#Helmut Zemo fanfiction

[andy-15-07]

A Love Unscripted

Summary: Daniel and Y/N, co-stars on a film set, experience an intense connection that quickly blossoms into love. As they navigate their deepening relationship, they find that their off-screen romance becomes the greatest story of their lives.

Paring: Daniel Brühl x reader

Words count: 2907

Daniel Brühl Masterlist | Masterlist

It was a bright, crisp morning in Berlin, and the air buzzed with excitement as the cast and crew gathered for the first day of shooting. This was no ordinary film set—this was the next big project from a critically acclaimed director, and everyone knew it had the potential to be a masterpiece. The title of the film, still under wraps, hinted at a deep, emotional journey that would challenge both the actors and the audience.

Y/N arrived on set with a mix of nerves and excitement, feeling the weight of this opportunity. It was their first major role, and although they had done their fair share of indie films and theater, this was different. The script had resonated deeply with Y/N when they first read it, and they knew this role could be a turning point in their career.

As Y/N stepped out of their trailer, adjusting the costume that already felt like a second skin, they noticed a familiar face on set. Daniel Brühl was speaking with the director, his warm, easygoing smile lighting up his features. Y/N had always admired Daniel’s work from afar—the subtlety of his performances, the way he could convey so much with just a glance or a slight change in his expression. Meeting him in person, however, was something they hadn’t quite prepared for.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N walked over to where Daniel and the director were chatting. As they approached, the director noticed Y/N and smiled broadly. "Ah, Y/N! Perfect timing. Come meet your co-star."

Daniel turned towards Y/N, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. His eyes met Y/N’s, and there was an unmistakable spark—a connection that went beyond the usual pleasantries of a first meeting. Daniel’s smile widened, and there was a warmth in his gaze that immediately put Y/N at ease.

“Hi, I’m Daniel,” he said, extending his hand.

“Y/N,” they replied, shaking his hand. The touch lingered a bit longer than necessary, and Y/N felt a strange but pleasant flutter in their chest.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Daniel continued, his voice smooth and genuinely kind. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

Y/N chuckled, trying to ignore the heat rising to their cheeks. “Well, I hope I can live up to the hype.”

“I’m sure you will,” Daniel said, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. “I watched some of your previous work. You’re really talented.”

Y/N was caught off guard by the compliment. “Thank you, that means a lot coming from you.”

Before the conversation could continue, the director clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s get started! We’ve got a lot to cover today.”

The first scene they were shooting was a pivotal one—an intense confrontation between Y/N and Daniel’s characters. The air was charged with anticipation as the crew set up the shot. Y/N took their position, trying to focus on the character’s emotions, but found themselves distracted by the fact that Daniel was standing so close.

Daniel, sensing Y/N’s nervousness, leaned in slightly and whispered, “Don’t worry, just be in the moment. We’ve got this.”

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath. As soon as the director called “Action,” the transformation was instantaneous. Y/N slipped into their character’s mindset, and the world around them faded away. The scene required them to confront Daniel’s character, emotions running high as they delivered their lines with a mixture of anger and vulnerability.

Daniel was incredible. His performance was raw, powerful, and it drew Y/N in, making it easy to react naturally. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and it crackled with intensity, as if they had known each other for years instead of mere minutes.

When the director finally called “Cut,” there was a moment of stunned silence on set. Y/N blinked, coming back to reality, and noticed that the crew was staring at them with something like awe. The director had a wide grin on his face.

“That was fantastic!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “The chemistry between you two is electric. If we can capture even a fraction of that in every scene, we’ve got something truly special here.”

Y/N glanced over at Daniel, who was still looking at them with that same warm smile. “You were amazing,” he said softly, his eyes full of admiration.

“So were you,” Y/N replied, feeling the flutter in their chest return.

As the day progressed, the initial nerves melted away. Daniel and Y/N fell into an easy rhythm, their connection both on and off-screen growing stronger with each take. Between scenes, they would chat about everything from their favorite films to their experiences growing up in different parts of the world. They discovered they had a lot in common—a shared love for classic cinema, a penchant for exploring new places, and a mutual respect for the craft of acting.

During lunch, they found themselves sitting together, away from the rest of the cast and crew. It wasn’t intentional, but it felt natural, as if they had always gravitated toward each other. As they ate, their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and the occasional teasing remark.

“You know,” Daniel said, leaning back in his chair, “I didn’t expect to meet someone who’s as passionate about cinema as I am.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth in their heart. “I could say the same about you. It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it.”

Daniel nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s rare to find someone who really understands what it’s like to lose yourself in a role, to feel that connection with the character and the story. I can tell you’re someone who does.”

Y/N looked at Daniel, their eyes meeting once again. There was something in his gaze that made their heart skip a beat—an intensity, a depth that went beyond mere attraction. It was as if they were seeing each other, truly seeing each other, for the first time.

“I feel the same way,” Y/N admitted, their voice soft but sincere. “There’s something about this project, about working with you… It feels different. Special.”

Daniel’s gaze softened, and he reached across the table, his hand gently covering Y/N’s. “I feel it too,” he said quietly. “I think this could be the start of something really wonderful.”

The rest of the shoot passed in a blur. Days turned into weeks, and with each passing moment, Y/N and Daniel’s connection deepened. Their scenes together were electric, filled with a chemistry that was palpable to everyone on set. Off-camera, they spent more and more time together, often finding excuses to stay late after a day of shooting just to talk, to be in each other’s company.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of filming, they decided to take a walk around the city. The night was cool, the streets quiet as they wandered aimlessly, talking about everything and nothing. Daniel seemed more relaxed than usual, his usual charisma softened by the late hour and the intimacy of the moment.

As they walked along the Spree River, the moonlight reflecting off the water, Daniel suddenly stopped. Y/N, who had been in the middle of a story, turned to look at him in surprise.

“Is everything okay?” Y/N asked, concerned.

Daniel smiled, a little sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s just… I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

Y/N’s heart began to race, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation bubbling up inside them. “What is it?”

Daniel hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

The question caught Y/N off guard. They stared at Daniel, their mind racing. Did they believe in love at first sight? They had always thought it was something that only happened in movies, in the stories they told on screen. But as they looked into Daniel’s eyes, so full of sincerity and something deeper, something that felt a lot like love, they found themselves reconsidering.

“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied honestly. “But… I think I might be starting to.”

Daniel’s smile widened, and without another word, he took a step closer. The distance between them disappeared as he gently cupped Y/N’s face in his hands, his touch warm and reassuring. Y/N’s breath caught in their throat as Daniel leaned in, his lips brushing theirs in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and full of unspoken emotions.

The world seemed to fade away in that moment. There was no film set, no crew, no cameras—just the two of them, standing by the river, lost in each other. The kiss deepened, and Y/N felt a warmth spread through their entire body, a sense of rightness, of inevitability, as if this was exactly where they were meant to be.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they shared a quiet moment of connection.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment we met,” Daniel admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled, their heart full. “So have I.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. It was a perfect moment, the kind that Y/N had only ever experienced in the movies they loved so much. But this wasn’t a script, and this wasn’t a role. This was real, and it was happening to them.

As they walked back to their hotel, hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like they were living in a dream. But it was better than any dream they could have imagined—because it was real, and it was theirs.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions, both on and off set. Their relationship blossomed quietly, just under the radar of the curious eyes of the cast and crew. Though they kept it professional during filming, it was impossible to hide the subtle glances, the shared smiles, and the way their hands would brush as they passed each other by.

Y/N found themselves falling deeper for Daniel with every passing day. He was kind and considerate, with a sense of humor that caught them off guard and made them laugh when they least expected it. They had never felt this way before, and it scared them as much as it thrilled them. But there was a comfort in Daniel’s presence, a sense of safety that made them feel like everything was going to be okay.

One afternoon, they had a rare day off from shooting, and Daniel suggested they explore the city together. Berlin was full of history and culture, and though Y/N had been there for weeks, they hadn’t had much time to truly experience it.

They spent the day wandering through art galleries and museums, stopping at cafes for coffee and pastries. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how Daniel seemed to know all the best spots, the hidden gems that only locals frequented. He would tell stories about the city’s history, pointing out landmarks and sharing little anecdotes that made Y/N feel like they were getting a private tour from someone who truly loved the place.

As the day turned into evening, they found themselves at a small, cozy restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The candlelit atmosphere was intimate, and Y/N could feel their heart racing as they sat across from Daniel, the flickering light casting shadows across his handsome features.

“This place is beautiful,” Y/N said, looking around at the warm, inviting decor. “How did you find it?”

Daniel smiled, a little shyly. “I’ve been here a few times. It’s one of my favorite spots in the city. I thought you might like it.”

Y/N reached across the table, taking his hand in theirs. “I love it. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Daniel’s eyes softened, and he squeezed Y/N’s hand gently. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he began, his voice serious.

Y/N felt a flutter of nerves in their stomach. “What is it?”

Daniel hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but… I can’t help the way I feel. From the moment we met, I felt this connection between us, something I’ve never experienced before. I don’t want to scare you off, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in their throat, their heart pounding in their chest. They had felt it too, but hearing Daniel say it out loud made it all the more real, all the more intense.

“I feel the same way,” Y/N admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been trying to make sense of it, but… I think I’m falling for you too.”

The relief in Daniel’s eyes was palpable, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He stood up from his seat, moving to sit beside Y/N, and pulled them into a gentle embrace. Y/N melted into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against theirs, the steady beat of his heart under their cheek.

For a while, they just sat there, holding each other, letting the world outside fade away. It was as if time had stopped, leaving just the two of them in their own little bubble of happiness. They talked quietly, sharing their hopes and dreams, their fears and insecurities. It was easy to be vulnerable with Daniel, easy to let down the walls they had built around their heart.

As the evening wore on, they decided to head back to the hotel, their hands intertwined as they walked through the quiet streets. The city was alive with the soft hum of nightlife, but Y/N only had eyes for Daniel, who looked at them with such affection that it made their heart ache in the best possible way.

When they reached Y/N’s hotel room, they lingered outside the door, neither of them wanting the night to end. Daniel brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face, his touch tender and full of longing.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly, his voice full of emotion.

Y/N nodded, their heart racing. They opened the door, leading Daniel inside, and as soon as it closed behind them, he pulled them into a deep, passionate kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of all the emotions they had been holding back, all the desire and affection that had been building between them since the day they met.

They stumbled toward the bed, their lips never breaking contact, and as they fell into the soft sheets, Y/N knew this was where they were meant to be—wrapped in Daniel’s arms, lost in the feeling of being loved and cherished by someone who saw them for who they truly were.

The night was a blur of whispered words and tender touches, of shared laughter and quiet moments of connection. When they finally drifted off to sleep, tangled up in each other, Y/N felt a peace they had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of their life had finally fallen into place, and they knew, deep in their heart, that this was just the beginning of something truly beautiful.

The next morning, they woke up to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains. Daniel was still asleep beside them, his face peaceful and relaxed, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile as they watched him. They had never felt this content, this happy, and they knew they had found something special, something worth holding onto.

As Daniel stirred awake, his eyes meeting Y/N’s with a sleepy smile, they leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good morning,” Y/N whispered, their voice full of affection.

“Good morning,” Daniel replied, his voice husky with sleep. He pulled Y/N closer, his arms wrapping around them as if he never wanted to let go. “Last night was… incredible.”

“It was,” Y/N agreed, their heart swelling with emotion. “I don’t want this to end.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Daniel said, his gaze serious. “I meant what I said last night. I’m falling for you, Y/N, and I want to see where this goes. I don’t care about the logistics or what anyone else thinks. All I know is that I want to be with you.”

Tears pricked at Y/N’s eyes as they looked into Daniel’s sincere gaze. They had been so afraid to let themselves fall, but now that they had, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“I want that too,” Y/N said, their voice choked with emotion. “I want to be with you, Daniel.”

