting desires where you both hoped he couldn’t and that he could. That he would touch you there in front of everyone. In ways you had never let anyone else do in public. There was no room for self-consciousness, not with a man like Helmut. Everything he did seemed to arouse and attract you. Like a true apex predator.  

He swayed the two of you to music he must have been hearing in his own head and whispered in your ear — his voice rough and deep, “I have been yours since I first saw you across the room, admiring one of my favorite paintings. I do not know what spell you have cast over me, but I belong to you now. Are you mine?”

You pulled back slightly to scrutinize him. You ran your eyes over his attire and his body then finally his face, meeting his deep brown eyes.

What did you know about this man, really? That he was handsome and that you could listen to his voice for hours. That he had killed before and was likely to do so again. You only knew what he had told you since you met, but you couldn’t imagine never seeing him again. Something told you that you had found a kindred spirit. A man who wouldn’t shy away from your skills with a knife or your more gruesome paintings — you wondered what he would think of the ones where you used some rather unconventional pigments. A man that you wouldn’t mind belonging to as long as he was yours in return. He had already assured you with his words and actions that he was, and you in turn wanted to be his. And his alone.

While you deliberated, he continued to watch you patiently.

“Yes, my villain. I am yours.” The nickname had come out without thought, but it seemed fitting.

His face looked exultant for a moment, almost mad with ecstasy before he hid whatever that had been back behind his calm mask. It would have made anyone else have doubts and regrets for their decision, but you — it only made you more enthralled by him.

“My love.” He leaned in and kissed you passionately in a way that made you feel like he was trying to devour you, to consume you. And you wanted to do the same to him as you reciprocated and lost yourself in the kiss. It could have gone on for hours, the outside world with its loud music and party goers having faded away, when you heard a throat clear awkwardly behind you.

“Zemo. Zemo. Zemo!” The voice sounded impatient.

As Helmut pulled away from you with reluctance, even as you tried to pull him back, you wondered how long the man had been trying to get his attention. For all you knew, it could have been hours. Even after that one kiss, you knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your life kissing Helmut Zemo. You didn’t want to let him go. Ever.

He kept his hand in yours as he turned you both to face the other man, who stood behind him with a look of both impatience and confusion on his face. He caught your scrutiny and gave you an awkward smile, even as you caught the veiled suspicion in his eyes.  You smiled back and gave him a casual little wave, acting as though you hadn’t been caught kissing an escaped convict.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” He didn’t sound that sorry, but he stepped closer and stuck out a hand. “I’m Sam.”

You shook it and told him your name, and watched as Sam lost his smile when he turned to Helmut. “Zemo, we have to go. Sharon found who we were looking for.”

Helmut nodded, though he was sure that he looked somewhat exasperated as he willed you to stay in front of his body for a few more moments while he calmed himself down. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“You better not take too long, Zemo.” Sam’s tone was full of warning as he addressed Helmut before he turned to you and smiled again, even as confusion on why you had been kissing Zemo continued to show in his eyes. “It was nice meeting you.”

Sam walked over to where you could see Sharon and a man whose hard stare was focused on Zemo, and was that a metal hand? How fascinating. You turned to face Helmut, knowing this was goodbye. At least for now.

“I’m afraid that I must go, draga. But I will call you before we leave and you will meet us, yes?”

You nodded as you gestured for his phone, inputting your number and thinking of what you wanted to take with you from your small apartment.

“Yes, I’ll meet you at the airport. I just want to pack some things up first. Don’t take too long, Helmut.” Your tone turned teasing at the end. “I won’t wait forever.”

He smirked at you and kissed you again, and as you pulled him closer the effect you had on him was obvious. The same effect he had on you, so it was nice to know that it was reciprocal.

“If I am not there, then Oeznik will take care of you. You can trust him with your life. Goodbye, my love.”

“See you soon, my villain. My Helmut.”

He gave you one last lingering look that promised things to come and went to join his companions. You watched them leave the party, giving Sharon and Sam a wave and cheerfully smiling at the stoic man with the metal arm, who was still staring at you as they left. You blew Helmut a kiss and watched him smile, an actual smile this time, before walking away. That was just as nice a view from the back as it was from the front.

You roused yourself from your small daydream of seeing Helmut’s body and especially his butt unclothed and left the party, knife in hand.  You never knew who you would encounter on the way home in Madripoor and you had a date tomorrow that you were not going to miss.

You arrived at the airport and were met by a man, waiting outside of what you assumed was Helmut’s private plane, on the tarmac. Oeznik seemed to be a wonderful person, who had only fond things to say about Helmut. Now as you got settled into one of the comfortable plane seats, all you had to do was wait.

You’d taken out your sketch pad and were drawing Helmut from memory when you heard men’s voices bickering back and forth with Helmut’s accented voice standing out to you with more familiarity than it should have. He was here. As they entered the plane, you ignored Sam and the man who had been staring at you last night in favor of focusing on Helmut. He looked tired, but no worse for wear. As he laid eyes on you, they lit up in a way that neither of the others seemed to notice.

“You came. My beloved.” He stepped closer as if to embrace you. He smelled like fire. You stepped closer in return, but were interrupted as you went to answer.

“Who the hell is she, Zemo? Why is she here?” The voice came from the man you had yet to hear speak.

Zemo reluctantly faced him, who was still staring at you. Sam had already settled into a plane seat and was looking at you as well, though he too looked confused about why you were here.

“She’s with me, James, and will be accompanying us to our next destination. I vouch for her.” Helmut’s voice sounded proud when he said she’s with me and it gave you a thrill to hear it. You were with him now. His tone begged James to contradict him.

“This isn’t a vacation, Zemo. Why is she here?” James’s voice was hard and he was still staring at you, his blue eyes intense.

Sam also spoke up, “Your vouching for her isn’t likely to make us trust her, Zemo.”

By now, Helmut had settled himself in the seat next to yours and grasped your hand seemingly without a thought. He went to speak and you squeezed his hand before speaking up yourself, “I needed to get out of Madripoor, James. It was not safe for me there and Helmut was gracious enough to offer to help me. Aren’t you heroes? Isn’t helping people your job?”

You had thought Sam looked familiar last night, even without the wings and goggles, so you’d looked him up online and figured out that he was the Falcon. James also had to be some kind of hero if they were traveling together and based on his dislike of Helmut and what Helmut had told you last night, there was some history there. Either way, a little manipulation never hurt anyone.

Based on Helmut’s tightened grasp of your hand, you might have been a bit too blatant but what could you do? What had been said couldn’t be taken back.

James continued to stare at you before finally settling into a seat. “It’s Bucky.” His voice sounded resigned.

Sam spoke up, “Bucky, give it a rest. We can’t bring her back now and we can’t just leave her here on the tarmac, not with everyone coming after us. We have to go.” He then nodded at you. “And if she needs help, then she needs help.”

You knew that both Sam and Bucky would be watching you. You would do the same in their place. It was a good thing that you had nothing but the best of intentions. At the moment.

Everyone settled into their seats and began to talk about what they’d discovered in Madripoor. You tuned them out and focused on Helmut’s thumb that was caressing your hand. You felt him lean closer to whisper in your ear.

“Well played, draga. Though a bit heavy handed on the manipulation. Don’t worry, I’ll help you refine your techniques.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder and whispered back, “I look forward to it, my Hel.” You got comfortable and with the scent of smoke and something uniquely Helmut in your nose, you fell asleep.

Helmut breathed in the smell of your hair as he told Oeznik to set the plane’s course for Riga. He was glad you were here, that you were with him. You would not be leaving him again. Not if he had anything to say about it.

You woke as you felt the plane descend, your head still on Helmut’s shoulder.

You lifted it and turned to pull up the window shade to look outside. “Where are we, Hel?”

“Riga. It’s the next stage of our endeavor, and I have a place that we will be staying.”

You turned to face him, noticing that it looked like he hadn’t slept. You decided not to mention it. “You have a place here?”

“I used to come here when I was young with my parents. My mother in particular was fond of the city, though if it has fallen into some disrepair like I expect, then I believe she would be even more fond of it now.”

You filed away the fact that his mother was still alive for later. He stood up. You hadn’t even noticed the plane landing as you listened to him speak. You loved his voice. He offered you a hand and helped you stand.

“I believe you will like it here, draga. There is a bathtub that I hope we can put to good use.” With that, he smirked at you and you laughed even as you couldn’t help but anticipate that very scenario.

----

Helmut watched your face as you entered the apartment behind him and Sam. You had taken everything in, but your eyes kept coming back to the stained glass windows. Understandable, those had always been one of his favorite parts of this apartment. As he directed Sam to one of the bedrooms and moved towards the room he always used when he stayed here, his last glimpse was of you stepping closer to the windows and pulling your sketch pad out of your bag.

He settled everything in his room and stepped out. “I’m afraid there aren’t enough bedrooms for all four of us to have our own, my beloved.” His voice was teasing because while you’d be able to step into the hallway and see that he was telling the truth — both you and he knew that he wanted you in his room and in his bed. Nowhere else.

“There aren’t?” You turned to face him and tilted your head to the side with a grin on your face. “What a shame. Whoever shall I share with? Should I ask Bucky?” You paused and let your grin become even more mischievous, almost devilish in a way that appealed to Helmut more than he would admit out loud. He was pretending to be somewhat normal after all, though he hoped one day that there would be no pretending necessary. At least not with you. “Or is Sam the better option? He seems to like me.”

He let a growl escape as he stepped closer, cupping your face in his hand and kissing you. The pressure of his lips against yours was light before increasing due to your eager response. His lips shifted into a small smirk that you could feel against yours as you opened your mouth to his.

His voice when he murmured your name was deep, causing you to let out a soft moan as his hands slipped down to grasp your butt, pulling you closer. You bit his lip teasingly, first lightly then harder causing him to let loose another growl and for his eyes to go wild as he pulled back. “Don’t tease me, draga. You would not like what I would do to Sam if I thought you had even the slightest interest in him.” He kissed you again before pulling away. “I would kill for you, my beauty. And to keep you. Just as I would die for you. And I would do it all with a smile on my face.

You shivered and tried to pull yourself together because each kiss with this man got better every time. That was also the hottest thing anyone had ever said to you. He was so beautiful to you and he got more beautiful by the minute as he showed himself to be more dangerous.

As Helmut began to fill the tub, you let your eyes rove over the bathroom and your attention was caught by the intricate tiles on the walls before you heard clothes begin to drop to the floor behind you.

You turned your head and watched as he settled into the tub, noting that the reality of his body including his butt, was even better than all your imaginings.

He caught you looking and chuckled, his voice husky, before smirking. “Well, aren’t you going to join me? There’s more than enough room for two.”

You thought that might have been the first time you heard him laugh and you wanted to hear more of it, especially in this context. You sat down to pull off your boots, knowing that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

After taking your time and feeling the intensity of his gaze as you removed each item of clothing with deliberate slowness, you approached the tub and looked into his eyes. They were dark with want and an emotion you weren’t ready to name.

It wasn’t the largest tub in the world, but as he helped you enter it you decided it didn’t matter. It would only allow you to be closer to him. As you settled into the tub, your back to his chest, you sighed in contentment. You relaxed together, feeling his warmth against your back and the muscles of his thighs under yours.

Helmut began to run a washcloth over your body, taking his time to caress your arms and hands. He washed your stomach, ignoring your squirming that you couldn’t quite contain. You closed your eyes in bliss as he reached your breasts, lingering on them a bit more than needed to get them clean. You felt hot and involuntarily leaned back even closer to him, feeling him hard and thick against the small of your back.

You gasped, “Hel…”

He continued to caress you. You could feel his breath against your ear, “Yes, draga? You teased me and now I get to tease you. Quid pro quo.” He was attempting to sound unaffected, but you could hear the rasp in his voice and you felt just how affected he was against you. He continued to run the washcloth over your stomach before dipping it in between your legs and replacing it with his fingers. He circled his thumb over your clit and you gasped, rocking back against him without a care if water fell on the floor. It would serve him right.

You turned and kissed him, straddling him and running your hands through his hair as his fingers worked over you and inside you. He gave as good as he got as you rocked back and forth on his lap, pulling  your hips down harder and bucking up against you. You couldn’t take it anymore, crying out and clenching on his fingers — you needed him inside of you and you wanted to feel it. His length was hard and hot in your hand and as you grasped him and sunk down on him with a moan, he groaned.  

“You’re so tight. And wet. All for me.” His pupils were blown wide and his hair had fallen in front of his eye, causing you to reach out a hand and push it back. Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone tenderly and he reached up to grasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. You smiled at him and laughed as more water fell onto the floor as you both began to move again. He laughed too before speaking, “Draga, we must be quiet. Sam is right outside. Do you think you can do that?” His voice was rough and close to a growl.

You nodded even as your eyes began to close, feeling him thrust up into you as you rolled your hips.

Helmut grasped your chin. “No, you will look at me. I want to see your eyes — every expression on your face as you come for me.”

You lost count of how many times you fell apart. Let’s just say that you hoped Sam was not too close to the bathroom because your endeavor to keep quiet failed more than once.

----

You laid in what was left of the bath, lazy in your satisfaction, watching Helmut tend to his hair while naked. You looked at the small half moon marks and scratches your fingers had left from digging into his back with no little amount of possessiveness. He was Yours. You had wanted to mark him and you knew he had wanted it too. After all, you had marks of your own. Just as you were His.