He smiled, a smile so full of warmth and love that it took Y/N’s breath away. “Then let’s make it happen. We’ll figure it out together.”

And so, they did. As the film production continued, so did their relationship, growing stronger with each passing day. They faced the challenges together, navigating the complexities of a public relationship in a private world, but nothing could diminish the connection they shared.

When the film finally wrapped, and it was time to say goodbye to the set and the characters they had brought to life, Y/N and Daniel knew that this was just the beginning of their story. They had found something real, something lasting, and as they walked hand in hand into the next chapter of their lives, they knew they were ready to face whatever came next, as long as they were together.

In the end, it wasn’t just a love story scripted for the screen—it was their love story, one that would continue to unfold in ways they could never have imagined. And as they looked into each other’s eyes, they knew that this was the greatest role they would ever play, not as actors, but as themselves, deeply in love and ready to take on the world, side by side.

[bullet-prooflove]

Intoxicating - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader (NSFW)

Rated M for Smut

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower   @sapphiredreamer26   @wolfers-stuff   @zemoshatz   @1deadpool26     @majestymoon    @purebloodwitch  @blackleatherjacketz  @ marvel-starwars-kenobi-zemo ​

It’s unhinged the way you feel about Helmut, the things you let him do to you. He’s a slow burn, a controlled fire that erupts through your senses eating up every essence of your sanity as he fucks you against the vanity in the bathroom of the manor house you are currently a guest in. There’s a party going on the other side of the door, but he is relentless. His gaze fixes on yours in the mirror, and he smiles, that deliciously sinful grin as his breath ghosts across your ear.

“You’re intoxicating.” He tells you, the fabric of your dress bunched in his fist. “I could fuck you like this for hours my love, keeping you on the precipice of pleasure.”

“Please Helmut.” You whisper, reaching behind you, your fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I need you; I need you to make me come.”

He arches his hips, the new angle hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, the one that makes you cry out in ecstasy. That familiar flush is creeping across your cheeks, you bring your hand up to your lips to cover your mouth, to hide the euphoric moans that punctate the air every time he thrusts into you. His hand grasps yours, fingers entwining as he pulls it away slowly steering it towards your clit instead.

“None of that.” He chides, his teeth grazing that deviant little area underneath the curve of your jaw. “I want everybody to know how good your Baron fucks you.”

His presses your fingers against that needy little nub, guiding them in slow circles.

“Come for me my love, I want to feel you clenching around my cock.”

You feel that moment of rapture coming, it builds, and it builds until it hits you like a force of nature, swallowing you up and drinking you down. It’s violent and consuming, coursing through your body like electricity as it sears through your synapses. It’s too much, you’re drowning in it as Helmut, threads his fingers in your hair and tilts your face back towards the mirror so that your eyes meet.

“Look at me.” He rasps against your throat, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Look at what you do to me.”

He buries himself right up to the hilt, hips stuttering as he spurts deep inside you and it’s the most sensual thing you’ve ever seen because it’s a moment where he allows you to see his vulnerability, his adoration, his bliss.

It’s exhilarating the way this man loves you, the way he forces you to abandon everything else to chase your pleasure.

“I love seeing you like this.” He tells you, his lips tenderly brushing over your shoulder, his gaze drinking you in through the reflection in the mirror. “So ruined, so debauched, filled with me. There’s nothing in this world more beautiful.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[heydoaflip]

The Doctor and The Tracker | Helmut Zemo

Zombie Apocalypse AU!

Female Original Character ('Doc') x Helmut Zemo

Summary: When an unsettling discovery forces them to abandon their fragile refuge, Doc and her group face the grim reality of survival in a world that’s always closing in. As chaos erupts, one mistake pulls her away from her friends, leaving her to confront not just the undead but a haunting glimpse of something—or someone—that defies reason. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, including gun use and combat with walkers. Themes of guilt, trauma, and survival in an apocalyptic setting. Intense suspense and danger, including close encounters with the undead. Brief mention of blood and injury (medical and combat-related). Word count: 11K

oo. the tracker

The fire station had seen better days. Faded red paint curled like brittle parchment, exposing the skeleton of weathered wood and rusted metal beneath. Inside, its transformation was equal parts ingenuity and desperation, the remnants of a structured world repurposed into a fragile refuge.

The main garage, once an echo chamber of sirens and hurried boots, now sat heavy with silence. Its emptiness was stark, a hollow reminder of what this place had been. The stretcher at its center, long past its prime, sagged under the weight of makeshift supplies: jars of scavenged ointments, antiseptic bottles clouded with age, and scissors dulled by overuse. Even the shelves around it seemed tired, their contents a precarious balance of necessity and neglect.

The air smelled of old smoke and mildew, with an undercurrent of something sharper—coppery, metallic. It clung to her skin, the way fear and exhaustion clung to their lives. Above, fractured sunlight trickled through a cracked skylight, streaking the dust-filled air with muted gold.

Doc perched on a battered crate, her back stiff with focus even as the weight of exhaustion tugged at her shoulders. Her fingers moved deftly over Bucky’s arm, her gloved hands carefully cleaning the wound’s edges. The jagged stump where his right arm had been was swollen but healing, though the angry redness still clinging to the skin told her the fight wasn’t over yet.

Her movements were steady, but her mind was far from calm. Every time she looked at the wound, she saw that day—his blood on her hands, her frantic breath as she tried to stop the bleeding, the way his voice, rough and broken, had told her to keep going. She had, of course. She had done what she could, and it hadn’t been enough.

"Keep it steady," she muttered, breaking the quiet but not the tension.

Bucky obeyed without complaint, his body still under her touch. His silence wasn’t unusual, but it carried a weight today that unsettled her. His blue eyes stared past her, distant and unseeing, as if retreating to a place she couldn’t reach.

The world outside had never felt so far away. The wind rattled the station’s loose window panes, a low, mournful sound that seeped into the cracks of her thoughts.

She hesitated, the cloth pausing mid-swipe as her gaze flicked to his face, "Still holding up?"

There was a pause, long enough for her words to feel like they were swallowed by the stillness of the room.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his tone clipped and unconvincing. He shifted slightly, the old chair groaning beneath him, before adding, “You don’t have to check it every day, Doc.”

The nickname made her grimace faintly, but she didn’t bother hiding it. They all called her that now, as if it was her real name. It wasn’t. It was just another thing she’d inherited from this broken world, like the ash-streaked sky and the hollow weight in her chest.

“You know exactly why I do,” she said, picking up the antiseptic with brisk, deliberate movements.

She dabbed at the wound, glancing at him as she worked. “You’re lucky to be alive, Bucky. You know that, right?”

The words hit harder than she’d meant them to, and for a moment, she regretted saying them at all.

The words hit harder than she’d intended, and for a moment, regret tugged at her. She wasn’t trying to chastise him.

He winced—not from the antiseptic, but from the weight of the truth she’d just dropped on him.

“You’ve got a hell of a bedside manner,” he muttered dryly.

A faint smile ghosted across her face, there and gone in an instant, “You want sugar-coating? Don’t avoid me when you’re in pain.”

Her eyes flicked to his face again, and she caught the tension in his jaw, the way his left hand flexed and unflexed against his knee. He was holding something back, but so was she.

“Fair,” he limited himself by saying, his expression forever stoic.

"I mean it, Bucky," she said, her voice softer now, the edges of irritation blunted by something gentler. She paused, searching for the right words but finding none, "What happened back there—"

"It wasn’t your fault," he cut in, sharp and sudden, the words slicing through her sentence.

Her hands stilled, the antiseptic-soaked cloth hovering above his skin. He still wasn’t looking at her, his gaze fixed somewhere far away, but there was something raw in his voice that made her chest tighten.

"You don’t know that," she murmured, her tone uncertain, almost fragile.

When he turned to her, his expression caught her off guard. His eyes were unflinching, filled with a heaviness that seemed to press against the walls of the room.

"I do," he said, his voice quieter now, weighted with conviction. "There’s nothing we could’ve done. And if I had to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick, filled with everything they wouldn’t say. The sound of wind rattling the station’s loose windows barely registered as she looked back at him, her hands falling limply into her lap.

“That’s a really stupid thing to say,” she pointed out, breaking the silence. Her tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried a weight that made Bucky glance at her. “You lost an arm, Bucky. How... How are you going to do what you do?”

The question lingered in the air, and she hated how it sounded. Not accusatory, not exactly, but laced with the kind of helpless worry she tried to keep hidden.

The wind outside scraped against the building, rattling loose window panes like an uninvited guest. Dust motes danced lazily in the fractured sunlight spilling through the cracked skylight above, their slow, aimless drift a stark contrast to the unease gnawing at her thoughts.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as if weighing her words.

“What I do?” he echoed, his voice calm but edged with something unreadable.

She swallowed, her fingers brushing against the edge of the crate as though searching for stability.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said, quieter now, “You’re the one who keeps us safe out there. You hunt. You cover us when things go south. You’ve always been the one we can count on, and now...”

Her voice trailed off, the words catching in her throat.

And now I’ve ruined that.

The thought scraped against her, raw and unrelenting. She wanted to say it out loud, to scream it, but the weight of everything held her silent.

Instead, she looked away, her gaze drifting to the jagged streaks of gold on the floor, cast by the fractured skylight above. The light flickered slightly as a breeze stirred the dust, and for a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in.

The fire station was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that left room for the wrong thoughts to creep in.

“And now you’re wondering how the hell I’m gonna manage without two hands,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, almost resigned, as if he’d already resigned himself to this being his reality.

Her head snapped back toward him, her brows knitting together.

“No,” she said firmly, though not unkindly, “I’m wondering how the hell you’re going to manage when you refuse to take even five minutes to let yourself heal.”

To let me help you. It was the least she could do and, yet, he avoided her like the plague.

He leaned back in the chair, the old wood groaning faintly under his weight. The corners of his mouth quirked into a wry smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That doesn’t bring me any comfort,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes lingered on the jagged edges of his stump, the angry redness that still clung to the skin. She could still hear the sound of that day—flesh tearing, his gritted groans of pain, and her own frantic breath as she’d scrambled to stop the bleeding. The memory was vivid, each detail burned into her mind: the sickening warmth of his blood soaking her hands, the metallic tang in the air, the way her fingers had trembled as she worked.

She’d told herself it was just adrenaline, the urgency of the moment forcing her body to keep moving. But deep down, she knew the truth. She’d been terrified. Not just for him, but for all of them. Bucky had been their anchor—the one who kept them moving, kept them alive when the world outside tried to swallow them whole. Without him, what were they supposed to do?

Her chest tightened, her breath catching for a moment as her gaze drifted to the floor.

“You’re not invincible, Bucky,” she said, quieter now, her voice cracking just slightly. “I don’t know what I’d do if...”

The words hung in her throat, too heavy to say aloud. She shook her head as if the gesture could physically push the thought away, her hands brushing against the crate as though searching for something solid to hold on to.

“If what?” he asked, his voice softer now, though his stubbornness still lingered at the edges.

“If we lost you,” she finished, the words barely audible, fragile in the quiet of the room.

Her gaze flicked back to him, and for a moment, she hesitated. She wanted to leave it at that, but the truth pressed against her chest, demanding to be spoken. If I lost you.

Bucky had been one of her first friends in this fractured world, though “friend” hardly seemed strong enough for what he was to her. He’d been a constant, the steady presence she could lean on when everything else felt like it was crumbling. He was the one who didn’t flinch when things got bad, who carried the weight when the rest of them faltered.

He’d believed in her, even when she doubted herself. When she’d stumbled through those early days of survival—making mistakes, hesitating when she couldn’t afford to—he hadn’t judged her. He’d just been there, steady and unyielding, like a pillar holding up the sky. She couldn’t bear the thought of him crumbling now.

The room felt heavier after that. The air seemed to press in around her, thick with unspoken fears and unacknowledged truths.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” Bucky said after a moment. His voice was firm, steady, but his eyes betrayed him. There were cracks in the armor, faint but undeniable.