He smiled at you in the mirror and turned. “I will wear them as a badge of honor and hope for more in the future.” His eyes were alight with his own satisfaction and possessiveness as he took in the marks he had left on your body in return through the now clear water. “Beautiful, draga.”

Helmut pulled on a robe, before offering you a towel to dry yourself with. Then, it was his turn to watch you.

“I would do this every day. With you.” His statement had the tone of a question. Did you feel the same?

His robe gaped at the top, leaving his chest hair and necklace exposed and you already wanted him again, even knowing that you didn’t have time right now. Sam was outside and Bucky would be back soon.

You had taken too long already.

You turned to him, dropping the towel and stepping closer. You watched his eyes linger on your body, before focusing on your face.

“If every day is like today, then I’m going to want you all the time.”

As he helped you into a matching robe to his, he brushed his thumb over your nipple teasingly before whispering in your ear, “Oh draga, we didn’t even have a bed. Imagine what it would be like in our bed… The things I would like to do to and for you.”

You tied the robe and turned to kiss him, which he cut short. “Come on, my beloved. We musn’t keep Sam and James waiting.”

With that he strode out the door in his robe, towel in hand.

He was so dramatic and you loved it.

You took more time coming out of the bathroom, changing into an extra pair of jeans and a sweater that you’d left on the side. Not everyone had Helmut’s uncaring attitude when it came to wearing a robe in front of strangers. Then again, it was his house.

You exited the bathroom, only to see Helmut rummaging through the kitchen cabinets and rolling his eyes at something that Bucky had said. You waved in greeting to Bucky and gave Sam a smile before focusing back on Helmut, who apparently had killed a man in Madripoor.

Typical. He’d probably looked good doing it too. And did he have a cookie on his finger? This man.

You shook your head and settled into one of the chairs at the counter, watching Hel pull out what looked like candy as the men talked about Sam’s Titi and a funeral for someone important in the community.

Little did you know that Helmut was making sure that this was the non-poisonous Turkish Delight. His mother had liked to make the candy and fill it with all types of different poisons. It had been a game for him as a child to try and guess the poison. By the time he was teenager, he won the game every time. The cyanide Turkish Delight was particularly good with a quite enjoyable flavor. While it was tempting to have you try one of the poisonous ones and begin your acclimation to poisons now, it wasn’t the time. There would be time for that later.

The men discussed heading out into the city and seeing if they could find where this funeral was going to be. You knew even as you ate one of Helmut’s so-called irresistible Turkish Delights that you weren’t invited. That was fine. You’d rather do some sketching anyway.

Helmut had changed back into his clothes, coat included. You loved that coat and were looking forward to getting to try it on for yourself, preferably with nothing on underneath. He kissed you and caressed your cheek before bidding you goodbye.

You watched them leave, worrying about Helmut, yet looking forward to some time alone to draw. As you settled on the couch, beginning to focus on the contours of the skull you were drawing in loving detail, after the excitement of the last few days it didn’t surprise you when your eyes began to close.

----

You awoke with a jerk as you heard what sounded like glass hitting the wall. You sat up, head foggy only to see Bucky facing Helmut whose back was to you. Based on their postures, that must have been Bucky who threw something.

You went to stand and watched as Sam deescalated the situation, even as Bucky and Helmut were still staring at each other.

You held in a laugh at “ the stupid head tilt thing” because you knew Helmut wouldn’t like that he had any tells, but the way Sam phrased it was funny. And also accurate.

Sam left the room and Bucky walked away after saying no to the cherry blossom tea, leaving you and Helmut alone. It was then that you spoke up.

“I’d like some cherry blossom tea if you’re offering, my villain.”

Helmut turned to you. “I am sorry we woke you, draga. Yes, of course.” He poured you a cup and presented it to you. “Here cherry blossom tea for my sweet blossom. Or should that be my thorny blossom?”

You laughed, glad that you hadn’t drank any tea yet, before taking a sip. “Really, Hel? That wasn’t as smooth as normal.”

He joined you on the couch. “I thought you might need a laugh. As do I. Interacting with the children brought back memories.”

You watched him before reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Of your son?”

At his nod, you continued, “Tell me about him.”

He cleared his throat and you were prepared for him to turn away and leave, but to your surprise he spoke, “Carl was… Carl was good. In a way that I have not been nor will ever be. He loved the outdoors and he loved to play video games. He was a good boy and a good son, and I wish that I had gotten to see what he would become.”

His hand clenched tightly around yours, almost to the point of pain, but you said nothing.

“And your wife?”

“Heike was beautiful, both inside and out. When I first met her, I thought I would never see anything more arresting. Her bloody hands as she stitched up my men. Until I saw you, standing in front of Judith Slaying Holofernes. I thought Heike was the love of my life and though she still is and always will be, I have realized that we may be lucky enough to have more than one. She would have loved you. Just as I do. I’m excited for when you’ll meet in the afterlife. All three of us together will be glorious.”

You disregarded him talking about your potential deaths for another time. “You love me?”

He turned his head to look into your eyes, “I have loved you since I first saw you, but do understand if it’s too early for you to know your feelings.”

You didn’t hesitate, “I love you too, my Hel.”

The three men returned from the funeral and you ran towards where Helmut was being supported by both Bucky and Sam.

“What happened?” You looked to Sam as you helped them situate Helmut on the couch.

“Walker happened. He hit him in the head with the shield.”

You moved to the kitchen and ran cold water over a washcloth for Helmut’s forehead.

“And he’s your Captain America?”

Bucky scoffed, “He’s not my Captain America. He shouldn’t even have the shield in the first place.”

Sam sighed, “Here we go again.”

You tuned out their bickering as you tended to Helmut. He had been fine this morning, telling you that he loved you, and now he was hurt. What if he never told you that he loved you again? You watched him carefully and were surprised to see his eyes fluttering. You leaned closer and saw him smirk and put a finger to his lips. You smiled. He wasn’t as bad as you thought. He was going to be okay.

For his part, Helmut had been knocked out but had woken up about halfway back to the apartment. His cousin, Wednesday, hit much harder than John Walker. Even Pubert hit harder than John Walker. This injury was nothing to an Addams but he was planning to play it up for as long as possible, especially if it would get Sam and James off his back for a few hours and give him a little time to plan his escape. Well, his and yours. He would not be leaving you behind for any reason.

----

Walker burst into the room, causing you to move closer to Helmut who had stood up with his whiskey still in hand. You didn’t want to take your eyes off of Walker, the threat in the room, but you couldn’t help but let them admire Helmut in his shoulder holsters. He looked good. As always.

You watched Sam stand up for Helmut and listened to Walker, who unsurprisingly made you angry with his attitude. This was the man who had hit your Hel in the head with a shield? What an asshole. You stepped closer to Walker, reaching to pull the knife that you always kept in your boot. No one was looking at you, too consumed in the interactions between Sam and Walker. Or so you thought. You felt a hand on your arm and Helmut gently pulled you back, shaking his head as you looked at him and motioning for you to come closer. He offered you some of his whiskey, smirking as you shook your head no. He wanted to pull you into his arms and press a kiss to your forehead, but resisted. He knew you both might need your hands free for what was to come.

It was enjoyable standing next to Helmut as he casually sipped his whiskey and you watched avidly as the Dora Milaje fought Walker. They were amazing. As Bucky and Sam joined the fight, you glanced at Helmut to see if he was enjoying this as much as you were. He had an interesting look on his face and as he put down his drink and grabbed your hand, you had a feeling that you knew where this was going. He led you to the bathroom and had you step in front of him as he subtly closed and locked the bathroom doors.

“Time to escape, my villain?” You whispered as you watched him fiddle with the tub.

“Time to escape, draga. It should be just here. Ah, yes.”

The tub began to move, leaving a sewage grate exposed in the ground. You helped him lift it and each of you went through one by one. Helmut helped you down the ladder and kept hold of your hand once in the tunnel.

“Come, my love. I have a place we can go.”

“You always have a place we can go, my villain.”

You enjoyed the time that you got to spend alone with Helmut in one of his family’s properties, not far from where Sokovia had fallen — even with the knowledge that it couldn’t possibly last. That Sam or Bucky or both would eventually catch up with you and send your Hel back to prison. It had been blissful and satisfying here as though you and Helmut were in your own little world, cut off from everything.

You had never known another partner, who could satisfy you the way that Helmut could. You had lost count of the variety of different ways and places that he had made you come. He anticipated your needs in a way no one else had and he knew the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He began to teach you the same and you were a diligent student, looking forward to those lessons with anticipation.

Flashback:

You were reading in the library when he stepped in, wearing one of his many robes. You knew that he did it on purpose to entice you and it got your attention as always. He sat across from you and let the robe gape open, leaving his chest exposed. You couldn’t help but stare at him, taking in the necklace and chest hair, your interest in the book lost. Helmut acted oblivious, picking up one of the books on the table and beginning to read.

You closed yours with a snap and placed it down.

“My Hel.”

He hummed absentmindedly, keeping his eyes on the book even as he hadn’t turned any pages yet. He wasn’t fooling anyone. “Yes, draga?”

“I would like to try something new today, Hel.”

“Hmm?”

“I would like you to be the one restrained this time, my villain.” You leaned in close and grasped his chin, tilting his head up. His eyes were dark. “Would you like that, darling?”

“Yes, my love. Please.” It came out as a gasp.

“Do you have everything prepared?” You assumed he did because that had to have been his intention coming into the library, looking like temptation personified, in the first place.

“Yes.” His voice was giddy with anticipation.

You smiled at him and caressed his cheek before walking away with the expectation that he would follow. He always did.

“Such a well behaved villain. You deserve a reward. Meet me in the bedroom.”

You smirked to yourself as you heard the chair hurriedly push away from the table.

End Flashback

You never wanted to give him up. You wanted to be by his side forever. In life and in death. But it was not to be. Your time together was coming to an end. Helmut would be going to the Sokovian Memorial to await Bucky’s arrival and leaving you behind.

“You will be safe here, my beloved.  No one, save Oeznik and my mother, knows of the existence of this house.”

You nodded as you let the tears that you were trying to hold in flow.

“I promise that I will see you again. Nothing shall keep me from you, even in death we will be together. Always. With my Heike too of course. She will adore you. Just as I do.”

He proceeded to give you instructions for what to do after he’d gone, which you committed to memory. You knew that while he did not want to go, he was ready to leave. If he didn’t leave now, then he didn’t know if he’d be able to do so. You kissed him desperately and as his hands grasped your waist, pulling you closer, you ground against him. He pulled back in admonishment.

“I know what you’re doing, draga. It will not work. I must go.”

Even so, he was the one to lean back in and reinitiate things. He couldn’t resist you. Not in this. By the time you were in the bedroom and Helmut was inside of you, he had forgotten why he had protested in the first place. He made desperate eye contact with you and held you close, committing every detail to memory. It was slower than normal, tender, and as you came you gasped his name. He picked up the pace and followed suit, hoping that you didn’t notice his worshipful gaze on your stomach and the hidden hope on his face.

He would never be over Carl’s death. Never. Carl was His. Yet he wanted another child with you, one that you had made together. One he hoped to teach about poisons and the best way to kill a man, just as his mother had before him. One he could introduce to his mother as an Addams, just as you now were. He wanted it with a quiet kind of desperation and a secret yearning. You would look so beautiful carrying his child.

----

You kissed him again before he left, and you didn’t make any attempt to stop your tears this time.

“Don’t cry, draga. All will be well. You will see me again soon, and I will count the days until you are once again in my arms. You won’t even have time to miss me.” His voice was teasing, but rough as he held in emotions of his own.

You humored him with a watery laugh. “Good bye, my villain. Don’t torture yourself in prison, Hel. That’s my job.”

“Oh, my love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He gave you one last smile before getting into the car with Oeznik behind the wheel.

You stood in the doorway until you couldn’t see the car anymore before letting yourself give into your tears. You didn't know how long you sat there sobbing, but some time later you began to carry out Helmut’s instructions. This would not be forever, not if you had anything to say about it.

It was time to take a trip to 001 Cemetery Lane and meet your new family. Something told you that you’d get along just fine.

Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!

A/N: This goes right into Cousin Helmut if you’d like to read the fic that started this little crossover series. Hope you all enjoyed this, and please let me know if you did! 

I do have ideas for a sequel, where the whole family breaks Zemo out of the Raft which I think would be a lot of fun. 

Many thanks to my beloved @clints-lucky-arrow​ for giving me a much needed confidence boost, for your feedback, and for beta reading 💜 And to the lovely @lafemmedezemo for being a big supporter of Zemo as an Addams since the beginning and for requesting this fic’s moodboard -- you’re both the best and ily!

My Masterlist

#Zemo x reader #Helmut Zemo x reader #the addams family #addams family #Zemo x you #Helmut Zemo x you #Baron Zemo x reader #Zemo is an Addams #crossover fic #halloween fic #Baron Zemo x you #Zemo x f! reader #zemo fic #Zemo fanfiction #Zemo fanfic #Daniel Brühl x reader #Zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #crossover #nocapeswriting

[bullet-prooflove]

5 sentences challenge…

Zemo and Punishment

The silk bindings on your wrists were taut and unrelenting, pinning them to the small of your back. The blindfold over your eyes may have stolen away your vision but it heightened your other senses. His footsteps on the plush carpet as he stood before you, the heat rolling off of his body, warming your naked skin as you knelt before him. You heard the rustle of fabric from his clothing before the leather of his glove kissed your cheek. His thumb traced over the shape of your lower lip, dragging it down. Your tongue grazed the leather pad, sucking it into your mouth.