She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. But the image of that day was seared into her mind, playing on a loop she couldn’t stop. If she’d been faster, better, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. Maybe—

The sudden rattle of loose window panes snapped her out of her thoughts, the sound jolting her like a splash of cold water.

She blinked, her hand gripping the edge of the crate as if anchoring herself back to the present. The fire station felt oppressively quiet again, the faint rustle of wind outside only serving to highlight the stillness within. Her gaze flicked toward the windows, the cracked glass reflecting fragmented streaks of light onto the walls.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he said again, softer this time, as though he could sense her spiraling. “You need to let that go, Doc.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond right away. Letting go felt impossible. The weight of her own guilt was too familiar, too comfortable in a way she hated to admit.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Letting go wasn’t something she knew how to do. The weight of her guilt was a constant companion, settling into the corners of her mind like the ever-present scent of old smoke and mildew clinging to the station’s walls.

Her eyes flicked toward the windows. The wind rattled the loose panes, a mournful sound that filled the gaps in their silence. Outside, the world was as lifeless as the space they now called home, its stillness punctuated by the occasional creak of the old building settling under the weight of its history.

“It’s not that easy,” she murmured, her voice so low it barely carried across the room.

Bucky didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the floor, the tension in his shoulders softening just enough to betray the exhaustion he carried. He flexed his left hand again—a restless, automatic motion that seemed to anchor him to the moment.

The silence stretched, punctuated by the faint scrape of her gloves against the crate as she adjusted her grip. She felt her thoughts start to spiral again, looping back to the same unanswerable questions. What if she’d been faster? What if she’d done something differently that day? What if—

“You heard anything yet?” Bucky’s voice broke through her thoughts, sharp but not unkind.

She blinked, the question catching her off guard. Her fingers tensed around the edge of the crate. “No,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The thought of them hadn’t left her since they’d disappeared into the gray haze of the horizon. Steve had insisted it would be quick—one day there, one day back—but now every tick of the clock felt like it chipped away at her hope.

She could still see the supplies they had packed: the last of their ointments, a crumpled map covered in faded marker, and the small stash of ammo they couldn’t afford to spare. It hadn’t been enough then, and it certainly wasn’t enough now. A hollow ache settled in her chest as her mind played through worst-case scenarios: bartered goods gone wrong, the fragility of trust snapping like brittle glass, or worse, the things that prowled the world outside. They’d been gone too long.

The shelves behind her seemed to loom, mocking her with their emptiness. Supplies for one week, two at most, if they stretched them to breaking. And now, they were the only things keeping her from sinking entirely into panic.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward slightly, the chair creaking beneath him, “They should’ve been back by now,” he said, the words heavy with unspoken concern.

“I know.”

The words came out sharper than she intended, and guilt immediately twisted in her chest. She exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across her face.

“I know,” she repeated, softer this time.

Her gaze wandered back to the windows. The cracked glass caught the light, scattering fragmented streaks of gold onto the walls. She followed the patterns absently, trying to focus on them instead of the sinking feeling in her gut.

“They said it’d only be a day,” Bucky said, his voice taut.

“Maybe something slowed them down,” she replied, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. Her gaze didn’t leave the window. “It doesn’t mean—”

“You don’t believe that,” he interrupted, his eyes cutting to hers.

She turned to face him fully, her jaw tightening. He was right. She didn’t believe it—not really. The knot in her stomach had been twisting tighter since last night, and the longer they went without word, the harder it became to keep her worry in check.

“They’re smart,” she said finally, as if saying it aloud would make it true, “Steve wouldn’t let anything happen to them. You know that.”

The thought of them hadn’t left her since they’d disappeared into the gray haze of the horizon.

Steve had insisted it would be quick—one day there, one day back—but now every tick of the clock felt like it chipped away at her hope. She could still see the supplies they had packed: the last of their ointments, a crumpled map covered in faded marker, and the small stash of ammo they couldn’t afford to spare. It hadn’t been enough then, and it certainly wasn’t enough now.

A hollow ache settled in her chest as her mind played through worst-case scenarios: bartered goods gone wrong, the fragility of trust snapping like brittle glass, or worse, the things that prowled the world outside. They’d been gone too long. The shelves behind her seemed to loom, mocking her with their emptiness.

Supplies for one week, two at most, if they stretched them to breaking. And now, they were the only things keeping her from sinking entirely into panic.

“Steve’s smart, sure,” Bucky said, his voice hardening, “But those guys they were meeting—they’re not exactly known for playing fair.”

The traders weren’t strangers, but they weren’t friends either. Wanda’s voice echoed in her memory: calm, clinical, but sharp with unspoken warnings:

“They’ve got their own rules. Stick to the deal and walk away clean.”

Doc had wanted to ask more—who they were, what they wanted—but Vision’s grim expression had stopped her.

“We’ll be fine,” he’d said at the time, but she hadn’t missed the flicker of unease in his eyes.

Now, alone with her thoughts, she filled in the blanks they’d left open. Opportunists, Wanda had said once. People who traded in desperation. People who wouldn’t think twice about turning a deal sour if the odds tipped in their favor. The weight of their silence felt heavier now, like a storm cloud pressing against her lungs.

She didn’t know them, but she knew enough: they were exactly the kind of people who survived this world. That didn’t comfort her.

“They’ve been reliable so far,” she said, though even to her own ears, the words sounded weak.

“Reliable until they’re not,” Bucky muttered, his voice dark.

The wind rattled the panes again, louder this time. She glanced at the window, half expecting to see something lurking beyond the fractured glass. Instead, there was only the empty horizon, streaked with the dull gray light of an overcast sky.

“They’ll be fine,” she said, forcing the words out. Her voice wavered just slightly.

Bucky didn’t respond. His gaze was distant again, fixed on a spot on the floor.

“If they’re not back by tonight...” he began, his voice quieter now, “We go after them.”

Her stomach tightened. The words hung in the air, heavy with possibility.

“Bucky—”

Her gaze flicked to him. His left hand flexed unconsciously against his knee. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight—she’d seen him take down more than she cared to remember—but there was a rawness to the way he moved now. Like a violinist playing with a broken bow, every strike carried the faintest hesitation, every block an unsteady rhythm.

The fight outside the station—the way he’d faltered for half a second—still lingered in her mind. Would Natasha or Sam even agree with such a reckless idea? They’d urge patience, wouldn’t they? But patience wasn’t something she could feel at that moment.

“I mean it, Doc,” he said, cutting her off. His tone was firm, but there was a vulnerability beneath it that caught her off guard. “We can’t just sit here and wait. Not when we don’t know what’s happening.”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to tell him they needed to stay put and think things through, but the truth was, she felt the same. The thought of waiting much longer, of sitting here in the suffocating quiet while Steve, Wanda, and Vision were out there—somewhere—was unbearable.

She exhaled shakily, trying to steady the chaos in her mind. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “But I’m going with you.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward her, his expression hardening instantly. “No, you’re not.”

His tone was like a brick wall, but she barely registered it. Her chest burned with a heavy mix of determination and dread, a feeling that had been clawing at her since the moment Steve, Wanda, and Vision had left.

“Don’t start,” she said, her voice sharp, “I’m not sitting here while you go out there alone.”

“I won't go alone,” he countered, his brow furrowing deeply as he leaned toward her. “Sam and Natasha will go with me, they’ll agree with me and interject to join me. They can handle themselves, as I myself, you don’t need to get involved.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“You can handle yourself?” she snapped, gesturing toward his left arm, “You’re still getting used to—”

“That doesn’t matter,” he interrupted sharply, his voice loud enough to make her flinch. His expression softened slightly, but his tone didn’t lose its edge, “I’ve been through worse. You know that.”

She knew he was right.

Doc had seen him withstand pain most people wouldn’t survive. But all she could think of was the way his body had sagged against her that day, blood spilling over her hands as she fought to keep him alive. Her breaths were shallow now, her pulse loud in her ears.

The sound of the walkers grunting from afar that day still haunted her nights.

Her mind drifted back—unbidden—to the first moments after the attack. Wanda’s screams had echoed in her ears long after the chaos had settled, a haunting soundtrack to her own failures. She could still feel the sticky warmth of Bucky’s blood as they’d tried, futilely, to stop the bleeding.

Every memory sharpened into a vivid, unbearable ache. She’d told herself over and over it hadn’t been her fault, but she didn’t believe it.

She blinked rapidly, trying to refocus.

“I can’t just sit here, Bucky,” she said, her voice trembling with frustration, “Not again. I didn’t do enough last time, and look where that got us. If something happens to them now, while I’m hiding here, I—”

“You’re not hiding,” Bucky said, his voice cutting through her words like steel, “You’re our doctor around here, we need you in one piece. They need you alive, we all do. Who else would keep Sam from trying to play hero when he’s hurt, or patch Natasha up when she refuses to admit she’s bleeding?”

Her lips twitched despite herself, but the moment passed too quickly, leaving behind only the gnawing weight in her chest. Her gaze dropped to the floor, shame coiling in her stomach. Surviving felt like an excuse. It felt like cowardice.

“You don’t understand,” she murmured.

“I do,” Bucky said, his voice calm and measured, though a flicker of pain crossed his features, “You think I don’t know what you’re feeling? That guilt? That weight? I carry it every damn day. But it doesn’t mean you throw yourself into the fire just to make it stop.”

Her breath hitched as his words struck a nerve, unearthing emotions she’d buried too deep to face. The images she’d been trying to suppress came rushing back again: Vision’s desperate attempts to shield Wanda, the way the chaos had swallowed them whole. She’d frozen at the worst moment, and she’d felt the cost of that mistake every day since.

Her shoulders sagged, the fight momentarily draining out of her.

“You’re asking me to stay behind and do nothing,” she said softly, her voice barely audible, “But I can’t, Bucky. I can’t stand the thought of—”

“Of what?” he pressed, stepping closer, his voice softer but still firm. “Of losing them? Of losing more people? You think I don’t feel that, too?”

She looked up at him sharply, her jaw tightening.

“I know you do,” she said, though the words felt thin and insubstantial. “That’s why I hope you understand me and let me go with you.”

“You think this is about permission?” he countered, his tone softening as his gaze fixed on her, “This isn’t about what you want, Doc. It’s about what we need. And what we need is for you to stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Her heart felt heavier, his words pulling her in two directions at once. She wanted to believe him, to let the truth settle into her bones, but her guilt sat heavier. Her mind spun, latching onto his words and twisting them.

The silence between them thickened, stretching into a chasm. Doc stared at the floor, her fingers twitching against her sides as her thoughts spiraled again.

She could still hear Steve’s voice, low and steady as he’d assured her they’d be back by now. She could still see Wanda’s tentative smile, Vision’s quiet nod. If she stayed here and they didn’t come back, she wouldn’t just be failing them—she’d be failing herself.

“I have to do something,” she said, her voice trembling.

“And I have to stop you from getting yourself killed,” Bucky said, his voice softer now, but no less firm.

Her lips parted to respond, the fight still bubbling at the back of her throat, but before she could speak, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted them.

“Hey!” Sam’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and urgent.

They both turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression tight with unease.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, glancing between them, “You need to see this. Now.”

The chill outside hit harder than expected, the wind carrying with it the faint, sour scent of decay. The fire station loomed behind them, its once-vivid red paint peeling in ragged strips, exposing the weathered wood and rusting metal beneath. Around them, the forest stretched endlessly, its skeletal trees swaying against the gray horizon like brittle fingers reaching for the sky.

Sam moved ahead of them, his pace brisk but purposeful. His jacket flapped with each gust of wind, revealing a patched-up shoulder that spoke to a lifetime of survival in a world that didn’t allow for rest. His expression was sharp, his dark eyes flicking between the treetops and the undergrowth as if expecting danger to leap out at any moment.

Doc’s breath came quick and shallow, the cold air biting at her lungs. Her boots crunched against the frost-dusted ground, the sound far too loud in the eerie quiet. She struggled to suppress the rising dread, but her thoughts swirled with growing panic.

What was wrong?

Her stomach churned as memories of past close calls clawed their way to the surface—hands grasping at her ankles, lifeless eyes staring through her as she fought tooth and nail to escape. When the problem wasn’t walkers, it was about other survivors.

The last time they had to deal with survivors who weren’t at all good still didn’t bring her any good memories.

The forest around her suddenly felt too close, the looming trees pressing in, cutting off the faint light of the overcast sky.

Ahead of them, Natasha stood on a rocky outcrop that overlooked the clearing, her figure stark against the muted greens and browns of the forest. Her hair was tied back tightly, stray strands clinging to her face from the wind.

She didn’t glance back as they approached, her sharp eyes narrowing at the horizon. Her rifle was slung over her shoulder, but her hand rested on her sidearm, fingers twitching in restless anticipation.

Sam reached her first. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like,” he said, his voice tight.

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes locked on the horizon.

“They’re closer,” she said flatly. Her voice carried an edge of worry that Doc wasn’t used to hearing. “A lot closer.”

The words hit like a stone sinking in her chest. Doc stopped a few paces behind them, her hands instinctively gripping the straps of her satchel.

“Closer?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, “How close?”

Bucky stepped up beside Sam, his expression darkening as he scanned the treeline. “How close are we talking?” he asked, his voice low, measured.

Natasha exhaled slowly, the sound merging with the mournful rustling of the wind. “Close enough that we don’t have time to argue about it.”

Doc swallowed hard and turned her gaze to the treeline. At first, all she saw was the dense sprawl of trees swaying gently in the breeze. Then, movement.

Faint at first, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably unnatural. Figures staggered into view, their jerky, uneven steps disrupting the stillness. From this distance, they looked more like shadows than bodies, but the sound came next—low, guttural groans that seemed to rise from the earth itself.

Her breath caught in her throat. The walkers moved as if guided by some unseen force, their twisted forms weaving between the trees in eerie, disjointed patterns. They weren’t supposed to be here. They weren’t supposed to move like this.

“They were miles away,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “How are they already here?”

“They shouldn’t be,” Natasha replied tightly. “Two days ago, they were far enough out that we should’ve had at least a month.”

Doc���s heart raced as her thoughts spiraled. She’d studied the walkers enough to know their patterns, their sluggish movements and aimless wandering. These weren’t the same. Their pace was faster, their movements less random, almost purposeful. The idea sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Unless they’re tracking us,” Bucky muttered grimly.

The thought hit Doc like a punch to the gut. “Tracking us? How?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam interjected, crossing his arms. His jaw tightened as he glanced at Natasha. “How long do we have?”

Natasha tore her gaze from the horizon to face them, her expression unreadable. “An hour,” she said, her voice clipped. “Maybe less.”

The wind picked up, howling through the rocky outcrop, carrying the walkers’ groans closer. Doc’s gaze drifted back to the treeline. She could see more of them now, their shapes growing clearer as they emerged from the forest’s shadows. Their bodies were twisted and broken, patches of skin hanging loosely from exposed muscle and bone. Some dragged limbs behind them, while others moved with an unnatural speed that made her stomach churn.

She forced herself to look away, but the sound lingered—wet, uneven footsteps against frost-covered earth, the grotesque symphony of broken jaws gnashing and guttural groans filling the air. They were closing in, a relentless tide of death that wouldn’t stop until it consumed everything in its path.

Her thoughts raced. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Walkers didn’t move like this. They didn’t track people, didn’t organize. It didn’t make sense, and yet here they were, defying every rule she thought she understood.

“They’re moving like they know where we are,” she thought, a sickening realization clawing at the edges of her mind, “How do you fight something that learns?”

Bucky’s voice cut through the rising panic.

“Grab what you can carry,” he said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re moving. Now.”

The fire station was alive with chaos as they scrambled to gather their supplies. The sound of boots thudding against the worn wooden floors mixed with the muffled groans of walkers approaching outside. Each noise felt magnified, echoing in her ears as though the world itself was narrowing to this single point. Doc’s hands moved quickly, shoving rolls of bandages and jars of antiseptic into her satchel.

The sharp tang of alcohol mingled with the musty scent of old wood and mildew, clinging to her as much as the panic settling deep in her chest. Every item she touched seemed heavier than the last, her mind warring between what to take and what to leave behind.

Her thoughts spiraled, racing between what she needed and what she could afford to leave behind. But with every passing second, the groans outside grew louder, closer. Every creak of the building, every gust of wind that rattled the windows, made her nerves tighten further, the pressure of the outside world pushing in.

“You don’t have time for all that!” Sam’s voice barked from the garage entrance, his figure a stark silhouette against the dim gray light filtering through the open door. Beyond him, the treeline loomed, dark and unyielding, like the open mouth of a beast waiting to swallow them whole, “Just grab what you can carry!”

“I am!” Doc snapped, though her hands lingered on a box of sutures, the decision to leave it behind weighing on her like a physical blow. Her eyes darted to the shelves around her, taking in the jars, gauze rolls, and scalpels she couldn’t carry. Every piece felt vital, irreplaceable.

She tried to convince herself it would be fine—they’d find more. They had to. But the knot in her stomach told her otherwise.

Bucky stormed in, his boots striking the floor with a force that matched the tension radiating from his frame.

“Doc, we’ve got to move. Now.” His voice was low, commanding, each word clipped with urgency. His left hand flexed and unflexed unconsciously, his rifle slung tightly across his back. The sharpness in his blue eyes cut through the chaos, locking onto hers, “We don’t have time for second-guessing.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to a jar of precious antibiotics on the shelf. The sight of it was like a knife twisting in her gut.

“I can’t just leave this,” she murmured, her hand already reaching for it.

“You have to,” Bucky growled, grabbing her arm before she could touch it. His grip was firm, his tone leaving no room for argument, “We can’t carry everything, and you need your rifle free.”

The air outside felt even colder than it had moments ago, as if the very atmosphere was shifting with the encroaching danger. The frost-covered ground crunched beneath their boots as they bolted toward the path leading to the observatory, the sound of each footstep echoing in her ears. The wind whipped through the trees, its mournful howl filling the silence between them, as though the forest itself was mourning the loss of whatever had once lived there.

Every gust of wind seemed to tear at her skin, biting through her clothes, and mingled with the groans of walkers closing in from behind.

The scent of decay was thick in the air, a sharp metallic tang that clung to the back of her throat, heavy with the promise of what was to come. Her pulse quickened with each passing step, her eyes scanning the darkness of the forest ahead.

Doc kept her rifle close, her fingers tight around the stock, as though its familiarity was the only thing holding her steady. Her satchel bounced against her side with every hurried step, the weight of it a constant reminder of the things she had left behind—things she hadn’t had the time or space to carry. It was like a physical ache, that bag slapping against her side as if mocking her failure to prepare.

The forest around them felt alive with unseen menace. The skeletal branches above creaked and groaned in the wind, their long limbs swaying ominously, casting shifting shadows that seemed to stretch and warp like living things. The sound of leaves rustling in the breeze was sharper than it should have been, the snap of a branch too loud, too distinct, almost like a warning.

Every crack of frost beneath their boots made her flinch, every movement of the trees felt as if it might be something lurking just out of sight. Her senses were heightened, but it wasn’t enough—her heart hammered in her chest, her mind a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts.

We’re not safe. We’re not safe enough.

Then it hit her—a sudden, wrenching realization that cut through the haze of panic swirling in her mind. Her hand flew to her neck, her fingers grazing empty skin. But it wasn’t the locket. It was the antibiotics. The vial.

The thought slammed into her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She’d left it behind—the very vials she’d been using for Bucky’s wound, the only thing keeping his infection from spreading.

The weight of that hit her harder than anything else. Panic surged through her veins, cold and unrelenting, and in that moment, her legs refused to move. How could I have forgotten it?

Her thoughts spiraled as the image of the fire station came rushing back, vivid and cruel. The counter, the medical kit, the vial of antibiotics—she could picture it exactly as she’d left it. Set aside for Bucky’s wound, ready for the next treatment. And now, still there. Waiting.

She stopped mid-step, the forest around her stretching endlessly, a blur of skeletal branches and frost-covered ground. The others pressed forward, their movements purposeful, but her feet wouldn’t obey. Something inside her refused to let go of that single image: the vial, sitting untouched, just where she had left it.

Why didn’t she pack it?

The question flickered through her mind, unspoken but persistent. There had been no reason not to. She’d been careful, deliberate with every other piece of their supplies. Yet somehow, the most important one had slipped through. A faint pang twisted her gut, unwelcome but unavoidable. Her hands clenched, as if the motion could undo the moment entirely.

She glanced up at the others, their figures moving steadily ahead. They didn’t know. They couldn’t. Their focus was forward—on the path, on safety, on what came next. But her focus wouldn’t move. It remained tethered to the fire station, the counter, the vial.

Her gaze dropped back to the frozen ground. It wasn’t far. That thought lodged itself in her mind, stubborn and insistent. If she turned now—if she ran—she could make it. She knew the risks, felt them in every hollow groan carried on the wind, but even those seemed muted next to the quiet insistence pulling her back.

The wind stung her cheeks, a sharp reminder of the urgency around her, but it wasn’t enough to snap her forward. Her legs shifted almost unconsciously, her body responding to a decision her mind hadn’t yet admitted.

“Doc!” Bucky’s voice broke through the fog of her thoughts, sharp and tight. She flinched, looking up. He’d stopped further up the path, his frame outlined against the pale sky, “We have to move!”

Her pulse quickened. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

The right thing—the safe thing—was to keep going, to trust they had done all they could, that there would be another way. But safety wasn’t what came to her now. Instead, it was the memory of Bucky sitting still as she worked on his wound, the faint tension in his jaw as he’d pretended not to feel the pain. The antiseptic had burned, but he hadn’t flinched.

The vial. The infection.

“I forgot your antibiotics, I’ll catch up with you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. She didn’t look at them as she spoke, and didn't need to see the disbelief in their eyes, “Go to the watchtower, we are in four, it will be safe for us there as the horde passes through the forest.”

“Doc, no!” Sam called, his voice urgent but tinged with frustration, “You’ll get yourself killed!”

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered, barely hearing them anymore. Her feet were already turning, moving instinctively toward the fire station, “I’ll catch up. I promise.”

“You’re not going back there!” Bucky shouted, his voice breaking with the strain. He took a step forward, as though he might physically stop her, but Doc shook her head, her pace quickening.

She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not now.

Doc ignored the voices calling her name as she turned back, her feet pounding against the frozen ground. The urgency in her chest pressed down with each step. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time. The wind bit at her face as the forest around her seemed to close in, but she pushed on, determination fueling her every move.

The fire station came into view, its weathered walls grim against the cold, the door hanging open. The sight made her heart race. She could already hear the sounds of groans and shuffling feet—too many walkers closing in. She had to get in, grab the antibiotics, and get out.

No more hesitation.

As she stepped through the door, a sickly warmth met her, the stench of decay heavy in the air. Her eyes scanned the room quickly. It wasn’t overrun yet, but it was far from empty. A couple of walkers had already made their way inside—slow-moving, disoriented, gnawing at the remnants of their last victim. Their blank, dead eyes fixed on the dark corners, not yet aware of her presence.

Doc’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her knife, the cold steel offering her a brief sense of comfort. She moved quickly but cautiously, trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. The counter where she had left the antibiotics was just ahead, a faint light shining from the open window above. The sight of it—small, but so important—sent a fleeting wave of relief through her chest.

But the sound of groaning grew louder, sharper, filling the air with a sense of urgency that clawed at her throat. She could hear more of them now—shuffling closer, entering the station. The door she had come through wasn’t far behind her, and the sickening realization hit her: they were pouring in. Not a flood yet, but enough. Too many to fight if it came down to it.

She had to be quick.