“Are you ready for your punishment?”

#helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo #zemo imagine #zemo fanfiction #baron zemo

[morguevampire]

(Un) Fortunate Encounters - Masterlist

This is the masterlist for a multi-chapter Helmut x fem!reader fic that I am currently working on! It's a slow build romance and my first adventure into the Zemonation!

Let me know what you think! Comments, likes, reblogs are always appreciated!

***

summary:  You already had enough shit to deal with in your life and probably could have done without bumping into a wanted Sokovian terrorist/criminal by accident. Of course this random encounter had to turn into a whole new mess but could it perhaps turn into something beautiful?

warnings/tags: fluff, smut, angst, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of torture, drinking, mild alcoholism, dark themes, slow build romance, not really Stockholm syndrome but that’s up for interpretation 

chapters: 4/?

pairings: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader

You can also find this work on Archive of Our Own

***

Chapter One: Strangers Chapter Two: Unconscious Chapter Three: Unfamiliar Chapter Four: Night Terrors Chapter Five: Exploring Chapter Six: Stitches

#masterlist #helmut zemo #helmut zemo fanfiction #zemo fanfiction #Helmut Zemo x Reader #Helmut Zemo & Reader #Helmut Zemo x you #Helmut Zemo/reader #Baron zemo x reader #MCU #FATWS

[mrsmaxwelllord]

VIPEROUS – true self

Pairing: Dark!Zemo X F!Reader

Sumarry: You arrive home only to find out that you've gotten pregnant by the worst man you can think of.

Words: 1,5K

Warnings: zemo is not so sweet in this one. unplanned pregnancy. loneliness. daydreaming. self-doubt. fear. drink-spiking.

A/N: First of all, i know that unplanned pregnancy isn't everybody favorite plot and I'M SORRY.

But you didn't thought I'd name a fic "viperous" and not write zemo at his fcking worst, did you?

previous chapter

.

You had discovered it pretty early on.

 After parting ways with the boys, you were feeling furious. You didn’t bother saying your goodbyes or listening to theirs, you simply held your bags and walked away from Zemo’s private jet; no turning back, no fake smile. Although, you could pull your pissed expression only for a few minutes, as soon as you turned a corner tears blurred your vision.

 Nonetheless, you went your way. In less than 24 hours you got to your home country and ten hours later you arrived in the dense rainforest you called home. It took you a few days to settle in again, to forget — or better, to ignore — the fateful events and get back to your routine.

 You stayed recluse at your house for a bit more than a month, before you had to come down to the nearest village; your supplies had their days counted and you could no longer postpone a visit to the hospital, the wound in your ribs had healed but the area was still too sore.

 You were expecting a broken rib or two, but the blood test they ran came out with a different outcome. One that you had no idea how to deal with.

 A pregnancy. You were about six weeks pregnant. It was very hard to understand the simple sentence coming out of your Doctor's mouth, it seemed impossible even; but you haven't used any protection the last time you were intimate with someone.

 It was obvious to you who the father was and it terrified you. Zemo was miles away running away from James and Sam after having managed to kill Karli Morgenthau and half the members of the Flag-Smasher. He didn’t know your whereabouts or condition, yet even the idea of him finding out was enough to make you shiver. His actions in the past decade made it clear that he loved his son, yet, you didn’t know how he’d react this time around with a woman he didn’t know nor loved – all while hiding from her own friends.

 You weren't sure if you wanted to keep it, but something was clear in that moment: he could never know, no one could.

 So after getting the exam result and making sure your ribs were okay, you scheduled a prenatal appointment with a discreet Doctor in a distant city and went your way home.

.

 You had a lot to think about. Parenting a child was hard enough with the help of others, but completely alone… Yet, you realised quite fast you wanted to keep it. 

 You also realised that you didn’t know shit about babies. You spend the first trimester of your pregnancy researching and studying everything you could, buying everything the internet said you’d need and having horrible nightmares almost every week.

 Because you were worrying about everything at once, three month went by fast.

 The lovely lady who owned the grocery store you go to regularly became your acquaintance and gave you very good tips. Your most dear tea recipe — the one that could treat the worst of nauseas or anxiety — was given from her and even some sleeping position for when your belly gets too big. You were visiting her more and more, especially because your nightmare was making you kinda paranoid.

 There were two that seemed to never let you in peace. The first one involved the Avengers taking the baby away and was very simple, it was always James or Sam and you were left alone, crying. The second, though, was more stange; you had the baby in your hands, feeding him, and there was always a figure looking at you. Later, you followed their cry to a cradle, but it was empty and you knew exactly who took it.

 Most nights you wake up in a cold sweat. And you end up always thinking of Zemo. You tried your best to let it go, to forget about him but you were feeling really guilty and scared.

 In Madripoor, when you were in his arms, every concern you had seemed to go away and you longed for that feeling on a daily basis. You knew you couldn't have that. You didn't know where the hell he was, or wanted to be with a man who killed a child without any guilt. You agreed with Sam about Karli and really thought a solution could have been made if Zemo hadn't shot her – as you later found out.

 Sure, you wanted to feel the comfort of someone's warmth against you. You wanted to not have to think about the possible outcome of failing as a Mother. You wished you weren't feeling so alone.

 You wanted to have everything Helmut offered you in whispers back in that dirty town.

 However, you knew he could never leave the Raft if he ever gets caught and telling him of the child growing inside you would kill him because he couldn't be present. No matter how much you wished. So you resumed the little life you built for yourself.

 Sunbathing in the morning with a book in hand, eating healthy foods you were learning how to cook and visiting the small village down the hill once a week so you didn't feel so lonely.

 On the bad days, you liked to daydream about being someone's housewife; taking care of the chores got a lot easier when you were waiting for your husband to come back from work. Yet not even your silly little dreams could save you from the solitude late at night, when there was only your pillow with a cologne similar to his to hold on to.

.

 It was raining again — a thunderstorm this time. Lately it has been raining a lot, more than you had been accustomed to; not that you disliked it, you adored watching the lightning and thunder. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows you could see the sky clearly, the trees surrounding your house danced and howled as the thunder approached. 

 It was late in the night and you were terribly tired, but you simply could not let a thunderstorm go unwatched. In your childhood, you were terrified of them, you always ran to hide under your blankets with your teddy bear, but, somewhere in your teen years you became bewitched by the loud noise and the flashing lights.

 You were thinking of Helmut again, but, this time, something felt odd. It was almost like you could feel him thinking of you as well. A silly thought really, that you were connected somehow. You took a deep breath and rested in the chair.

 The idea of having a soulmate pleased you but the rational part of you knew you just wanted someone who you could trust fully and completely. A national terrorist couldn’t be that person. Especially not a dead one.

 Less than a week ago the news of him startled you, he had… died. They didn't specify exactly what happened in the little newspaper article except that the Winter Soldier had found Zemo after his attack on Captain America – well, John Walker – and that ended with his death. What was obviously a lie, James wouldn’t kill him. Would he? You were too afraid of looking deep into it. Perhaps… No. It hurted you to think about it.

 You reached out to grab your mug on the coffee table, but that felt like too much effort. In fact, everything felt overwhelming; you could not get up when you heard the front door keys moving, or when the sound around the house got close. Something was wrong with you, the tea made you way too sleepy. You tried to get up.

 When you turned around leaning on the armchair, your eyes got caught like a deer’s by the fleshlight on a road.

 There, standing at the door, the most frightful ghost of all. The soaking wet Baron stared right into your soul before smiling softly.

 “Liébling, what are you doing awake at this hour? Don’t you know it is bad for the baby?”

 You gasped and reached out for something on the coffee table, but ended up dropping the mug on the ground. The shattering startled you even more, in an attempt to get away you stepped into a piece of broken glass and fell down.

 The ghost of Helmut Zemo tried to approach, but upon seeing you hurt yourself further gave up.

 Now the palm of your hands were bleeding as well and you were hiding half of your body, still transfixed. The need to protect your womb was there, urging you to cover your belly with your hands or tighten the cardigan around you, but you resisted it.

 “I promised you I have no intention of hurting you. Ever” he whispered, taking a hesitant step.

 You couldn’t bring yourself to answer the ghost, shaking your head and raising your bloody hands to your face.

 “Liébling. Let me help you.”

 The sleepiness was now worse than before, you could feel yourself slipping away. Then you realise.

 “Helmut, what did you put in my drink?” He took the final steps to you and held you tight. The blood stained his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind a bit, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it chastely.

 “Don’t worry now. I’ll take care of you” he kissed your temple and your cheeks. Before falling unconscious, you remember thinking he still smelled the same.

#zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo smut #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo x reader #zemo x you #daniel brül x reader #daniel brühl x you #baron zemo

[mlmxreader]

Was Ich Liebe | Helmut Zemo x gn!reader

summary: when Sam and Bucky ask you and Frank to look after Zemo for a while, you end up feeling something that you never would have expected before. 

tws: swearing, smoking, mentions of violence, jealous, possession, drinking

word count: 5433

You and Frank had been living together for years, since before his Punisher years, as he couldn't afford a place on his own, and neither could you; as close friends, family really, it only made sense that the two of you would end up living together somehow. You patched his wounds, you hid him away from everyone who was chasing after him, you kept him a secret when he needed to be; you were his best friend, and at times, it felt a lot like you were his only friend. You enjoyed it, though, being able to spend so much time with him, being able to act like your best friend wasn't also one of the most wanted men on the planet; you were at peace, and whenever Frank snuck in, he felt much the same. 

Nobody ever bothered you, nobody came asking for favours, nobody ever disturbed or shattered that peace; Frank made damn sure of that, keeping you and your home together far, far away from his work as the Punisher, the more distance he could make, the better. 

It felt redundant to say, but when Frank trudged in with his hand around a guy in a purple mask's fur coat collar, you were more than surprised. 

"Frank, what the fuck?" 

He shrugged, roughly removing the guy's mask. He didn't miss the way you looked at the stranger. He rolled his eyes. "This here's Zemo." 

Zemo went to extend his hand, but Frank slapped it away and glared at him. 

"Right," you couldn't take your eyes off of the stranger. "And why's he in our home, exactly?" 

Frank sighed, running a hand down his face as he grumbled. "I owe Sam Wilson a favour… he asked if I'd make sure this little shit doesn't go anywhere." 

"Oh, great," you muttered. "So now we're in debt to Captain America himself? Well done, Frankie." 

"Blame yourself," he growled, shoving the stranger aside. "You were the one that broke his pool table." 

"I said I'd pay for it," you pointed out. "Not that I'd babysit a…" you turned to the stranger with a raised brow, "what are you?" 

"A Baron," he replied. 

You turned back to Frank. "Not that I'd babysit a Baron." 

"He's got a rap sheet half a mile long," Frank hissed. "He's lucky he's still breathing." 

You shook your head, gesturing for him to leave. "Go make a cup of coffee." 

Chuckling, Frank shot you a smile as he dared to move away. "Yessir." 

"You bicker like you're siblings," the stranger said. 

But you scoffed as you took a seat on the sofa and sighed. "Who are you?" 

"Baron Helmut Zemo," he didn't dare to move across the room to shake your hand, not with the Punisher around. "And who are you, gutaussehend?" 

"I'm the one that won't rough you up," you laughed softly. "(y/n)." 

"A pleasure," he nodded curtly. "Really." 

You dared to smile at him. "The feeling's mutual." 

Zemo hung his head as he dared to crack a small smile, chewing at the inside of his lip; he was about to say something when Frank came trudging back in, passing you a cup of coffee as he sat beside you. 

"Don't listen to a goddamn word he says," Frank rumbled. "I got told he's a great manipulator." 

You shrugged your friend off with a shake of your head. "Would you quit complaining?" 

"He's responsible for all that bullshit between the Avengers," Frank muttered. "I got every goddamn right to complain… dragging me into their bullshit like this." 

"In my defense-" 

"Shut it," Frank hissed, glaring at Zemo. 

The Winter Soldier had been one thing. Dealing with Sam and Bucky had been one thing. But Frank? Frank really did scare Zemo; word of the Punisher, what he did to people who deserved it, it scared even Zemo. Nobody fucked with the Punisher, and there was a damn good reason for that. Frank wasn't like the others, he wasn't like Sam or Bucky - Frank would kill. From the stories, it sounded like he was happy to do it, too. 

"You're scaring him," you said gently. 

"Good," Frank scoffed. "I should fucking hope so." 

You sighed, shaking your head as you turned to Zemo. "Did he at least grab stuff for you to wear other than that?" 

"Yes," Zemo answered with a curt nod. 

"Where'd he chuck it?" You set your coffee aside and slapped a hand over Frank's mouth. 

"In the car boot," Zemo wanted to smile at the fact that you had so casually covered your friend's mouth, he wanted to laugh when the big bad Punisher dared to lick your palm, making you groan and grumble in disgust. 

"You're so fucking disgusting, sometimes," you got up, the sound of Frank's laughter following you as you went and grabbed the car keys. "I'll go get your things, Zemo… don't worry about Frank, he won't bite." 

The second the door closed behind you, Frank crossed the room, pinning Zemo to the chair with his hand on his shoulder, his voice low and coarse - the same one he used when talking to the cunts he killed. 

"You so much as even fucking look at (y/n), and I'll rip your eyes out," he threatened. "One wrong move, Zemo, that's all it takes and then… one batch, two batch, penny and dime." 

Zemo could only nod slowly, he knew what Frank was capable of, everyone did, and he didn't quite fancy being on the receiving end of it. He didn't want to know what Frank would do, from the stories, he knew that the man was capable of great brutality and great graphic gore. He didn't want to find out if they were true. 

Frank moved away again, taking his seat on the sofa once more, his jaw clenched as he picked up the television remote and turned it on; it was already playing one of your playlists, this one happened to have a little bit everything - some Tina Turner, some Sabaton, some Trivium, some Slayer, some Metallica, some ABBA. Frank turned the volume up a little, finally relaxing as he leaned back against the soft cushions. Zemo didn't dare to move - not until the door opened and you held up a bag. 

"This the one?" 

"Yes, thank you," he nodded. 

"Come with me," you gestured for him to follow, and he did so with little hesitation. You lead him to the bedrooms. "Now, there's only two - so, uh, would you rather sleep in the same room as the guy who might rip your head off in the middle of the night, or would you rather be woken up by Rammstein at three in the morning?"

"Rammstein sounds… better," he shrugged, entering the room with you. He took a look around and frowned a little; it was nowhere near as bad as the cell in Berlin, but it wasn't exactly the luxury he had known for most of his life, either. 

"You can use that cupboard," you pointed over to it. "Unpack your shit, make yourself comfy." 

Zemo gently grabbed your wrist when you turned around, pulling you close as he dared to smile, his voice soft and quiet. "Thank you, (y/n)."

You could feel your heartbeat pick up a little, a certain thudding thunder coming to the side of your throat as you looked into those big brown beautiful eyes. "No need to thank me, just… get as comfy as you can." 

He dared to let you go, clearing his throat as he turned to his bag and started to take out his things; you sighed as you headed downstairs, finally able to confront Frank.

"You didn't fucking tell me he was fit as fuck, you ass!" 

Frank rolled his eyes. "I knew you thought he was your type the second you saw his face." 

"Frank, this ain't funny," you growled. "How the fuck are we meant to put him up until Sam and Bucky can grab him, if I'm wanting to fuck him?" 

"Easy," Frank shrugged. "Just don't." 

You folded your arms across your chest, glaring at him as you clenched your jaw. "Don't you dare hurt him." 

"Now," he tutted, raising a brow as he tilted his head a little to the side. "Why would I do that?" 

"You said he's got a rap sheet half a mile long," you started, "in your books, he deserves it." 

"You ain't wrong," he held up his hands. "But I ain't gonna hurt him. I'm smart enough to know not to piss Captain America off." 

"You better be," you warned with a huff. "You really fucking better be." 

══════════════════

Frank left that same evening, abandoning you and trusting that you wouldn't do anything stupid, he had work to do, and he knew it would be a while; he had to go two States over and get through a shit tonne of forest, he wasn't going to be less than twelve hours. But he left you in charge of Zemo, hoping that you wouldn't do anything stupid. Really, really hoping. 

It was around five minutes after he had left that you had decided to go to bed, with Zemo in the bathroom, you stripped off and yanked a pair of fluffy pyjama bottoms on before crawling into bed; unfortunately for him, Zemo had to have the chair next to the bed instead of an actual mattress. But he had said that it would be fine. You hoped so. 

You yanked at the thin blanket, pulling it over you as you rolled onto your side and started to scroll through your phone; you didn't look up when he walked in, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but then he paused for a moment to look at you. He cleared his throat as he sat down on the chair, pulling a red blanket across his lap as he met your gaze with a soft smile. 

"I don't think your friend would like us being so physically close." 

"No, but he'll get over it," you chuckled, putting your phone down and smiling back at him. "Y'know, I think there's room enough in this bed for us both… might save your back and your neck a little bit to sleep on an actual mattress." 

Zemo bit at the inside of his lip as he let out a shaky breath, not even audible. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure," you nodded, moving over to make space for him. "Trust me, that chair ain't fit for sleeping in." 

“As long as you’re sure,” he muttered, daring to slip beneath the blanket beside you, careful not to touch you - he wouldn’t dream of such a thing, not unless if you asked him to. 

You cleared your throat, getting a little closer until your head was on his chest, and you grabbed the remote for the television, quickly putting on ‘Hostel’ before you dared to relax again. 

Zemo wasn’t sure about the film to begin with, if he was honest, as he was never entirely all that keen on films of such a graphic nature, but when he stole a look at you and saw a look in your eyes that could not be mistaken for anything except passion, he started to see it in a different light; he started to respect the film a little more, just because you were so keen on it. It was around halfway through the film when he dared to speak up at last. 

“How long is Mister Castle usually gone for?”

“Anywhere from an hour to all night,” you replied quietly, your gaze never leaving the television, “sometimes, he can be gone for days.” 

“Does he not worry about you?” Zemo asked with a little bit of genuine concern. 

“Sure he does,” you muttered. “But Frank’s known me for a Hell of a long time. He knows I’m not helpless - plus, he keeps his work away.” 

He nodded, biting at the inside of his lip again, unable to admit that if he was as close to you as Frank was, he would have been worried sick about so much as stepping out of the house; with a job like Frank’s, it would be more than difficult not to worry about loved ones. 

“Besides,” you yawned, stretching and groaning a little. “Uncle Logan is only down the street.”

“Logan?”

“Yeah, Logan,” you nodded. “He was a friend of my family growing up - taught me how to handle myself in a fight. Between him and Frank, there’s really nothing to worry about.” 

Zemo had heard that name somewhere before, Sam had mentioned it when talking about a school for gifted youngsters, he was sure that Sam had said there was someone called Logan there - “grumpy old man with can openers between his knuckles,” - but surely it wasn’t the same man; Logan was a very popular name, there was no way it could have been the same man at all. 

“But you’re not a-” 

“A superhero?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “No. I just know how to fight… and my best friend happens to be one of the most dangerous men to ever exist.” 

══════════════════

You weren’t sure when it happened, between the end of ‘Hostel’ and the start of ‘Cabin Fever’, you had fallen asleep somewhere along the lines, your head on Zemo’s chest, one arm across his stomach and the other under his back, your leg thrown over his hip; somewhere along the lines, you had fallen asleep together, but when you woke in the morning, it wasn’t because Frank had done his usual - kicked the end of your bed and asked what you wanted for breakfast - it was because there was an unusual smell coming from the kitchen. It smelled like someone was cooking, but it couldn’t have been; you and Frank rarely had time or money to actually cook meals, and if you ever did, you usually reserved them for special occasions - birthdays, holidays, to celebrate good news - and always reserved it for evening meals. 

You were confused, heading downstairs as you rubbed your eyes, immediately going to the fridge first and foremost and pulling out a can of Red Bull; you cracked it open and took a swig before you dared to look at the state of the kitchen. 

Zemo, still wearing just his boxers, a tea-towel thrown over his shoulder, turned to you with a smile. “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I would make breakfast - as thanks for last night.” 

You scratched the back of your neck, furrowing your brows as you tilted your head to the side, slowly nodding. “We don’t usually cook ‘round here, y’know.” 

“I can tell,” he said. “Go sit down, it won’t be long.” 

“Long enough for me to have a quick smoke?”

“I suppose.” 

══════════════════

It went on like that for a while, at least a fair few weeks; you and Zemo would sleep in your bed all cuddled up to one another at night, in the morning he would make breakfast for you and sometimes Frank - when he was around - and then make another meal for dinner just for you and him and a final one for tea - which usually Frank also attended. During the day, you would show Zemo your favourite films and let him show you some of his, you would listen to music together and occasionally dance around, you would talk at length; every now and then, you would even ask Zemo for his help in deciding what to wear for the day, something he was all too happy to help with. He didn’t think it was worth telling you, but he had started to pay your rent for you; when you were busy with something and had your back turned, he would sneak off and pay the landlord - he knew how much living with Frank meant to you, he knew how desperate you both were, and he wanted to at least give his own back in exchange for Frank not gouging his eyes out every time he looked at you. He paid about a year’s worth of rent by the end of the month. 

You were getting closer, though, starting to cuddle up on the sofa together whilst watching films, getting so close that you could feel his breath on your features when he pulled you in close whilst dancing; pressing your forehead against his back when he was chopping something up whilst preparing dinner, your arms around his waist; sitting on the counter and talking to him about anything and everything while he was putting a meal together; you stopped eating at opposite ends of the table, preferring to sit right next to one another instead, your knee pressed against his as he leaned into you a little more. 

You were getting closer by the day, and you were starting to realise - you didn’t want Zemo to leave. You wanted him to stay, you wanted to know what his kiss tasted like and what his hands would feel like holding yours, you wanted to know what it would be like to go on actual dates with him, you wanted to know what it would be like to belong to him. You knew, though, that such a thing could never happen; if you had been living alone, then it would have been possible, but Frank was not keen on Zemo - even if he did quietly admit to you that he did enjoy the meals that Zemo cooked for you both. So, you went to the one person you knew you could talk to about it: Uncle Logan.

══════════════════

Logan came over on a day where Zemo was in the living room reading, and Frank was off getting the weekly shop; he went down to the bottom of the garden with you, rolled two cigarettes, and gave one to you before lighting his own. 

“Alright, what have you done now?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you took a drag from your cigarette. “I haven’t done anything.” 

“Yet,” Logan pointed out, noticing the way you were a little on-edge. “What is it?”

“It’s Zemo,” you muttered, licking your lips and taking a deep breath as you looked at him. “I think… shit, Logan, I think I’ve fallen for him.” 

He dared to laugh a little, running a hand through his hair as he nodded. “Look, kid, you want my advice? Just be honest.”

“This coming from the guy who told Magneto and Professor X to fuck themselves,” you hummed. “Honesty isn’t the issue here.” 

“Then what is?”

“Frank,” you muttered, sighing heavily. “He fucking hates Zemo and-”

“You and Frank have been friends since you were babies,” Logan huffed. “He might talk and act tough, but you know he’s a softie.” 

You raised a brow as you looked him in the eyes, a smile coming to your lips. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

Logan rolled his eyes at you as he scoffed. “I helped raise you, (y/n). I know how close you and Frank are, but if you like this guy, your best bet is just to be honest about it, alright?”

“Alright,” you nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Logan.”

“Does he know?” He asked. “I mean, this guy hates super-soldiers, right?”

“Right… I didn’t say anything about you, though,” you reassured. “You’re not a super-soldier, anyway. The only thing them cunts altered was your bones.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna piss of the guy who managed to fuck over the Avengers.”

“Didn’t you say that they were the most stupid, idiotic, selfish bastards to exist?”

“Yeah, and I stand by that.” 

“I think you should be worried more about him becoming your new best friend, if that’s the case.” 

══════════════════

When Logan left, you knew that there was only one thing you had to do, you knew what you had to do and how to do it, but when you saw Zemo in the living room, his legs spread as he read one of your books - it looked a lot like American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis - you weren’t sure if you could go through with it; doubt started to bubble up in your stomach, making it churn as your throat began to feel dry and coarse, you caught your bottom lip between your teeth as you let out a shaky breath, swallowing thickly. Logan told you to just be honest. You dared to move closer, and when Zemo lifted his arms up so that you could sit on his lap, you did so with a quiet eagerness, letting him put an arm around your back whilst leaning it on the sofa’s arm, holding the book in his free hand as he continued to read for a moment; it didn’t exactly take him long to realise that something was wrong. 

“What is it?”

“Zemo, what if…” you swallowed thickly, able to feel your heart thud against your chest. “What if I told you I… felt things for you?”

“I would tell you that if your feelings are romantic, then they’re reciprocated,” he admitted with a soft chuckle. “Why?”

“They’re… they’re reciprocated?” You asked quietly, biting at the inside of your top lip. 

“Well, yeah,” he nodded. “Over the short time we’ve known each other, (Y/n), I have to admit - I’m very fond of you.” 

“So, if I uh, if I asked you out…” you took in another deep breath. “You would say yes?”

“I would,” he nodded again. “Would you flip the page for me, please, mein Bärchen?”

You did as he asked, leaning into him a little more so that your shoulder was pressed into him, letting him rest his chin on top of your head as he hummed softly; you didn’t need a big romantic gesture to know that it was official now, you didn’t need some big dramatic gesture or some long and heated kiss to know. All you needed was the way he held you so close, the way he gently asked for you to turn the page of the book he was borrowing from you. 

Now you just had to figure out how to tell Frank. 

══════════════════

You didn’t want to tell him right away, as you knew that he would need time and space to process everything, which was why you waited until he announced that he was going away for a while; on the trail of someone who had done things that even Frank wouldn’t mention, but because they were halfway across the goddamn country and then some, Frank had told you that he would be gone for at least a week or two - depending on how slippery and sly the asshole was. It was damn near perfect, until Sam came wandering in while Frank was getting ready to leave. 

Frank was out back sorting out what he would need for his little trip, which was where Sam went first and foremost, tapping the Punisher on the shoulder and clearing his throat. 

“How’s it going?” Sam asked, letting himself take one of Frank’s beers and cracking it open. He took a quick swig. 