Her heart thudded in her ears as she reached the counter. Her fingers grazed the familiar bottle of antibiotics, its cool surface a reminder of everything riding on this moment. She grabbed it, slamming it into her bag with shaking hands. The small moment of victory was short-lived.

The first walker noticed her then, its head jerking toward her, eyes blank and hungry.

Doc didn’t hesitate. She spun, slashing her knife across its throat. The body crumpled without a sound, the stench of blood and rot hanging in the air. She didn’t stop to think, just pushed forward, moving toward the door, but as she passed through, she saw more of them stumbling inside.

The sound of their dragging feet filled the space, their moans growing louder as they converged from all directions.

The door she had come through was barely closed when the groaning reached a new intensity. She turned sharply, her pulse spiking as she saw more walkers entering through the open door, and in that moment, a flash of movement caught her eye.

At first, it seemed like just another walker. But the way it moved—so much more fluid, less disjointed—was unsettling. Its skin was torn, flesh barely clinging to the bones, but it had the posture of something alive. Something human. A fresh, human shape, now hidden beneath the decaying skin of a walker. Its eyes locked onto hers for a fraction of a second, and something in her froze.

Was it possible?

“Hey,” she tried not to shout, “Who the fuck are you? Get out of here!”

But the sound of her own voice—loud, desperate—only drew more attention. The walkers around her snapped toward the noise, their vacant stares now focused entirely on her. 

Her breathing quickened, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning out everything else. The walkers were converging now, their soulless groans blending into a grotesque harmony of hunger. The figure—the one that didn’t quite move like the others—had slipped from view, swallowed by the chaos. But its presence lingered in her mind, a sinister anomaly in a world that thrived on the bizarre.

Perhaps, she had imagined. She had imagined something that wasn’t there and would have to run faster because of such stupidity.

Doc’s grip tightened around her knife as she sidestepped a walker dragging its feet toward her. She didn’t pause. She couldn’t. Her fingers brushed the counter as she lunged forward, closing the distance to the vial. The cool glass met her palm, and she snatched it up, shoving it into her satchel. Her hands trembled as she secured the strap tightly across her chest.

There was no time to think. She turned, her boots scraping against the cracked floor, just as a walker lunged from her left. She ducked instinctively, its decayed fingers swiping through the air above her head. With a sharp jab, her blade found its mark, sinking deep into the side of its skull.

The body crumpled, but the noise of its fall only drew more attention.

She bolted for the door. More walkers were pouring in, the weight of their bodies pressing against the doorframe. Their groans echoed in the confined space, blending into a suffocating roar. One stumbled directly into her path, its teeth snapping at the air. Without slowing, she pivoted and slammed the heel of her boot into its knee, sending it toppling to the ground.

The cold wind hit her like a slap as she burst through the fire station door, the pale light of the outside world blinding her for a brief moment. She stumbled forward, her boots skidding on the frost-dusted ground, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The moans behind her were growing louder, spilling into the open air with a guttural resonance that sent ice through her veins.

The treeline loomed ahead, a skeletal wall of gray and brown that swayed with the biting wind. It wasn’t safety—not really—but it was the only cover she had. Her legs burned with each step, the satchel bouncing heavily against her hip as she sprinted. The straps dug into her shoulder, the weight of the supplies inside a painful reminder of everything she’d risked to retrieve them.

Her breath tore through her lungs, harsh and ragged, pluming in short bursts against the icy air. Behind her, the cacophony of groans and dragging footsteps surged, echoing across the barren landscape. The sound clawed at her resolve, each guttural cry a reminder of how close they were. How close they always were.

She glanced back once—just once—and immediately regretted it. The walkers were pouring out of the station now, their twisted forms staggering into the open. Their flesh hung in tattered strips, their jaws slack but snapping hungrily at the air. Some crawled, their broken bodies dragging through the dirt, while others moved with a terrifying, jerky speed. Her stomach twisted at the sight, but she forced herself to look away.

Keep running. Don’t think. Just move.

The forest swallowed her whole as she plunged into the shadows of the trees, their brittle branches clawing at her jacket. The ground beneath her boots was uneven, littered with fallen twigs and patches of frost-slicked leaves that threatened to trip her with every hurried step. Her pulse thundered in her ears, louder even than the groans behind her, as though her body was trying to drown out the noise.

She pushed deeper into the forest, weaving through the skeletal trees with a frantic, unsteady rhythm. Every snap of a branch beneath her boots sounded deafening in the oppressive silence, and every rustle of leaves made her flinch, her mind conjuring images of walkers lurking just out of sight. The light filtering through the canopy was thin and pale, casting shifting shadows that danced and twisted in her peripheral vision like specters.

She stumbled, her boot catching on an exposed root, and barely managed to catch herself before hitting the ground. Her knee grazed the dirt, and a sharp pain shot up her leg, but she forced herself to keep moving. She didn’t have the luxury of stopping—not here, not now.

The terrain sloped upward as she neared the observatory, the incline forcing her legs to work harder with every step. Her breath came in shorter gasps, her muscles screaming in protest, but the sight of the tower ahead pushed her forward. It rose above the treetops like a crumbling monument to a world long gone, its once-pristine walls weathered and gray, the dome at its peak fractured but still intact.Her thoughts spiraled as she ran, the events of the day replaying in an endless loop. The fire station. The supplies. Her friends. She could still hear Steve’s voice, steady and reassuring as he’d promised they’d regroup at the observatory. "It’s high ground. Safe."

Safe. The word felt hollow now, meaningless against the reality of what she’d seen. If it was so safe, why weren’t they there? Where was Sam, Bucky and Natasha?

Looking around, Doc was sure: no one of them was there yet.

She reached the base of the tower, her chest heaving as she gripped the rusted railing of the staircase. The old metal groaned beneath her touch, the sound echoing in the stillness. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flicking back toward the forest. The faint sound of groans was still there, a low, distant hum that sent a shiver down her spine.

They were coming. Slowly but surely, they were coming.

Her boots clanged against the metal steps as she began to climb, each step a battle against the exhaustion threatening to drag her down. The staircase spiraled upward, the air growing colder and thinner with each turn. Dust swirled in the shafts of pale light filtering through the gaps in the tower’s walls, catching in her throat and making her cough. She gritted her teeth, forcing her legs to keep moving.

The top of the tower was just as she remembered it—wide, open, and eerily quiet. The observatory dome loomed above, its glass panels shattered and jagged, allowing the wind to whistle through unchecked. The room was empty, save for the remnants of equipment long abandoned: a rusting telescope lying on its side, a desk with drawers hanging open, and a scattering of papers so faded they were little more than fragments.

Doc’s eyes darted to every corner, every shadow, searching for any sign of her friends. But the room was still. Lifeless. She dropped the satchel onto the floor, her legs threatening to give out beneath her as the weight fell away.

She waited, standing in the center of the room as the silence pressed in. Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths, her mind racing with questions.

Why weren’t they here? Had something gone wrong? Had they even made it this far?

The questions circled in her mind, relentless and unanswerable. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell if the sound was her heartbeat or the faint groans of the horde below. Her friends had been right there—right there—just minutes ago. She’d barely been apart from them long enough for anything to happen. They were ahead of her when she veered back toward the fire station. They had to be here. They had to.

She paced the room, her boots scuffing against the dusty floorboards. Every creak of the wood beneath her feet made her flinch, her nerves stretched thin. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she glanced toward the stairwell, half expecting to hear the echo of hurried footsteps or a voice calling her name. But there was nothing. Only the wind and the hollow groan of the old building settling under its own weight.

Minutes passed, though they felt more like hours. The emptiness of the observatory pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating, the quiet amplifying the chaotic churn of her thoughts. She moved toward the cracked window, her fingers brushing against the jagged frame as she peered outside.

Where were they? Had they been delayed by walkers? Overrun? Her mind spiraled, conjuring images she didn’t want to see: Sam cornered, Natasha until her last breath, Bucky shouting commands as he went down swinging... The scenarios played out like a cruel slideshow, each one worse than the last.

Her fingers clenched against the window frame, splinters digging into her palms. Her throat tightened, the raw ache of helplessness clawing its way up. She forced her gaze down to the clearing below, desperate for anything—a sign of movement, a clue, something.

She should’ve stayed with them. She shouldn’t have gone back for the supplies. She should’ve—

Something moved.

Her breath hitched as her gaze locked onto the clearing. At first, she thought it might have been the wind shifting the frost-covered grass, but then she saw it again—subtle, deliberate. A figure.

The person came into focus slowly, as though emerging from the haze of her scattered thoughts. They moved unevenly, their gait uneven but not aimless. One hand clutched at their side, where dark streaks of red stained their coat.

Blood.

Doc’s pulse quickened as her eyes followed their movements, taking in the bag slung over their shoulder, the way they adjusted its weight with a practiced efficiency.

Her grip on the window frame tightened. This wasn’t one of her friends, that was for sure.

She would have recognized their silhouette, their stride. But this person—whoever they were—didn’t stumble like a walker, nor did they panic like a survivor running for their life. There was something else in the way they moved. It wasn’t desperation.

It was...Calculation. Probably, he was a tracker of some kind.

She swallowed hard, her mind latching onto the details she could make out from this distance:

The bag. The blood. The deliberate, almost methodical way they navigated the clearing.

A flicker of unease sparked in her chest, followed quickly by something sharper. Anger, there was something wrong.

Her gaze dropped to the bag they carried. The stitching along its edges. The way it sagged, its contents shifting with each step. Her breath caught as realization dawned, slow and painful.

That’s ours.

Her mind snapped back to the fire station—the empty shelves, the supplies she’d fought to protect. The chaos of the walkers flooding the area. The pieces fell into place with a sharp finality that left her reeling. The strange figure she had a glimpse…

Her knees threatened to buckle, but she locked them in place, her hands shaking as they hovered near the rifle slung across her back.

This wasn’t some coincidence. This person—this stranger—had taken from her. From them. And now, they were walking away with what might have been theirs.

Her heart hammered in her chest, anger bubbling up beneath the exhaustion. She pulled the rifle from her back with trembling hands, her fingers curling around the cold metal as she raised it. Her breaths came quick and shallow, the weight of her own voice cutting through the stillness as she shouted.

“Hey!” The word ripped from her throat, raw and trembling, “Stop right there! I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

The figure halted, their body eerily still despite the tension in her voice. Slowly, almost deliberately, they turned to face her. The movement was unnerving in its precision—not the panicked flinch of someone caught off guard, but the calm shift of someone who knew they held the upper hand.

The wind carried the faint, sickly scent of decay as the figure’s full form came into view. He wore a long coat, dark and heavy, its edges caked in mud and streaked with the dried, rust-colored smears of walker blood. The coat’s fabric hung unevenly over his lean frame, torn in places where crude patches of cloth and leather attempted to hold it together. His hands were bare, the knuckles split and red, as though they had seen far too much use against both the living and the dead.

But it was his face that gave Doc pause.

The sharp lines of his features were partially obscured by streaks of dirt and dried blood. A faint layer of stubble darkened his jawline, blending with the grime on his skin. His brown eyes were cold, unsettlingly sharp, and locked onto her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. A smear of blood—fresh—traced the edge of his brow, disappearing into his short, neatly cut brown hair, which somehow remained untouched by the chaos that covered the rest of him.

More disturbing was the way his coat and boots glistened in places, patches of gore clinging to them as if he had waded through the carnage of walkers, not just avoided them. Thin strands of flesh—barely noticeable but sickening once seen—clung to the seams of his coat. He had blended with the dead, hiding among them, a grotesque trick that made Doc’s stomach turn.

So, he was indeed who she had spotted back there.

Even from this distance, there was an air of control about him, a calm that didn’t belong in a world where survival demanded chaos and fear. It set her on edge.

“I said stop!” she barked again, her voice trembling with anger, but her finger steadied on the trigger.

The figure tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of curiosity flickering across his otherwise impassive face. His gaze dropped briefly to the rifle aimed at his chest before returning to her, his posture shifting as though weighing his options.