Frank sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the workbench and folded his arms across his chest, shrugging. “It ain’t bad, but…” 

“But?”

“(y/n) and Zemo are friends now,” Frank chuckled, shaking his head. “They’re actually friends. He’s even managed to befriend Logan.” 

“Logan?” Sam let out a whistle as he shook his head. “Wow.” 

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “It ain’t all that bad, though. I mean, he cooks, and he’s pretty damn good at it, too. He’s been behaving himself, too, thankfully.” 

“He better be,” Sam huffed. “Do you need any help with anything? Least I could do for you agreeing to babysit.” 

Frank shook his head, smiling at Sam for a moment. “We’re good - besides, we owed you for the pool table.” 

Laughing softly, Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry about it… seriously, though, if you need anything, you know where I am.” 

“I know, thank you,” Frank nodded, sighing as he made a move to pack up a few more boxes of ammunition. “Y’know, I always did prefer you over the other guy. I’m glad it was you that picked up the shield.” 

“Thank you,” Sam smiled back, clapping Frank on the shoulder. “Where are they?”

“Front room,” Frank shrugged. “C’mon, I need something to eat.” 

Following Frank inside, Sam couldn’t help but to let out a noise when he looked into the living room; on the sofa, you and Zemo were cuddled up, your lips pressed to his neck and your arm slung over him, the other one beneath your head to give you a little comfort, your leg over his waist as he held onto you tightly. Sam almost couldn’t believe it, but when Frank came to see, he simply shrugged. 

“They do it all the time,” he explained, “it’s normal.” 

“Normal?” Sam grumbled. “Frank, they’re cuddling.” 

“Yeah, for those two, it’s normal,” Frank replied, “shit, it’s nothing me and (y/n) don’t do.” 

Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he shook his head, taking a step into the living room and knocking gently on the doorframe; within an instant, you and Zemo perked up, lazily waving at him. 

“Ah, Sam,” Zemo smiled. “I wondered when you would come to visit.” 

“I’ve seen enough,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Frank, do you need help getting everything loaded up?”

“Yeah, I could use a hand,” Frank agreed with a shrug. “Car’s out front.” 

“Let’s go,” Sam agreed. “You can drop me off on the way, right?”

“Right.” 

You waited for the two to leave before you turned to Zemo, biting your lip as you tried not to laugh. “I don’t think they’re happy, y’know.” 

“I don’t think they are,” he agreed with a shake of his head, but then he turned to you, and ever so gently, pressed a kiss to your lips. “But at least we’ll be alone for a while, won’t we?”

══════════════════

The first couple of days, everything was fine between you and Zemo; you did everything together as a romantic couple, no longer feeling the need to ever hide anything - not your relationship, not your care for each other. It got to the point where one night, while you were singing and dancing around in the kitchen, probably keeping the entire neighbourhood awake, you stopped - you pulled out your phone, encouraging Zemo to take a picture with you; he was quite eager to do it, even taking a few of him kissing you, his hand on your jaw to keep you close while he took the phone in his other hand and used it to snap the pictures. You debated posting it for a little while, too distracted by the way he held you and how he kissed you, up until his phone rang. 

“It’s Frank,” he muttered, handing the phone to you and running a hand through his hair. “Should I answer it?”

“I’ll do it,” you shrugged, clicking the answer button and putting the phone on speaker, leaving it on the closest counter. “Frank, why aren’t you calling my phone?”

“Zemo’s number was at the top,” came the crackly and quiet reply, “how are you doing? Is he behaving?”

Zemo stood beside you, gently coaxing you closer, his hands on the waistband of your jeans as he kept you close, your back against his chest; he tilted his head a little to the side, starting to kiss at your neck gently, forcing you to stifle a laugh and to slap at his wrist. 

“Yeah, he’s behaving,” you replied, “we had Logan swing by the other day - didn’t he send you the picture?”

“The one of you two sound asleep out back? Yeah, I saw it.” 

"See?" You chuckled, biting down on your bottom lip when Zemo started to gently bite and suck at your neck. "He's behaving." 

Zemo grabbed your phone when you nodded at him to let him know he could, going onto your social media and pulling up the picture of you and him; he dared to post it with the caption was ich liebe. 

"Yeah, alright," Frank hummed. "Look, I ain't sure when I'll be home." 

"What do you mean?" Your voice cracked a little with worry. 

"This one's tough," he explained, "slips away every time we come close… it's gonna take a while to catch 'em." 

"Oh," you sighed, relief flooding your voice. "So it's not because you're hurt?" 

"Aside from a few stinging nettles, I'm fine," he laughed softly. But then there was a vibration sound, and he growled lowly. 

"What?" You asked. 

"Logan just texted me," he explained, "it's from your social." 

"Yeah?" You mused, turning around and letting Zemo pin you against the counter, his hands bracing it tightly as he pressed up against you, welcoming the feeling of one hand in his hair, the other on his jaw. "What'd he say?" 

"There's a fucking picture of you," Frank started, "you and Zemo. What the fuck? Are you two-" 

"Come on, mein Bärchen, hurry up," Zemo growled, just loud enough for the phone's speakers to pick it up. "I want to kiss you again." 

Frank's voice got louder as he repeated the question, "hey, what the fuck?" 

Your eyes went wide as you kept your eyes on Zemo, silence following for a minute before you cleared your throat and dared to answer, "don't be mad." 

"(y/n), what the fuck?" Frank almost shouted. "You're dating him?" 

"Yeah," you breathed out, hanging your head and pressing it against Zemo, welcoming the feeling of his arms around you tightly. "Yeah, we've… we've been doing it for a while…" 

"Jesus Christ!" Frank spat. "Y'know what? We'll talk about this when we get back… Jesus Christ…" 

══════════════════

It was painful, waiting for Frank to get back home, but the days and nights that you spent with Zemo more than made up for it; the nights cuddled up watching films, the days sat with him as he read, the afternoons lounging in the garden together. It more than made up for the increasing anxiety over how Frank would react when he got home; but when he did, he was… at peace with it. He stopped being so intimidating and aggressive towards Zemo, he started to laugh and joke with him, he started to open up a little; to say the least, you were so glad of that - your best friend and your boyfriend finally getting along. It was all too good to be true. 

And when you, Zemo and Frank met up with Matt Murdock at a local pub, suddenly reality hit. 

Matt was always flirtatious with you, he always turned on the charm, and he didn't seem to realise that you and Zemo were actually a couple. 

"You smell really good tonight, (y/n)," Matt smiled. "Did you switch from your usual stuff?" 

"I did, yeah," you confirmed. "You noticed?" 

"I always notice when it comes to you," he replied, chuckling softly. "I bet you look really good, too." 

"Excuse me," Zemo cleared his throat as he leaned his forearms on the table and hunched over a little. "I don't like it when you flirt with my partner, Mister Murdock." 

Matt tilted his head to the side, the pub lights shining on his red glasses. "Sorry? Who are you?" 

"Baron Helmut Zemo," he growled, shaking his head. "(y/n)'s boyfriend." 

Matt nodded slowly, daring to laugh a little. "My bad. I didn't realise." 

"C'mon, it's just a bit of fun," you shrugged. "Right, Matt?" 

"Yeah," he leaned back. "It's just fun." 

But Zemo didn't like that, and by the time that you were walking home, leaving Frank and Matt to talk business, he was getting rather possessive; you welcomed it when he pulled you into an alleyway, pinning you between cold bricks and his body, his hands either side of your face as he kissed you harshly, enough to make you moan against him, burying a hand in his hair as the other gripped the front of his shirt to try and pull him closer. 

"You're mine," Zemo growled against your lips. "Aren't you?" 

"All yours," you panted out, desperate and needy for him; his touch, his kiss, anything. "Only yours, Zemo." 

"Good," he praised quietly. "Say it again for me, please?" 

"I'm all yours and only yours," you said softly, pressing your forehead against his. "I love you."

"I love you, too, mein Bärchen," he whispered, backing off enough to let you crush yourself against his side. "Shall we go home?" 

"Yes." 

#mlem writes #helmut zemo x yn #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo oneshot #helmut zemo one shot #helmut zemo imagine #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo #zemo x you #zemo x yn #zemo x y/n #zemo x reader #zemo oneshot #zemo one shot #zemo imagine #zemo fanfiction #zemo #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle imagine #frank castle one shot #frank castle oneshot #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fanfic #frank castle

[lorna-d-m]

for the innuendo prompts i would absolutely love to see what x marks the spot could be in reference to 👀👀 -rachreads :)

(also the Bloody Baron was great! literally dropped everything once i got the notif for chapter 11 <3)

X Marks the Spot

Word Count: 1,165

Rating: Explicit

Warning: marking, oral sex (m receiving)

Author's Note: Aww thank you so much babe! 💖 I thought it would be fun to see a more submissive side of Zemo. He's usually the more dominant figure in their relationship, but sometimes the tides need to turn ;) There are still available prompts to request! (link here)

Helmut called Mary his little star, but she thought he was the one more deserving of the nickname. The freckles, moles, and scars dotting his skin were like stars, and they made constellations. Mary trailed her fingers along them in the flickering candlelight. Helmut’s skin twitched, responsive to her touch, and relaxed as she continued. As her touch wandered to his side, tracing the prominent scar there, Helmut rolled onto his back.

His dark eyes watched her face as she ran her fingers over him. Mary smiled with a determined look in her eye that excited him. Any time she took the initiative in touching or admiring him, Helmut indulged her. Slowly and mischievously, her hands moved down his torso. Her fingertips were soft over his marks and scars, respecting the pain behind each one, but she tugged on his scruffy patches of hair.

As Helmut parted his lips to tease her, Mary pressed her lips to his neck. She hooked her leg over his side and settled herself on top of him without ceasing her kiss. Mary stuck to him like a barnacle to the side of the ship. Helmut squeezed her waist and pulled her impossibly closer. He ground against her, and she reciprocated in kind. 

“There,” Mary gently brushed the back of her fingers over her handiwork. Already, his skin was mottled. “A good beginning.” 

“Beginning?” Helmut adoringly ran his hands up and down her back. He loved to feel every inch of his wife. “What are you planning, Sternchen?”

Mary smirked, “Wait and see. You must trust me.” She brushed an errant curl of his aside, only for it to fall across his forehead again. Mary loved that curl.

“I trust you. That’s the problem.” Helmut chuckled and rested his hands on her hips.

Mary moved back and resettled herself over him. She kissed down his chest and stomach, nipping every so often to surprise him. Helmut showed his appreciation and amusement in hums and grunts. Mary felt his enthusiasm over his loose linen sleep pants, and Helmut writhed under her touch. He willed her to do more. She pulled on the laces and the waistline, so he raised his hips to help her. 

“Eager, aren’t you?” Three little words Helmut frequently said to her, and Mary relished turning the tide on him. She enjoyed how readily Helmut surrendered to her. He trusted her completely as she trusted him.

“For you, my little star? Always.” Helmut propped himself up on his elbows to kiss her. She shocked him by biting his lip as she pulled away, drawing Helmut ever closer.

Mary knew her experience was limited by her upbringing, so she mimicked Helmut when she took the helm. Light, trailing touches, and teasing kisses. She brushed her fingers past his twitching cock and pressed her lips to the strong muscle of his thigh. His leg flexed and relaxed as Mary wrapped her fingers around his leg. Helmut wriggled and whimpered, and Mary had yet to touch his leaking cock. He thought he might die when she finally did.

“Better.” Helmut noticed how red and plumped her lips were when she spoke. He wanted to kiss her and feel them against his own. “I do believe the color suits you well.”

He gazed at her through fluttered eyelashes. Mary kept her hand on his thigh, tantalizingly close to his cock. “Is that your intention then? To leave your mark on me?” 

“Would you mind terribly?” She arched an eyebrow. “Are you afraid the one on your neck will expose you to your crew?”

“No.” Helmut confidently let the sound roll off his tongue. “I am not ashamed for them to see that I am yours, and you are mine.” Helmut was proud to have Mary at his side, and he wanted her to know. Too many people in her life did not value her as they should have, and Helmut was not one of them. 

Mary blushed and took him in her hand. He unabashedly groaned when Mary touched him, and he resisted the urge to throw his head back against the pillow. Helmut wanted to watch her as she licked a stripe on the underside of his cock, and he shivered when she twisted her tongue over his slit. Mary spat in hand, and she spread her saliva and his slick pre-come along his shaft. Helmut bucked to follow the movement of her hand.

“Aren’t you sweet, my seductive little siren?” He gasped when she cupped his balls. “You always know how to surprise me.” 

Mary’s cheeks flushed a deeper crimson at his praise. Emboldened, she took him into her mouth. Still a novice, Mary did not try to fit all of Helmut. He never pressured her to do so, knowing it was an acquired skill, and he encouraged her to take her time. Mary wrapped her hand around what she couldn’t fit.  

Helmut twisted her hair around his fingers, and he gently guided her with his hand. In Mary’s new position, Helmut could move, thrusting into her mouth and hand. He muttered quick and passionate pleas in English and his native tongue, too spellbound by Mary’s tongue to think straight. 

Mary felt him twitch hard in her mouth. Tears pricked at her eyes, and saliva dribbled down her chin, but she persisted. Helmut’s fingers tightened in her hair, a warning before he found his words, and Mary noised her consent. He chanted Mary’s name like a sinner praying for repentance as he came, hitching himself further in her mouth. 

Helmut’s warm, dark eyes glazed over in reverence when he watched her swallow. Mary smiled with pride, and some of Helmut’s spend dripped from her lips. She licked it away with her little pink tongue like a cat that got the cream. Helmut pulled her in for another kiss, and he tasted himself on her lips. 

He pressed his forehead to hers as his breathing settled. Helmut’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, and Mary rested her hand over it. “You’ve certainly left your mark on me,” he quipped as he fixed his pants. 

“That was my plan all along.” Mary lay down beside him, but she kept her hand over his heart. Feeling the steady, familiar beat calmed her more than a lullaby. 

Helmut pressed another kiss to her temple and brushed aside her hair. “I suppose I ought to wear a low-collared shirt so everyone can see your mark.” He knew it would be a dark purple by morning, his favorite color. 

“Of course,” Mary giggled, “so long as the other stays hidden.” She entwined her leg with his, her usual sleeping position. 

“They don’t need to see all of me to know I belong utterly to you.” Helmut grew comfortable alongside her. He would reciprocate in the morning, waking her with ardent kisses and caresses. Perhaps he would leave an identical mark on her neck.  

“No,” she agreed, “they only need to know that x marks the spot.” 

tag list: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @alindeluce @f1yogurt @groovyponypatrollamp

#daniel brühl smut #daniel brühl fic #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel brühl fanfic #helmut zemo fanfic #zemo smut #zemo fanfiction #baron zemo fanfic #helmut zemo fanfiction #baron zemo fanfiction #zemo fanfic #sub!daniel brühl #sub!zemo

[ichxbod]

Just a thought about this fanfic I want to write with Loki, Bucky and Zemo.

His beginnings would be linked to a young Baron Zemo and he would get the name Zlý from him. Zlý: from Slovak ''bad/evil''.

Loki finds an old Hydra experiment at a base in the sea (maybe in thor 1 or avengers) so the girl? creature? She's linked to a line of hydra that everyone doesn't know about, more linked to magic and sorcery. The fic could be her/their journey throughout the timeline, bonding sentimentally with Loki but also with Bucky because both sides of Hydra have a commonality.

Maybe a series.

Zlý: into the unknow for Loki, going through the events from Thor to Thor 2 (passing through avengers).

Zlý: Agonizing among tentacles (idk lol) since Captain America: The winter soldier to Avengers: end game.

And Zlý: An empire fall for Zemo and Bucky (like a polyamorous relationship, I don't like love triangles) during the events of FTWS.

Please, I need to know that this idea is a good one so I can sleep in peace lol

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki odinson #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #helmut zemo #bucky x zemo #zemo fanfiction #zemo x oc #zemo x reader #loki genderfluid #Bisexual Bucky

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Soft Target: Ch. 6

I need to make a master list for this baby, because it's gonna be a long 'un.

Chapter 5: link

There are still spaces in my hobbit birthday roster to fill if you'd like a drabble! Just leave a comment or retweet with a comment.

Chapter warnings: Innocent children asking awkward questions, referenced adult activities, language

Notes: Goetta is a food of German descent, but it isn't something modern Germans eat. I am playing fast and loose with cultural notes (for a fictional country, mind) because even when Zemo's being an ass he deserves some kind memory of home that isn't all sad. And I like goetta. Bite me.

----------------------------

Morning crept into the house. Triss resisted the invasion, curling into her dreams as bird song and sunshine pressed her towards consciousness. Packed into her nest of pillows and cheap sheets turned butter-soft with time and use, she felt safer and more at ease than she had in months. Since the last time she’d slept in her own bed, sure of what she’d see when she opened her eyes.

If she woke up properly, she’d have consider why.

Footsteps below announced her guests’ waking, and she heaved a sigh, burrowing deeper into her pillow for another five minutes of peace. Before she watched the two halves of her life collide in an ugly mess. So much could go wrong, and at this point she was just waiting for things to go pear-shaped.

In the night, over her tea, Zemo made so many soft assurances. He was not so terrible. Her family was safe. He could hide away his fangs and claws until she forgot he had them. She could like him if she could trust him, and he clearly wanted her faith.

And he had it, or at least a bite of it. Between his oath on the roadside and his particular attentions, she believed he wouldn’t hurt her family. He had nothing to gain, and they didn’t share her freakish traits. As for her own life, well, that had yet to be decided.

She doubted he’d make a move before they dealt with the more immediate threat, so she had time. To plan, maybe. Mostly to worry.

Worry and remember how nice it felt when the tension flushed from her body, how warm his hands were through her clothes, and his soft assurances driving her towards completion even faster than his knee. Just remembering his purring voice in her ear brought her thighs clenching together.

It could be a problem. It already was.

She’d gone for tea to calm down after a long few days packed with things she’d need to repress. It wasn’t just any other trip home, and it wasn’t any regular adventure in the big city that brought her back. Frankly, she’d considered masturbation before coming downstairs, but the thought of her guests had given her pause. So she decided on tea and wound up humping a terrorist’s leg like a bitch in heat.

She was only a little ashamed of what she’d done, but she was horrified by of who she’d done it with.

He’d been the only one to ever offer, though, or at least to offer knowing what she was, and he made it so easy to accept. To hold on and gasp – and then thank her. Of all things.

As she dozed, pretending to be more asleep than she really was, she heard the loft door creak open. Her heart had time to skip a single beat before the clatter of claws in need of a trim announced her guest.

She didn’t have time to brace before a shaggy black shadow launched onto her bed.

“Oof.”

A frigid nose pushed into her face, sniffing her neck and hair as a long tail beat a rhythm on the covers.

“Your nose is COLD.”

Downstairs, someone who sounded suspiciously like her brother laughed.

She tried pushing the beast back, but the dog only collapsed on top of her, grumbling and pawing and demanding attention with big eyes and bad breath. Squinting bleary eyes, she assessed the chaotic affection. What had happened to her well-mannered mutt since she’d been gone? Time for a talk with Trevor. And maybe Liz. Also time to get the dog’s teeth cleaned.

“Down. Get down.”

A lot of petting and a bit of shoving convinced the dog to follow orders, but the minute Triss’s legs came over the side of the bed, the dog pressed up against them like a cat, trapping her all over again as Trevor’s voice echoed up the stairs.

“Portia wants you to help make breakfast!”

Swearing, Triss managed to clamber to her feet. “So you sent Samhain after me?”

“She saw you come home and pouted all night. Then she smelled you when we let her out this morning. Wouldn’t leave your front door, so it seemed like a good opportunity to chase the night owl out of her nest.”

Hard to argue with his logic, and the dog’s behavior only proved his point.

So much for ignoring the day.

Samhain complicated dressing. She wanted to lean against her master or – better yet – wriggle between her legs for booty scritches. Triss nearly tripped every step of the way, and the dog simply wouldn’t let her get shoes on. She was entirely too excited for something as mundane as footwear, so Triss resigned herself to scuttling across the gravel drive, praying her calluses survived their cushy gig in New York.

She refused to face her guests before freshening up and moved like lightning between loft and bathroom. Samhain nearly managed to sneak in after her, but Triss decided to be heartless and let the dog moan about it while she washed her face and combed her hair in private. Too many hard things to fall against in the bathroom, and the dog would take up too much space. Triss had taken enough risks for the week.

Besides, she was tired.

Despite her whining, Samhain’s tail betrayed her when she spotted new friends. The thud-thud-thud kept time with Sam’s soft voice, and Triss wasn’t at all surprised when she opened the door to find the Falcon on one knee, scratching under Samhain’s chin. Her dog had few problems guiding new admirers to her favorite spots. Soon she’d be swinging her butt in his path, demanding more.

“Nice dog,” Sam said, glancing up. Clearly a morning person, he appeared fresh and well-rested for the first time since she’d met him and Bucky in the park. Country life agreed with him. “She yours?”

“Yeah.” Triss held onto the doorframe as she climbed over the mutt. “My 88-pound lap dog.”

The shaggy mass of ebony hair and amber eyes peered between the humans with unbridled devotion, demanding more hands on her itchy places and reassurances that she was a good girl.

“And a very good girl,” Triss conceded. “Usually.”

“Is this the same animal I heard snarling from your sister’s house when we arrived?”

Zemo, not as refreshed as Sam but still detestably polished, studied the scene from the bedroom doorway.

She glanced away quickly, afraid of a wink or a smirk and the blush they might conjure. What would happen if she looked at his legs? What if she’d left a mark?

Bless Samhain for being a golden distraction.

“She is the epitome of all bark and no bite,” Triss assured him.

“Sounds like somebody else we know,” Sam muttered.

Rolling her eyes, Triss moved past the men and down the stairs. “You are not allowed to hang out with my brother. Ever.”

“Too late?”

It didn’t hit the way Sam intended.

Triss nearly missed a step. For a split second everything went white, like she’d been struck by lightning, and the anxiety she’d largely put to bed in the night screamed awake in the darker parts of her mind. She stopped. Closed her eyes. Fucking took a minute to breathe.

Yes. Yes, she knew that. It was too late to keep the people she loved out of the world she feared, to keep them safely removed from anyone who may seek to destroy or exploit her. Too late.

Nothing to do about it now, though. Portia would set the ground rules, and she’d abide by them – force the men to abide, too. That would have to be enough.

“If you didn’t hear Trevor,” she said, forcing herself to move on, “I’m headed over to help with breakfast. We’ll send someone to let you know when it’s ready.”

Sam leaped to volunteer. “Need help?”

“Maybe another time.” She didn’t like to turn down aid, but she had the sneaking suspicion Portia didn’t have all the fury out of her system yet. A little time alone – just the sisters following old rituals in a familiar setting – would temper things. Some. Maybe. Coffee would help, too, and the caffeine needed time to work.

Samhain followed her out of the house, but the beast turned and headed for the front door when the banshee shriek of the espresso machine peeled from the kitchen. It was music to Triss’s ears, though.

Portia had a tall mug waiting for her sister, and Triss snagged the foamy latte before she even said good morning.

“Sleep well?” Portia asked, fixing her own brew.

“I slept.”

“Mm.”

Work replaced conversation. Portia knew how much to make, and Triss just chopped, stirred, and fried what she was handed. Triss imagined she could see her sister’s hackles going down as they worked to the soft morning soundtrack of Portia’s playlist and the children’s thumping feet upstairs. By the time Liz stumbled in, blurry eyed and clearly not pleased to be awake, they had everything ready to plate.

“Go let your aunt’s guests know it’s time to eat,” Portia said.

Reminded that their aunt was back, Liz glanced her way and smiled, like Triss’s return had been dismissed as a dream, and finding her at breakfast was a second reunion. They stopped to hug her, nuzzling into her neck with a sleepy, “Good morning,” before doing as they’d been told.

By the time Liz returned with two men in tow, the rest of the family had materialized, and Triss moved to make introductions. This would be painless. She wasn’t arming Zemo with the keys to her undoing by literally pointing out the smallest, most vulnerable people in her life. No one could read her mind to pick out the memory of the last time she stood in a kitchen with the man. It was fine. It would all be fine. They’d have breakfast together like civilized people and no one would get stabbed.

“This is, uh, everybody,” she stammered, gesturing to the collection of faces gathered around the long kitchen table. “My sister, Portia. You met Trevor.” The niblings. She must introduce the niblings. “The tall one is Liz. They’re thirteen. Next is – ”

“Michael!” The little blond bounced in his seat, holding up his hand like he was in class. “My name is Michael and I’m seven. And a half.”

Liz scoffed.

Triss smiled, still terrified, but glad the most soft-hearted of the crew hadn’t picked up on the tension of the previous evening. Or the current hour.

Since she, apparently, wasn’t introducing everyone fast enough, Michael pointed to the little one beside him. “This is Jacob, and he’s three, and he isn’t talking much yet, but he’s really fast and likes to sit in the grown-up chairs, even though he can barely see over the table.” A giggle and clap from the mop of brown curls beside him confirmed this.

The final child – a redheaded menace tearing apart a muffin in his highchair – shrieked in maniacal glee at his destruction, sending crumbs flying to the four winds. Samhain would be delighted.

“That’s Levi,” Michael said. No further introduction was needed.

“This is Sam Wilson and… Baron Zemo.” No need for his first name. He wasn’t allowed to get that close.

Michael gaped – thankfully at just Sam. “Are you –”

Trevor reached around to clap a hand over his son’s mouth. “Ask questions later, okay, bud? Everybody’s hungry, and it isn’t fair to ask someone to talk when they’d rather have food in their mouth. Right?”

Only partially deflated, Michael nodded, and the hand dropped. “Okay.”

As Portia assumed a seat beside the highchair, she waved everyone lingering by the door towards the open spots. “Sit and eat while it’s hot.”

Liz eyed the seat next to Michael like it had slime running down the wood, but Triss guided them by the shoulder, anyway. Sitting next to their annoying younger brother was better than the alternative, which might very well be Zemo. Triss sat beside her eldest nibling. Zemo sat beside her, and Sam sat at the end of the table, between the Baron and the kitchen door. It wasn’t terribly subtle, and Triss wondered where in the fuck he thought Zemo would run.

“I want to sit by Auntie B next time,” Michael grumbled, taking a piece of toast from the center tray.

Liz opened their mouth – probably to say something mean or contrary to start a fight – and Triss rushed to assure Michael he’d have plenty of opportunities in the coming week.