He didn’t answer her.

The wind howled through the shattered panes above, the distant groans of walkers carried with it, growing closer. Doc’s chest heaved with shallow breaths as the silence stretched between them.

Her eyes darted to the bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?” she demanded, her voice rising to fill the silence, “And who the hell are you?”

The man’s lips twitched faintly, not quite a smile but the ghost of something that made her skin crawl. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, his movements slow and deliberate, as though to show he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.

“Supplies,” he said at last, his tone low and measured. His accent—a faint trace of something Eastern European—added a layer of dissonance to the single word.

Doc’s jaw tightened.

“My supplies,” she shot back, her anger bubbling to the surface, “You stole them. You brought the horde down on us.”

The man’s pout deepened the unease curling in her chest. His shrug was almost dismissive, but it was cut short by a sharp flinch, his hand twitching toward the bloodied side of his coat. Doc’s gaze flicked to the dark stain spreading there, her mind registering more of the injury even as her anger refused to abate.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said evenly, his tone bordering on indifference.

Her grip on the rifle tightened, the cold metal grounding her in the face of his maddening calm.

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, her voice rising, “That bag—you got it from the fire station. It’s ours. You tore through our shelter and left us for dead.”

The slightest hint of amusement played across his face, though it was hard to tell if it was real or just part of the mask he seemed to wear so effortlessly.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he met her gaze. His tone was quiet, almost conversational, but it carried an undercurrent of steel, “You understand that, no? Survival demands... Adaptability.”

Adaptability my ass, Doc’s breath hitched as his words sank in. Stripping them of their supplies and drawing the horde straight to their door? That was adaptability?

In her world, that was called stealing.

“You put my friends in danger,” she spat, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury, “If they’re dead—”

“Then it is not because of me,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through hers like a blade.

The calm precision of his words made her falter. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t plead or defend himself. He simply stated it, as though it were fact.

Doc’s hands shook, the rifle trembling in her grip. Her mind raced, torn between the instinct to pull the trigger and the gnawing doubt creeping in at the edges of her anger. He wasn’t wrong. The walkers were coming, and they had been closing in even before she’d reached the fire station. But that didn’t absolve him. Not when her friends were still missing.

“And why shouldn’t I shoot you right now, you fucker?”

The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression sobering. He shifted slightly, his hand brushing against his wounded side as he straightened.

“Because,” he said, his tone measured, “we are both still standing here. If you shoot, it will only bring the horde's attention to us.”

Doc’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding as the weight of his words pressed against her better judgment. He wasn’t pleading. He wasn’t begging for his life. He was stating facts, and that infuriated her even more.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, the weight of the rifle almost comforting in her hands. The logical part of her mind screamed at her to pull it—to end this before he had the chance to turn on her. But the sound of the groans in the distance, carried on the sharp winter wind, kept her grounded. He wasn’t wrong. One shot, and the horde would come straight for the tower. And with the way they were closing in, there wouldn’t be time to outrun them.

He tilted his head again, watching her with an infuriating calm, as though he could sense her internal struggle. His piercing blue-gray eyes were unflinching, almost clinical, like he was dissecting her every move.

“You are angry,” he said, his tone devoid of apology but filled with a maddening level of understanding, “That is fair. I would be too. But anger will not help you find your friends. It will not help you survive.”Doc let out a sharp, bitter laugh, the sound cracking against the tension like shattering glass.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor,” she snapped, her voice trembling with the force of her frustration. “You stole from us. You put us in this position.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded with a faint nod, his voice still maddeningly even. “But I am not the reason your friends are not here. The world is cruel enough without your help in laying blame.”

Son of a bitch.

Her knuckles whitened around the rifle, her chest heaving as she fought to keep her emotions in check. The rational part of her mind screamed that every second spent talking to him was a second wasted. But the truth—raw and unforgiving—dug into her like a blade: how would she find Sam, Natasha and Bucky? She had no idea where they could have gone.

He must have noticed the slight falter in her stance because his voice softened, the sharp edge of his tone giving way to something almost persuasive.

“Think about it,” he continued, gesturing faintly to the dark stain spreading across his side. “You want to find your friends, right? I need help treating this, because I’m not a doctor myself.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, “But I saw you back there taking those vials, you seem to know something or two about it. We can help each other. Or we can die here, arguing over what cannot be undone.”

Doc’s stomach churned, the truth of his words twisting like a knife in her gut.

She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t. But he was right.

Her friends could be anywhere, and the supplies she had weren’t enough to see her through on her own. Despite not trusting him, she wasn’t a tracker either, she had no clue how to find them.

Her voice was quieter when she spoke again, though it still carried the edge of her anger, “How do I know you won’t turn on me the second I patch you up?”

The flicker of a smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I could have killed you already if that were my intention,” he said simply. “But I didn’t. That should count for something, no?”

He was referring back to the fire station, when she had found him. You didn’t because it would bring the attention of the walkers to you, she dared say it out loud.

However, she got a glimpse of a dagger clinged in him. He could have easily sneaked up on her and killed her right there.

Damn.

She didn’t respond, her glare burning into him as she weighed her options. He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injury. Despite his calm exterior, she could see the subtle signs of pain etched into his features—the tension in his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

“If you kill me,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “You lose your only ally in finding them. And if I die, well, that would be my problem, I guess.”

Doc’s lips parted, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but the sound of the horde cut through her thoughts like a warning. The groans were closer now, their low, guttural chorus blending with the distant rustle of movement through the trees.

Time was slipping through her fingers, and she knew it.

She let out a sharp breath, lowering the rifle slightly but keeping it trained on him.

“Fine,” she bit out, the word heavy with reluctant resolve, “But if you even think about double-crossing me—”

“I won’t,” he interrupted, his tone clipped but sincere, “I am a man of my word.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the audacity of his claim. A man of his word? He’d just admitted to stealing from her, to taking supplies that didn’t belong to him. But the alternative was clear. She could kill him, call the walkers down on herself, and hope to find her friends alone—or she could take the gamble.

Her hands shook as she pulled the satchel off her shoulder, the supplies inside rattling faintly.

“Climb,” she ordered, nodding toward the nearest flat surface—a weathered bench that looked as though it might collapse under his weight, “Quick, don’t worry about the wound, I will take care of it once you are up here.”

He complied without argument, though the effort was clearly taxing on him. His eyes narrowed briefly in pain as he shifted, but he moved with the grace of someone used to enduring hardship. As he climbed, his movements were slow, deliberate, clearly trying not to strain his injury further. The bench creaked under his weight, but it held, albeit barely.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” she muttered loudly enough for him to hear, her eyes still fixed on him.

“I would be disappointed if you did,” he replied instantly, the smirk never leaving his face. He was far too calm, too confident—something about that smugness made her blood run cold, but she couldn’t afford to focus on that now.

The wind howled through the shattered panes above them, the moans of the walkers growing louder with every passing second. The sound was unnerving, distant but unmistakably close. Her stomach churned as she tried to ignore the gnawing sense of urgency that gnawed at her from every direction.

This was a risk—a dangerous one—but it was a risk she had to take. For her friends. For herself.

She needed to find them. She needed to find Bucky. He and that injury... she couldn’t say for how long he would be okay without the antibiotics. And he couldn’t afford to wait much longer. His arm—his right arm—had been torn off, the injury severe. And without the proper care, it would only get worse.

Worse, she still had no idea where Steve, Wanda, and Vision were.

And as she wondered about all of that, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze on her, cold and calculating, as though he were already thinking five steps ahead.

Good for him, Doc thought with herself, because I always think ten steps ahead.

[inkedobsidian]

- MARVEL MASTERLIST -

- main masterlist - - current prompt list - f = fluff a = angst ** = nsfw

Peter Parker

rewrite the stars (f)

i hope -> i hope pt. 2 (a)

Bucky Barnes

jealousy (a)

runaway (a)

smackdown (f)

orchid (a)

Helmut Zemo

cute kids (f)

unexpected (f)

[mlmxreader]

Snow Day | Helmut Zemo x m!reader

anonymous asked: Helmut with And this one's for you

summary: you and Zemo get to spend the day together, only it's the weather that makes you actually have a plan for the day.

tws: swearing, smoking, mentions of violence

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Snow was coming down thick and heavy, blanketing the outside the same way that a duvet would, completely covering and swallowing everything it touched; it was early, the clock hardly touching seven o'clock in the morning, and already Zemo could feel the bed beside him was cold and barren, and the smell of coffee was hard to ignore as he dragged himself out of bed.

The clouds were a thick grey, almost black as they clung to the pale grey coloured skies; the wind howled against the window frames and the doors, begging to be let inside, and the ice made everything so slick that even pigeons couldn't cling to the branches of densely covered trees. Zemo sighed when he saw you in the kitchen, standing in front of a white canvas; he tilted his head to the side as he let out a yawn.

His hair, usually so neat and so tidy, often slicked and combed so that every single strand would sit properly, was messy; sticking up this way and that way, ruffled and unkempt. A reminder of what had happened the previous night, as well as how he had tossed and turned in his sleep every time you broke the way that he held you so tightly; bags under his dark brown eyes, and even worse, his scruff was starting to grow out again.

The chill of the air was the first thing to hit his bare chest, making his breath hitch as he clenched his jaw slightly; it crept down to his bare legs, nearly gracing the waistband of his boxers as he wished that he had thought twice and had put his dressing gown on. Or brought the duvet with him.

"Mein Bärchen?"

You hummed as you looked at him, a smile coming to your lips as you gestured for him to stand next to you. "It's snowing."

"I can see that."

"I'm just thinking," you started, "the last time we were together when it snowed, when we spent all day watching horror films, all snuggled up."

He nodded slowly, his hand coming to the small of your back as he dared to flash you a tired smile, doing his best not to yawn and not to shiver. Fuck, you were so warm. All wrapped up in his hoodie, a pair of thick and soft pyjama bottoms, fuzzy socks; he wished he had thought of that.

"And you want to do it again?"

You nodded, daring to meet his gaze as you raised your brows a little bit. So fucking hopeful that he worried it would almost kill you. "Please? If you're not busy helping Captain America, that is."

Zemo scoffed, shaking his head as he let out a quiet hum, dipping his hand under your hoodie and grumbling at how warm you felt against him. "I think we could probably arrange it."

"Really?"

"Natürlich," he shrugged. "Anything for mein geliebter... mein Mann."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were too tired to do so as you broke away from him, forcing a sigh from the back of his throat as he shook his head and took a seat at the breakfast bar; it was his turn to pose in front of the white canvas this time, and before he could say anything, you were already taking a picture on your phone, making him smile as he wondered what could possibly go wrong.

Last time, he had the Punisher threatening him, as well as the infamous Wolverine; he wondered if they would do it again, given that they were your self-appointed bodyguards. That always made him laugh. They weren't bodyguards, just overprotective friends of yours... but, taking pictures made you happy, and Zemo would do anything to keep you that way.

He didn't say anything as you made two cups of coffee, merely watching you with the sort of tender curiosity that came with being together for so long; the first time he had met you was so long ago, now, but the memory was still fresh as wounding from barbed wire. He happened to be sitting in a little café with Sam when you had strolled in with Frank; he thought you were handsome from the moment he saw you, and when he heard your voice, he knew he had never heard a complaint about music in the car sound so good before.

Nothing changed since. He still knew you were handsome, still reminded you of it every time he got the chance; still loved to hear you talk, no matter what the subject was. Still loved to hear you laugh and to see your smile. You still took his breath away when you dressed up in the fancy suits and tuxedos he bought you for when he took you out; only ever the finest for the Baron's boyfriend. Fuck, you still took his breath away when you were wearing stained jogging bottoms and a ratty old hoodie.

"And this one's for you," you gently pushed the mug across the breakfast bar. "Biscuits?"

Zemo thought about it for a moment, pursing his lips before he nodded. "Sure."

He took the opportunity to check you out as you rummaged for them in the cupboard, chewing at the inside of his lip and trying not to say anything, but he couldn't stop himself.

"You look so good today."

You grinned as you brought the biscuits down, shaking your head as you scoffed. "You tell me that every day."

"And?" He raised a brow. "You look good every day."

"You're terrible," you told him, taking a swig from your coffee. "Smoke?"

"I'd love one," he agreed. "So, horror films and blankets today?"

You nodded as you started to roll cigarettes. "Unless there's anything you wanna do?"

"Be with you," Zemo said softly. "As always, mein Mann... you know I'm happy as long as you're happy."

You rolled your eyes but your smile didn't fade, and he knew that he had you exactly where he had wanted you; trying not to laugh, grinning, happier than a pig in shit. You were everything to him, all he needed from you was to see you happy, to see you smile, and he would do anything to make sure of it; if you said it would make you happy, Zemo would have gladly beheaded kings and stabbed princes, he would have happily brought palaces down to rubble and dust. Anything for his beloved, for his man.

Anything for you.

"Come here," he gestured, and when you were close enough, he grabbed you, and swiftly pulled you down onto his lap. His arms around you securely, kissing your neck ever so softly. "Whatever you want to do, mein geliebter, I will happily go along with you."

"What if I said I wanted to go for a hike?"

"I'd go with you," he told you sincerely. "Du bist mein Herz. Just don't go anywhere I can't follow."

"I'm messing," you laughed softly, grinning. "I'm perfectly happy to just laze on the sofa with you..."

"As am I," Zemo agreed. "So, is it a date?"

"It's a date."

"Now," he gently bit at your skin. "Do you want me to finish rolling?"

[lorna-d-m]

Drabbles & Notes

I may not always have time to write, but I have plenty of notes for stories or one shots that I would like to share in the meantime!

Lights Out & Away We Go

Notes: Little Laudas

Bloody Baron & High Seas

Notes: Lucky

Notes: Silver & Gold

Open House & After Hours

Notes: Pot Calling the Kettle Black

Notes: Spoiled

Miscellaneous

Idea: Vampire Zemo

Idea: Western Danny

Idea: Bareback

[morguevampire]

(Un) Fortunate Encounters - Chapter 4

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Masterlist for this fic

summary:  With your body needing rest you fall into a sort of routine at the Baron's mansion. Which doesn't mean you trust him. It's mostly a back and forth between the two of you.

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: 4/?

word count: 2.121k

pairings: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader

author’s note: Hey yo, 

there ya go. Chapter 4! 

Honestly not sure about this chapter but let's just blame it on uni being stressful and my brain being fried. I really tried my best, going over it a few times but at last I figured I'd post it because I was afraid that if I didn't keep up the regular updates I would just abandon this story. 

Let me know what you think! I promise to do better for the next one! Comments, kudos etc. are welcome, as well as feedback :) 

Adios

You can also find this work on https://archiveofourown.org/works/43158162/chapters/108965257

It’s almost midday when you wake up the next morning. Your exhaustion completely took over you and you find yourself surprised at having slept soundly through the night. It takes you another good hour of contemplating your life and the current situation until you finally crawl out of the comfort of the warm bed and into the bathroom to freshen up.

Your dreamless slumber and general fatigue didn’t necessarily leave you with much capacity to mull over whether you wanted to accept the invitation of staying with a murderer or strike out on your own and most likely get killed by other murderers but really, perhaps unconsciously you had already made up your mind.

As you head down the stairs towards the living room you find the house quiet and unoccupied. You decide to explore the space, perhaps finding Zemo in the dining room or wherever all the other paths of the mansion led to.

Carefully, almost as if you were an intruder you make your way through the dining room, where just the evening before you had dinner with a god forsaken terrorist. Another door leads into the modern kitchen, fully equipped with appliances you could only afford to dream of and a big island with stools on one side. One wall was lined with full glass, overlooking a lush forest which made you conclude that the house was most likely in the middle of nowhere. You stand in front of the windows, memorized by the scenery when Oeznik quietly enters the room, startling you as he interrupts your daydreaming.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Miss Y/N?”

You accept eagerly, realizing you haven’t had your coffee fix in almost three days. Oeznik informs you that the Baron was out on an errand. He disappears shortly after handing you your cup and you decide to sit down in the living room once again, staring out of the windows there or roaming through the shelves of books while enjoying your freshly brewed coffee.

You were almost finished when you heard the front door open and close, expecting the Baron to appear shortly after.

“Good morning. I thought I’d get some of your belongings from your apartment so you’d feel more comfortable.”

You stare at the two duffle bags that he hauled onto the couch.

“So, you just assumed I would stay?”

“Aren’t you?”

His condescending tone once again annoying you,´; you challenge him, even though he is right. His whole demeanor oozes arrogance and a know-all attitude which pisses you off, not just on him but on humans in general.

You’re almost too proud to answer him, his face once again wearing a slight smirk.

Most likely with too much force and looking clumsier than you intended it to be, you snatch the two duffle bags and simply mumble a hasty “thanks” before storming off towards your room once again, leaving the Baron to huff out a quiet laugh at your temperament.

In your room you go through the duffle bags. They’re filled to the brim with clothes, surprisingly a lot of your favorites. Toiletries are also neatly packed, which makes you cringe a bit at the thought of this man going through your bathroom. You’re sort of at a loss when you discover your nowadays not so stuffed little plush duck in there. It’s a little greyish thing, used to be white but that was a long time ago, its head not really upright anymore. It’s usually hosted on your bed and you haven’t stopped sleeping with it since you were about five years old. You were oddly sentimental over this thing, holding it in your arms now. It gave you a sort of safety to know you had it with you.

You sort through the rest of the stuff, happy with having a bit of your life back but also unsure as the amount gave you a feeling you’d be staying for longer than you initially hoped.

The only thing that’s really missing in the bags is your phone, or your notebook. You suppose it’s because of the very obvious reason that technical devices would mean communications to the police or the outside world which most likely don’t overlap with the Baron’s plans for you. It still makes you frustrated.

Once you descend the stairs again you find the man who just an hour ago went through your private belongings sitting on the kitchen island, a laptop in front of him.

“I want my phone.”

He looks at you somewhat surprised that you would even dare to ask such a stupid question.

“Not possible.” He scoffs. “At least for now.”

You roll your eyes, once again annoyed and already regretting your decision to even come down here.

When you inquire about the duration of your more or less forced stay, or the progress in his strategy to get his enemies off your back he gives you cryptic, monotone answers. None the wiser and feeling defeated you sit down on one of the high barstools furthest away from him. Once again absently staring out of the window. Out of the corner of your eye you see him shuffling around the kitchen but you completely zoom out and don’t really take in anything he’s saying until a plate with food on it is placed in front of you.

“You should eat.” Is all he says before picking up his laptop, leaving you alone once more.

********

A few uneventful days fly by. In a weird, twisted sort of way your life found a routine. With your body still being in the healing process you spent most of your days sleeping, or dozing in your room. You couldn’t remember the last time in your life you actually had the time to just do nothing. No distractions, no guilty feelings about being unproductive. Even if you wanted to, there was nothing to do. The times you did wander downstairs to pass over the time, you usually found yourself drawn to the book shelves in the living room. Browsing through the titles and mostly being too afraid to touch vintage looking ones.

You were never a crazy reader, but you did go through your phases and always wished for more time for the activity. Often work or general adult-duties kept you from it and the forced technology detox helped you appreciate books more.

The Baron wasn’t around too much. Usually in the morning or rather midday Oeznik would offer coffee and breakfast to you and quickly disappeared out of sight once you sat down on the kitchen counter, staring out at the woods. You’d encounter Zemo randomly throughout the day, never saying too much and mostly trying to be out of his way as much as possible. Your trust in him was still uncertain and he didn’t seem to try to make much of an effort in gaining it. The only consonant was your shared dinner, usually something hearty, the two of you on the large dining table. It felt awkward, the only conversation usually being him checking up on your general wellbeing and health condition.

He’d always seem so unbothered by the tension in the room, while you were constantly in flight mode. Even though he had more or less shown you hospitality, always been polite and tried to stay out of your business, he still made you uncomfortable. He seemed so sure of everything, his position, your position while not really giving you any answers to your questions, yet still underneath concerned about you. You couldn’t figure him out.  

You were relieved once these dinners would end and you could go curl up in bed once again – just to have a deep dreamless sleep.

It surprised you how easy sleep came to you, considering you were usually an overthinker with insomniac tendencies whenever your mind was occupied with personal struggles.

You should have seen it coming, there was only so many hours of rest your injured body would need before your unconscious mind decided to plague you with nightmares.

It comes on the fourth night at the mansion.

You jolt up chocking. Your lungs desperately grasping for air. It takes you a moment to realize where you are. The room, your room. Your head isn’t underwater. You aren’t back in the warehouse. You’re safe now, he said.

You drag your forearm across the top of your head, realizing just how much you sweated. Still not fully awake and back to reality you slump back down, breathing hard and trying to control your emotions. You’ve been rescued, your wounds are healing, the bruises are fading, you’re safe. But you’re also still locked up. Forced to stay in a safe house of a man who killed innocent lives. 

You toss and turn for an hour or so, slipping in and out of consciousness, that feeling of fear, torture and pain always coming back. The clock on the little bedside table reads 3:38 a.m. when you decide to give up. You wouldn’t fall back asleep anytime soon and the room suddenly feels too claustrophobic, the chocking feeling in your throat becoming more intense as the minutes tick by.

You decide to head downstairs into the living area, selecting the book you started to read days prior. Only it didn’t quite manage to distract you from the night’s terrors.

Curled up under a cashmere blanket on the big leather couch your body was still tense and you couldn’t concentrate on any of the words in the book. You don’t know how much time has passed when a low voice interrupts your blank staring at the letters.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

The Baron entered, a steaming cup of tea in his hand, heading towards you.

You only shake your head, feeling uncomfortable in being called out.

He doesn’t ask you, just holds the steaming cup of what you smelled to be chamomile tea in front of you. Hesitantly you take it from him, not trusting his intentions.

It seems as if he’s giving you space to talk on your own, even though he sits down right next to you, close enough to make your body tense up again.

After a few sips in heavy silence you slowly begin to speak.

“Why are you up?”

He was still dressed in his street wear. Black trousers and a gray knitted sweater.

“Insomnia.” He answers with a shrug, turning his head to look in your direction, focusing his brown eyes on you and pursing his lips before he continues. “Let me guess… nightmares?”

You nod.

“It’s the natural reaction of your brain and body to all the horrors you’ve experienced in the past week.”

A nod again, this time faintly annoyed at his smart talking and prying into your personal matters.

“I am sorry for your pain. This might not help, but I do empathize with what you’re going through. I have had my fair share of nightmares and PTSD.”

“We’re not the same.”

You mumble and break eye contact, not being able to take his soft, pitying look anymore. You don’t want his empathy and you certainly don’t want to empathize with him. If he wants to open up about his past or his struggles he should see a therapist, not load it onto the woman he kidnapped.

You fumble around with the handle of the tea cup for a bit, wishing to just be on your own again.

“What are you reading?”

You show him the cover of the book. Walden by Henry David Thoreau.

“Can’t really concentrate on the words though.”

“Would you like me to read to you?”

You most likely don’t hide your surprise well but he only chuckles and motions for you to had him the book, still lying open in your lab. You do and not soon after find yourself half lain down on your spot, feet curled up and eyes fluttering shut as Zemo’s low, accented voice carried you into a solidary life in the woods.

You’re not sure at what point you fell asleep but as you drift in and out of a calm slumber his voice is always there, a consonant that your unconsciousness latches onto for distraction. A guide into a numb sleep.

********

You awake in your bed the next morning. Hazily trying to remember if you’ve only dreamed of the Baron reading to you and trying to figure out how you ended up in your room. It must have really happened as you faintly remember being pulled out of sleep for a second as he lifted you in his arm and carried you upstairs, brushing the hair out of your face softly, before leaving your room, letting your tired mind rest.