“You’re staying a whole week?”

“Probably.”

“Cool.”

Eggs, toast, and breakfast meats made their way around the table, passed in bowls and platters family-style. Triss tried very hard to ignore the implications of sharing such a meal with the man to her left, of literally sharing the family table with him. During a family meal. In her family home. With her actual family.

He was so, so close. When she passed food along, his fingers touched hers, and his elbow brushed her arm more than once. She wondered if he did it on purpose. Yeah, they didn’t have much space between them, but he’d demonstrated his awareness and control many times. He’d also demonstrated that not all accidents were so innocent after helping her ice her arm on the plane.

So long as he didn’t notice the goosebumps prickling along her forearm, everything would be okay.

He huffed as he received the tray full of breakfast meats, and she pretended she didn’t feel her body’s reaction to the sound so close to her ear. Any nearer and she’d feel his breath.

“Goetta.” He sounded surprised. “I had no idea it was popular in America.”

“Just our corner of it,” Triss assured him. Like she cared about his feelings over gaps in his knowledge.

Trevor, stepping up to cover for his wife’s lingering chill, turned the subject into a conversation. “Cincinnati’s the nearest city, and it’s very German. Historically speaking.”

Zemo nodded, adding the oatmeal-laced sausage to his plate. “It was popular in Sokovia as well, with a few differences. Like your city, we had our share of historical German influence.”

“Glad you found something familiar here.” Trevor smiled, nodded, and let the topic drop. For all his delight in terrorizing his sister, he knew a sensitive issue when he met one.

Triss suspected goetta would appear on the breakfast table more often than not in the coming days, though.

The rest of the meal went smoothly. No one died, and Liz didn’t get the opportunity to pick a fight. Levi even consumed the majority of his second muffin.

It went so well Triss decided something terrible must be coming down the line. Portia didn’t give her time to chew over her fears, though. Once the elder sister had her youngest scrubbed clean of sticky crumbs, she hoisted him on her hip and turned her attention Triss’s way.

“We’re going grocery shopping to feed your little army. Hon,” she turned to Trevor, “can you handle things here?”

He kissed her forehead, careful to make loud smacking sounds to disgust his children. “Of course. I’ll even watch Triss’s boys for her.”

Amid the chorus of grossed out shouts, Michael realized everyone was finished eating. And his questions came flying.

“So you’re the real Falcon?”

Sam grinned, crossing his arms in a little pose for the kid. “One and only.”

“Since you’re staying in Auntie B’s house, does that mean you’re all uncles now?”

Sam easily laughed off the question, but Triss choked on her last sip of water and all but fell out of her chair in an effort to escape the table. She didn’t have to look to see Zemo’s laughing eyes on her. She felt them. His and everyone else’s.

“Nope,” she croaked, still half-drowning. “I – uh – I’ve gotta go get my shoes now. I’ll be – I’ll meet you outside. Portia.”

She needed to get her shoes so she could run very, very far away.

The grocery store would do for the moment.

Tags List:

@dweeb-central

@nvtaliaromanovv

#zemo x reader #zemo fanfiction #baron zemo x oc #helmut zemo

[post-tenebras-luxious]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Heike Zemo/Helmut Zemo Characters: Helmut Zemo, Heike Zemo, James "Bucky" Barnes, Yelena Belova, John Walker (Marvel) Additional Tags: Multiverse, jailbreak, angsty sex, these two really love eachother, family fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mentions Pregnancy, mentions character death, probably more passionate than angsty Summary:

This is a little bit of a mulitiverse What If and an exploration into what I felt like had to have been a passionate marriage. I am a die hard for Zemo and wanted to explore his feelings for his wife, and who she could be as a character. I don't care if he has a past and makes catastrophically questionable decisions, I want this man to have a happy ending.

#helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo smut #helmut zemo #baron zemo fanfiction #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #zemo smut #zemo fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction

[marvelslittlewhore]

I need fictional dick

- Makayla 💜

#zemo fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fanfic #marvel smut #loki smut #loki imagine

[blu-3-ey-3-s]

Just three besties ☺️

#tfatws #sam wilson x reader #sambucky #baron zemo #zemo fanfiction #bucky x zemo #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #tws #the falcon #sam wilson #sam x zemo #marvel stuff #marvel #anthony mackie #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan #sebstan #sebstanedit #james barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky fic #bucky #captain america #steve rogers

[therenlover]

Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic

"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~

-------------

“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”

The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin? 

Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,” 

“Apologies,” 

He didn’t mean it. 

“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”

His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.

For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that. 

They would see lovers.

The thought left a lump in my throat. 

Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though. 

Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.

I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed. 

“Bad?” I asked.

He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”

A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,” 

“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,” 

As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated. 

Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit. 

Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,” 

“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges. 

“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,” 

I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,” 

Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with. 

I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap. 

There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then. 

The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.

“I saw your concert,” 

I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“ 

“James mentioned it,” 

“You still talk to Bucky?” 

“Here and there,” 

The conversation lapsed into silence. 

He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand. 

The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…

“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?” 

Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.” 

I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down. 

“Cain misses you,” He continued. 

I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought. 

“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,” 

“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,” 

“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,” 

“And what of Brutus?”

“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”

“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”

I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?” 

“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words. 

I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?” 

It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place. 

I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to. 

How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me? 

And that was why I had to leave. 

Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms. 

No. I couldn’t let it happen. 

Not again. 

“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,” 

Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,” 

“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached. 

“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again. 

Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.

Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed? 

How had I not noticed his docility until now?

The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…

I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance. 

Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork. 

With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten. 

“Lost your appetite?” 

He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb. 

Finally, it came. 

“I’m sorry,” 

I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction. 

More, I would not give him hope.

“Come home, schatz,”  

There it was. 

I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would. 

“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,” 

He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”

“I know,” The words were a whisper. 

So this was closure? 

The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end. 

“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,” 

I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“

“I want to,”

His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.

“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,” 

“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar. 

“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”

I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”

“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?” 

We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.” 

“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,” 

“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it. 

“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,” 

We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me. 

By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.

Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t. 

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street. 

“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet. 

Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” 

“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm. 

I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off. 

The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps. 

We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met. 

It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…

He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.

I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line. 

My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”

His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?” 

“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,” 

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building. 

It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late. 

We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air. 

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us. 

Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,” 

“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,” 

“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered. 

“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.  

He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,” 

My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out. 

“Goodbye, Helmut,” 

“Sleep well, schatz,” 

I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look. 

My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by. 

I had done the right thing. 

I had to have done the right thing. 

Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he? 

All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right. 

Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked. 

We didn’t need words then. 

No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified. 

He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed. 

At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart. 

It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did. 

This time I didn’t want to. 

Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?” 

I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,” 

“Please, stop trying,”

With that, he caught me in another kiss. 

“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home  I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses. 

The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.

Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip. 

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,” 

Ah. So that’s what this is. 

“Helmut, of course I do-“ 

“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,” 

The rest went unsaid. 

(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)

I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,” 

Like a shot, we were off to the races again. 

It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately. 

His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise. 

I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become. 

Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch. 

He shuddered at my attentions. 

“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely? 

I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” 

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees. 

“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip. 

I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move. 

How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly. 

I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,” 

There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt. 

It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good. 

Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound. 

He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.

By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess. 

He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.

“How was that, my love,” 

I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,” 

Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,” 

“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent. 

He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,” 

It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”

His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly. 

“Again,” 

“Helmut,” 

“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,” 

I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,” 

“Where are your condoms?” 

“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,” 

He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case. 

It felt odd to have him be the one using them. 

There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew. 

I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…

He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?” 

“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.

Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared. 

So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat. 

It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete. 

Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it. 

There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 

As always, Helmut followed me down. 

His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.

We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.

Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me. 

The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck. 

I broke the peace between us. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,” 

He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,” 

“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”

“Schatz, please,” 

“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“ 

Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder. 

“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,” 

“Sorry,” 

“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,” 

A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear. 

“Thank you,” 

“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,” 

“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.” 

“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,” 

For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.

---------

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #daniel brühl #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #zemo smut #marvel smut

[morguevampire]

(Un) Fortunate Encounters -Chapter 2

Chapter One

Masterlist for this fic

summary:  After being questioned by the FBI about an accidental interaction with a wanted criminal you thought your life would go back to being as mundane as it has always been. How wrong you were to think you could just go back to normal when come the next day you would find yourself being bound to a chair in a fucking warehouse.

warnings/tags: fluff, smut, angst, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of torture, drinking, mild alcoholism, dark themes, slow build romance, not really Stockholm syndrome but that’s up for interpretation 

chapter: 2/?

word count: 2.938k

pairings: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader

author’s note: Right folks - time for chapter two! 

Note that this will be a very slow build at the beginning, meaning actual interaction with Helmut Zemo will probably only start in chapter four. (I do hope you will find it worth it) Currently already working on chapter three as well - so please be patient. 

My personal disclaimer as always is that I am not an englisch native and will therefore most likely make some mistakes. Please don't hesitate to contact me should I have messed up.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think so far! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. 

Muchos besos, mis amores <3

You can also find this work on https://archiveofourown.org/works/43158162/chapters/108466263

The second time you wake up that morning (or is it midday..., perhaps even afternoon?) you’re not in your apartment anymore. Instead you find yourself tied to a chair in a dark room in some kind of warehouse. It’s quiet, aside from the pounding inside your head. An eerie feeling is settling over you, becoming more intense as your mind tries to grasp what happened, how you ended up here. Your first instinct is to scream but there’s duct tape covering your mouth. You shut your eyes again, wishing for this to be a terrible nightmare. You try to wiggle out of your bounds, unsuccessfully. Whoever dragged you here knows stuff about bondage and you’re too much of a weakling to get them off anyways. Panic starts settling in and it all only becomes worse once you hear footsteps echoing from afar. It must be him. Zemo probably discovered the FBI were onto him and now needs to get rid of the woman who made the mistake of running into him. But why not just kill you immediately? Why drag you to a dodgy warehouse? He seems to not care about the loss of innocent lives anyways, considering the attack on the UN building. Your thoughts are interrupted by two man coming out of the shadows. Both of them most definitely not being Zemo but perhaps associates? They look quite scary – that’s for sure. Tall, bulky and extremely angry looking. You begin to squirm in your chair once again. Not quite sure what to hope for, even if you ran, there would be no guaranty that you could get out alive.

“So, the bitch finally woke up.” One of the men, the slightly shorter one with the dirty blond hair huffed.

The other man steps up towards you, his finger already on the left end of the duct tape covering your mouth.

“Listen now, it’s of no use to anybody if you scream once I remove this. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to hear you and we simply want to ask you a few questions. Understood?”

You can’t bear looking into his eyes, your whole body is shaking while you slightly nod. Tears already burning in your eyes. You wanted to throw up, or pee your pants or whatever the fuck people do when they are scared shitless.

Ripping off the duct tape is painful but if only you knew how much more painful this whole “questioning” would become.

“Alright. If you want this to be over quickly, be a good girl and answer me this simple question:” The taller one inquires while scooting another chair in front of you. The other man is off somewhere out of the corner of your eye, the only thing you can make out is water running into a bucket and the air becoming even more humid than before.

“Where is Helmut Zemo?”

Your eyes widen. Not understanding this situation at all. Were they not here in duty of the Baron? Were they FBI as well? The bad cops? The really bad, desperate ruthless ones? You shake your head no. Frantically trying to explain that you had no idea where he was. That you were just a normal, boring person who had a 9 to 5 and never did anything illegal in her life, besides maybe underage drinking in high school. You simply ran into Helmut Zemo without even knowing and you already got questioned by the FBI. You knew about the man as much as the media would report on him and you had zero ties to the avengers or anybody associated with him.

You could tell the man opposite of you was annoyed. Shaking his head and shushing you.

“See, we know the FBI already questioned you and we don’t work like the FBI. We don’t need those rules. And you won’t be able to pull off your I-know-nothing bullshit with us. You either tell us his whereabouts or this is going to be a looooong night, darling.”

That’s when the other man appeared again. Carrying a huge bucket with water. You gulped as he untied your legs from the chair, forcing you to your knees, which sent a wave of pain through your body as they made contact with the cold, hard concrete floor. You’ve read about water torture and all you wanted to do - in prospect of what you feared was about to happen - was scream and cry for your mum.

“I swear. Please I swear that I do not have any connection to Zemo. I don’t know him, I haven’t even talked to him. I bumped into him on accident. Plea...”

You begged but to no avail as suddenly a sharp pain shot through your already aching head as you were pulled by your hair and forcefully dipped underwater. You didn’t have any time to get air into your lungs, so water got into every available opening in your face, burning up your nose and your windpipes. At least the desperation to breath distracted you from how cold the water was. After too long but probably about only half a minute your head was pulled out again and immediately the questions shot out of the man again, while you were desperately trying to breath and at the same time not suffocate on the water you swallowed. Water in your ears made everything sound dull but you could still clearly tell the questions were still about Helmut Zemo. Only this time you didn’t even manage to properly reply in the negative before your head was underwater again.

This continued on for quite a while. Everything hurt and burnt and every time your head was out of the water you could feel hot tears on your face while sobs and violent coughs were wrecking through your body. This was worse than anything you had ever experienced in your life. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t have any information. If you did you would give it away immediately. You just wanted the pain and suffering to go away. You wanted it to stop. To go home and hide forever and never set a foot out of your apartment again.

You could tell the two men were becoming more and more frustrated with you as well. Throwing around vile curse words and yanking you even more forcefully in and out of the bucket. You stopped counting how many times you got dunked but at one point the taller man must have had enough of your lack of knowledge about Zemo, so that he decided punching you right in the face might help bring your memories back. You felt blood running down your cheek and dripping into the bucket, giving the water a light pink taint.

If your head hadn’t exploded just yet, you figured now might just be a good time. You honestly just wanted to die. What did it matter anyways? You didn’t know shit about Zemo and you certainly wouldn’t recover from the trauma, if you ever made it out alive from this shithole.

At least after the forceful punch to your left eye the water torture stopped and the hand pulling up your head dropped. Like a sack of potatoes, you slumped on your side, silently wailing in a fetus position while the two men whispered to each other.

Some time passed until a kick in your rips forced you out of your pain induced delusion.

“Right darling. We’ll give you one more chance. You tell us where the fuck Helmut Zemo is hiding and we’ll let you go.”

He knelt down in front of you, snarling into your face while forcefully holding your chin in his hands, twisting your head into an uncomfortable position. “But…, if you don’t speak up now, we really do have no other option but to use other, more painful measures.” The hand grabbing your chin was replaced by the barrel of a gun.

You completely froze. You knew this was it. Perhaps making something up would work but they’d find you anyways, knowing you bullshitted them and death seemed like a sweet release at this point. You wondered when the phenomena of “the light at the end of the tunnel / your life flashing behind your eyes in seconds” would set in but just as you were about to mumble that you really did not know anything and maybe plead one last time to let you go, a gunshot rang through the building.

It seemed like everything stopped for a milli-second until there was a scream from the shorter man and suddenly another gunshot.

It got unpleasantly quiet. You shut your eyes, no thoughts ran through your head except that death didn’t feel any different. The pain was still there, you still felt the cold floor under your body and you could smell the blood dripping from your face. In a way you were disappointed, you thought dying would relieve you of everything. You were never a religious person, but you did believe that death felt like floating. A numb floating, no negative feelings, yet also no positive ones. Just aimless floating.

When you once again heard steps coming towards you, you realized that perhaps you weren’t even dead. You opened your eyes just to come face to face with your kidnapper, his lifeless eyes staring right at you. He must have been shot and has fallen right in front of you. Blood was still oozing out of his body and you could slowly feel it running towards your lying form, soaking the thin cloth of your pajamas.

The footsteps were definitely descending from somewhere now, getting closer. You decided to shut your eyes again, too afraid to see who else decided to have their way with you. You’ve already kind of made peace with the fact that you were going to die and you made the decision to simply not look into your murderer’s eyes once it happens.

The louder the footsteps became the more panic rushed through your body. It surprised you that only then an anxiety attack would overtake you. It suddenly felt hard to breath and a wave of ugly sobs rushed through your aching ribcage. You felt almost pathetic, silently stuttering “please, please, please…” over and over again. Your ears were ringing, still abused from all the water but you picked up the sound of the new intruder dragging the dead man’s body away from you, most likely to get a better shot at you.

Your shaking from barely registered the gentle touch of a hand running over your shoulder. “Shhh, hey…”

You opened your eyes abruptly, recognizing the deep, raspy voice with the accent even though you’ve only heard it once in your life. It was him. Definitely. In a long grey trench coat with a fur collar framing his masked face. He took off the purple disguise before continuing.

“It’s alright. You’re ok. You’re safe now.”

Helmut Zemo was kneeling in front of you, a golden gun right next to his knee. Looking down with furrowed, worried brows on your miserable, hurt form.

Your mind was still trying to make sense of it all but you came to no conclusion as you slowly drifted out of consciousness once again.

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[mlmxreader]

All Yours | Helmut Zemo x gn!reader

@befreebehappya012 asked: Could I please request “I don’t give a fuck” from Jack’s bored prompts with Zemo and gender neutral reader..? Maybe its some sort of undercover situation but things get spicy? Or it could be anything man wherever you feel like going with this!!!

summary: you and Zemo have to pose as a rich and wealthy couple for a night, but when you run into a certain someone you’ve been looking for since you met him, Zemo can’t help but to get a little jealous. 

tws: swearing, cigarettes, jealousy, a little bit of possession, choking kink, sexual references, alcohol 

word count: 2040

MINORS DNI

You and Zemo were nominated as the ones to go to some fancy event to see if you could gather some information on something that, if you were honest, you didn’t really give a shit about; you only bothered to join Zemo, Sam and Bucky after you had found out that your original partner, Frank Castle, had gone missing. Frank was your friend, as well as the person you fought alongside, and you wanted to find him - you wanted to know that he was safe after his mug was plastered everywhere, something to do with being wanted for murder. Again. Sam offered you a place on his team, just until you managed to find Frank, and you agreed; but what you didn’t expect was that when you did join them, you found a sort of soft spot growing for a certain Baron. 

You hated it to begin with, the thought of wanting to be with someone who undoubtedly would have given up your friend if he saw him, but then you came to realise - Zemo wouldn’t give up Frank. Not just because he despised super soldiers and the Avengers, but because he was… he was kind of a decent guy. 

So here you were, dressed your finest as you sipped on some disgusting champagne that made your mouth feel dry and left a bad taste on the tip of your tongue, crushed into Zemo’s side as he played the part of your darling false-husband; he played it well, and you tried to do your best, trying to push down the feelings that you wished the relationship was real as you wrapped an arm around his waist and smiled politely and nodded along. He was better off doing the talking, you were sure that you would have called someone a cunt within seconds if you so much as thought about opening your mouth. It was going well, though, or at least that’s what you guessed from Sam’s texts, encouragement and praise through the phone every time you checked it; but as Zemo was talking to some hot-shot lawyer you thought you recognised, eerily familiar red glasses and a soft laugh you could have sworn you had heard before but couldn’t place it, you caught the man you were looking for. 

“Excuse me,” you pressed your glass into Zemo’s hand as you cleared your throat, slipping out of his grasp and feeling somewhat… empty at the sensation, like something was missing the second you let him ago. You were quick to cross the room. 

You followed the man outside, and when you saw there was no one around, you grinned, and ran over, wrapping your arms around his waist tightly as you crashed into his chest. 

“Frank, you fucking bastard!” 

A grumbling laugh left Frank’s mouth as he dared to smile, his hand between your shoulder blades as he shook his head. “This place is a bit upper class for you, isn’t it?”

You slapped his shoulder gently as you shook your head, letting out a scoff. “And it’s not a bit upper class for you?”

“What are you doing here, (y/n)?” He asked, his voice dropping low as he pulled you a little closer, practically growling in your ear. 

You shrugged, gesturing to him. “I teamed up with Captain America… he said I could join his team while I looked for you.” 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Frank shook his head, pushing you away slightly as he dared to reach into his pocket, handing you the packet of cigarettes you had left in his coat pocket the last time you were together. “If the law finds out you help me-” 

“Frank, you’re my best friend,” you insisted. “If you go down, I’m going there with you.” 

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. “Have you seen a lawyer around? Red glasses, carries a cane - probably flirting with everyone and pissing them off.” 

“Yeah,” you turned around, but through the large windows, you couldn’t see Zemo stood with the lawyer, which made you frown as you furrowed your brows. “He, uh, he’s over there, he was with…” 

“With wh-”

“Baron Helmut Zemo,” the voice made you turn around again, a surprised look coming to your face as your gaze met Zemo’s, but something was off, he looked… he looked like he was angry. He extended his hand Frank’s way. “(y/n)’s husband.” 

Frank raised his brows as he looked between you and Zemo, a smile coming to his face. “Really? And when did this happen?”

“Uh-” 

“A couple of days ago,” Zemo growled, staring Frank down. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. “And who, might I ask, are you?”

Frank licked his lips, shaking his head as he took in a harsh breath. “I’m the guy you don’t wanna fuck with.” 

“Frank,” you grumbled, shaking your head. “Play nice.” 

“Me? Play nice?” He scoffed. “What about your so-called husband? He gotta play nice, too?”

You rolled your eyes as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Frank. Please.” 

“I gotta see a lawyer,” Frank replied, “you let me know when you’re alone, and we’ll… we’ll talk.” 

As he brushed past you, you felt him slip something into your pocket, making you want to call out to him, but before you could even think about it, Zemo cleared his throat, looking at you with that animosity again. 

“Who was that?” 

“That was my best friend,” you explained, “that was Frank Castle.” 

“He was getting a bit too close for just a friend,” Zemo growled. 

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side as you looked at him. “What do you care?” 

Gently, he let go of you, bringing a hand up to cup your jaw gently as he let out a quiet sigh. “Because I… I don’t want you to leave.” 

You smiled, biting at the inside of your lip as you looked him up and down. Finally, that look on his face made a lot more sense than you first thought. “You’re jealous.” 

“Well-” 

“You’re fucking jealous,” you laughed, the sound musical as it left you. “You’re fucking jealous - of Frank?”

“Quiet,” he almost demanded, but you kept laughing. Thinking quickly, Zemo closed the distance, kissing you harshly, both hands now on your face as he kept you close, not expecting you to kiss him back, a wave of even more shock rolling over him when you buried one hand in his hair, waiting for him to drop his grip down to your sides so that you could grab the collar of his shirt. 

Clumsily, he backed you up against the nearest wall, hidden in the darkness as he pinned you against it, his hands either side of your head, pressed against the cold stones as he continued to kiss you roughly, harshly, drawing a soft moan from your lips; it was enough to make you moan, enough to make you roll your hips, your open mouth giving him a split second chance for him to slip his tongue between your lips and claim you for his own. You brought your thigh up to his hip, gasping softly when he roughly grasped your flesh, keeping you pinned there between the wall and his body as he finally pulled away, nipping at your bottom lip. 

“Are you still jealous of Frank?”

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” he hissed, and when you licked your hips, he had to stifle the urge to kiss you again. 

“Oh, I don’t give a fuck about what you tell me to do,” you teased, bringing your hand down to his belt and tugging at it. “You should know that by now - I don’t take orders.”

Zemo shook his head, dropping your leg from his grip as he laid his hand on your throat. “Do you want me to squeeze it?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” you chuckled, a grin coming to your lips when he applied a little pressure. “Kiss me while you choke me, won’t you?”

He let out a soft moan beneath his breath, applying a little more pressure as he dared to lean in again; he was rougher this time, your moans coming from the back of your throat quicker. This time, though, it was all open mouths and tongue and teeth as you brought both legs up and around his waist, one hand on his shoulder, the other tangled in his hair as he kept one hand on your throat, the other going to your ass and squeezing gently. He pulled back, removing his hand from your throat so that he could grab your thigh instead, burying his face against your neck for a few seconds, just to catch his breath, before he bit down on your most sensitive spot, sucking on the flesh as you softly moaned his name and bucked your hips against him; he did it again, marking your skin as if he was claiming you for himself. He knew what he was doing, getting you going, and you did resent him a little for it. 

“Zemo, you know if we fuck here, we could get caught,” you grumbled, tilting your head back against the cool stones to give him better access to your throat. “You realise that, right?”

Zemo knew, he just wanted to tease you until he could get you back to his flat, back to somewhere private where interruptions could not happen; he pulled away, letting you go but keeping you trapped between the wall and his body, his hands splayed out either side of your head as he licked his lips and smile. “I want you to come home with me.” 

You shook your head as you dared to sigh. “I can’t. Not tonight. I have to speak to Frank.” 

“Please,” he took your hand from his shoulder, lacing his fingers with yours as he frowned and shook his head. “(y/n).”

“Zemo, as much as I’d like you to fuck me, I have to speak to Frank,” you told him gently. “Frank’s my best friend, and you… as much as it pains me to say, you’re just my temporary teammate who I might fuck.” 

“I don’t want us to be that,” he muttered, letting go of your hand and taking a step back. “Seeing you with him… it made me… it made me realise I don’t want to be just teammates.” 

You dared to smile, gently pulling him closer so that you could press a kiss to his cheek. “I want that, too, but I spent so long looking for Frank that I-”

“Then speak to him,” Zemo said quietly. “Speak to him, and then come get me.” 

You were about to wander off to go and find Frank when he caught your wrist gently, pulling you flush with his chest as he smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth. “What?”

“Make sure you tell him who you belong to,” he whispered, “and that lawyer he kept speaking about.” 

“I have a better idea,” you mused, humming softly. “Why don’t you come with me to speak to them? Then they’ll definitely know. Everyone inside will, too. Especially if you kiss me like you did just then.” 

He laughed softly as he nodded, his arm finding its way around your waist as he let you lead him back inside; the way you leaned into him and kept your arm around him and how you stole a look at him every now and then, he had no doubt that he would almost certainly kiss you the same way. 

“If you do manage to find Frank,” he whispered in your ear, “will you come home with me?”

“I can guarantee you that I will,” you muttered back. “Who knows? I might even stay.” 

Zemo could hardly contain his smile as he cleared his throat and pulled you a little closer. “Even if you go back to working with him?”

“Even then,” you nodded. 

Daring to steal a quick kiss, Zemo made sure to keep you close as a single word came from him quietly, almost like a prayer, “mine.” 

“All yours, Baron,” you said softly. “All yours and no one else’s.” 

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