And you felt safe. And cared for.

[norabrice1701]

Happy Summer Olympics ❤️🥇🥈🥉

Swordplay

Series Master List - Complete

A Fencer!Zemo x Fem!Reader AU Series

Extended Summary: You still don't know exactly why your sister gave you six months of fencing lessons. Just because her neighbor was an instructor at The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Fencing Academy didn't mean that you needed a gift certificate. But that's how you meet the so-called Baron of Fencing, a disgraced Olympian whose royal title isn't just media bestowed. As your lessons progress, you can't deny that the man catches your attention, then your eye, and soon much more.

What was it Sam had said? That others just wanted to reform him or save him, or challenge him. But what if you just want Baron Helmut Zemo for himself…?

Featuring: Fencer!Bucky x Steve Rogers, Fencer!Sam, glimpses of Fencer!Sharon

Story Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including knife (sabre) play, insertive play, edgeplay, poorly-negotiated kink, unprotected sex (no stated use of contraception), dom!Male & sub!Female, frottage, discipline (spanking), praise kink), masturbation, smoking, creative liberty with a sabre weapon, fencing terminology, canon Zemo family history, eventual Christmastime setting

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Series Word Count: 39k+

A/N: This fic is entirely born of this post from the brilliant & talented @mypoisonedvine who has been so gracious to let me play around with it. Thank you for your support, J.D. - it means so much!

@raniiaaa has been so gracious to beta this tale, and she deserves all the love for continuing to put up with my overthinking!

Thanks, friends 😊

Tag List: @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @mischief-rcs @lilith-blackrose @httpmedxsa @glimmering-darling-dolly

[junocornkiwi]

commission for dearest Lin :3 and her Winterbaron fic ^_^

[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!

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Dancing in the Dark (Helmut Zemo)

Summary: you're tired of the responsibilities of the royal family. Tonight, you just want a night to yourself.

WC: 900ish

Warnings: None, fluff, maybe a smidge of self cdoubt?

Read on AO3!

---

The ballroom glittered under a sea of chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of roses and the sound of laughter and music from the band playing in the corner of the room, out of the way of the main floor. You moved through the throng of elegantly dressed guests, a soft smile on your lips as you greeted some of them. Tonight was the annual royal gala, an occasion that filled the palace with nobles and dignitaries from across the realm. Waiters and maids filtered through the floor, in between dancing couples and people enjoying the food served.

You were supposed to be enjoying yourself, but your mind wandered, even as you smiled through conversations and greetings. Beneath the layers of silk and satin, you felt a sense of confinement, a weight of expectation. As the daughter of the king, you were expected to make a perfect match tonight. But you could hardly keep the forced smile on your face.

Across the room, you spotted him. Helmut Zemo—charming, enigmatic, with an air of confidence that drew you in like a moth to a flame. He wore a tailored suit that accentuated his sharp features and exuded a magnetic presence that was hard to ignore. But you knew him to be a lowly nobleman.

With a determined breath, you weaved your way through the crowd until you stood before him. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he offered you a knowing smile.

"Princess," he greeted, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "There’s no way you know I could be the princess from a first glance."

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “Oh, but I do. I’m just surprised that your father allows you to roam so freely among us common folk.”

A playful smirk danced on your lips. “You think I’m just another noblewoman, don’t you?”

“I know you’re more than that,” he replied, his voice low. “You’re not just a title; you’re full of life, a spirit that can’t be contained.”

Your heart raced. No one had ever seen beyond the crown. “And you? You’re just a man with a past, a shadow among the light. You're not exactly a charmer, Helmut.”

Zemo chuckled softly, his expression shifting to one of sincerity. “Perhaps I am. But tonight, I’m simply a man captivated by a woman who defies expectations.”

In that moment, the music faded into the background. The world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of understanding. You felt an irresistible urge to break free from the confines of your title, to embrace the connection you felt with him.

“Would you care to dance?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took your hand, leading you to the dance floor. As the music swelled, you moved together, lost in the rhythm. Zemo’s hand rested at the small of your back, grounding you as your heart soared.

“Tell me,” he said, leaning closer, “what is it like to wear a crown? To be a symbol of power and responsibility? To have the townsfolk adore you, watch over your every move?”

You hesitated, the weight of your answer heavy in the air. “It’s isolating. Everyone sees the princess, not the person underneath. They see me as a spoiled brat because of what I was born into. I long for freedom, for the chance to be… just me.”

He paused, studying your face. “Then why not take it? Defy the expectations. Be who you truly are, not who they want you to be.. Why not take the chance to run away?”

His words resonated deep within you. You had spent so long being what was expected, but with Zemo, you felt the pull of possibility, even if only for a moment. The music slowed, and the moment hung between you like a secret waiting to be shared.

“I could never abandon my responsibilities,” you finally replied, though uncertainty tinged your voice.

Zemo leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a chill down your spine. “Responsibilities can be shared. You don’t have to carry the weight alone.”

With a sudden spark of courage, you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze. “And what would you know of responsibility, Helmut?”

A shadow flickered across his face, but he quickly masked it with a charming smile. “Perhaps more than you think. I’ve learned that sometimes, letting go is the greatest act of courage.”

In that moment, you saw a glimpse of his own burden—a life lived in shadows, shaped by loss and ambition. You realized that beneath the facade of the charming man was a man who understood the complexities of life in a way that few others did.

As the music faded and the dance came to an end, you took a step back, breathless. “Maybe there’s a part of me that wants to let go, even if just for tonight. I don't want to worry about hiding away from responsibilities, or which parliament I have to meet with... Tonight, I just want to be me.”

His gaze softened, and he brushed a thumb across your knuckles. “Then let’s make this evening unforgettable.”

You felt a thrill of excitement mixed with fear. Could you truly embrace the freedom Zemo offered, even if just for a night? With a nod, you took his hand, ready to step into the unknown.

[andy-15-07]

The News

Summary:Y/N anxiously prepares for Helmut Zemo’s return, holding a secret—she’s pregnant. When he arrives, they share an emotional reunion, and he’s overjoyed at the news of their growing family.

Paring: Baron Helmut Zemo x reader

Words count: 2594

Daniel Brühl Masterlist | Masterlist

The soft hum of the rain tapping against the windows filled the quiet apartment, adding to the warm, cozy atmosphere Y/N had tried to create all day. She had spent hours preparing for this moment—cleaning, cooking, and nervously adjusting everything in the living room a dozen times.

The smell of dinner—a mix of Zemo's favorite dishes—lingered in the air, and soft music played in the background, trying to mask the excitement and nerves building within her. Y/N checked her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her eyes darting to the time.

He should have been home by now.

Helmut had been away on a mission for weeks, leaving her with nothing but sporadic, cryptic messages that barely hinted at when he might return. But today was different. Today, she was certain he'd be home. She had received a brief text earlier that morning, "Coming home tonight. Don't wait up."

Of course, she couldn’t just go to bed, not with the news she had been holding close to her heart, a secret she had been dying to share with him. She glanced down at the little box in her hands, flipping it open and shut nervously. Inside was a tiny pair of baby shoes—white and soft, with delicate lace around the edges. She smiled softly to herself, a rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

She had found out a few days after he had left. The initial shock had been overwhelming, but the idea of them starting a family had slowly taken root, filling her with a joy she hadn’t expected. Y/N could already imagine Helmut’s reaction, the way his eyes would light up, the way he’d pull her into his arms, overjoyed at the news.

The rain picked up, drumming harder against the window, and she glanced outside. The city was dark, a few lights flickering through the sheets of rain, but there was no sign of him yet.

Minutes felt like hours, and the worry she had tried to suppress started to creep in. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was hurt? But no, she pushed those thoughts away. Helmut was too skilled, too careful. He always made it back to her, no matter what.

She placed the baby shoes back in the box, setting it on the coffee table and rubbing her hands together nervously. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm glow over the room, but it did little to soothe her nerves.

Then, finally, she heard it. The unmistakable sound of keys jingling at the door, followed by the soft click of the lock turning. Her heart leapt into her throat as the door slowly creaked open, and there he was—Helmut Zemo, soaked from the rain, his hair tousled, but very much alive and home.

“Helmut!” Y/N exclaimed, rushing to him before he could even close the door behind him. She threw her arms around him, ignoring the dampness of his clothes as she buried her face in his chest.

“Schatz…” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his tone as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, as if grounding himself after weeks away.

“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She had missed him terribly, every moment he was away felt like an eternity.

“And I missed you,” he replied, pulling back slightly to look at her. His dark eyes were tired but filled with love as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, meine Liebe.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection for this man she had chosen to spend her life with. But she could see the weariness in his expression, the way his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of whatever he had gone through. She knew better than to ask about the mission, not right away. There would be time for that later.

“You’re soaked,” she said, her voice tinged with concern. “Come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

He nodded, allowing her to guide him toward their bedroom. She helped him out of his coat and boots, and then he peeled off his wet shirt, tossing it aside. His body was as strong and lean as ever, though she couldn’t help but notice a few new bruises marring his skin.

Y/N frowned, reaching out to touch one gently, but Helmut caught her hand, bringing it to his lips instead.

“It’s nothing,” he assured her, his voice low. “Just a few scratches.”

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed with worry, but he gave her a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was trying to protect her, as always, but she could see through the façade. He was tired—emotionally and physically—but he was here, and that was what mattered most.

“Come on,” she whispered, tugging him toward the bathroom. “A hot shower will help.”

Helmut didn’t argue, and soon the sound of water filled the space as steam began to rise around them. Y/N stayed by his side, helping him rinse off the grime of whatever battle he had been through. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as she ran her fingers through his wet hair, massaging his scalp gently.

They didn’t speak, the silence between them comfortable and intimate, a reminder of how connected they were, even after all these years.

Once he was clean, she handed him a towel, watching as he dried off and wrapped it around his waist. His gaze softened as he looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he pulled her into his arms once more.

“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, his voice filled with a deep, unspoken gratitude.

Y/N smiled against his chest, her heart fluttering with love for this man who was always so strong, so capable, and yet so vulnerable in moments like these. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him.

“I made dinner,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Your favorite.”

His eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “You spoil me, Schatz.”

“Only because you deserve it,” she teased, leading him back into the living room where the food was waiting.

They settled on the couch, plates in hand, and for a while, they just enjoyed the meal in comfortable silence. But Y/N could feel the weight of the secret she was holding, the news she was so eager to share. She glanced at the small box on the coffee table, her heart pounding in her chest.

Helmut noticed the shift in her demeanor, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is something on your mind, Y/N?” he asked, setting his plate aside.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. But then she took a deep breath, reaching for the box and holding it out to him.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Helmut’s eyes widened in surprise as he took the box from her hands, his expression curious as he opened it. His gaze softened instantly as he saw the tiny baby shoes nestled inside, his breath catching in his throat.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he looked up at her, his eyes searching hers for confirmation.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m pregnant, Helmut. We’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he just stared at her, as if trying to process the words. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a smile so full of joy and love that it took her breath away.

“Meine Liebe…” he murmured, setting the box aside and pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped the back of her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she clung to him, feeling his love and warmth enveloping her completely. “I was so nervous,” she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands and looking into her eyes with a seriousness that made her heart skip a beat. “Y/N, there is nothing in this world that could make me happier than this news,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “You and our child…you are everything to me.”

She smiled through her tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his love. “I love you, Helmut,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“And I love you, more than anything,” he replied, pressing his forehead against hers. “Thank you…thank you for this gift.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other close, their hearts beating in sync. The rain outside had slowed to a gentle drizzle, the soft patter against the windows a soothing backdrop to the moment they were sharing.

Finally, Helmut pulled back, a playful glint in his eyes. “I suppose I’ll have to be extra careful on my missions from now on,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “I have more than just you to come home to now.”

Y/N chuckled, wiping away her tears. “Yes, you do. And you’d better keep that in mind.”

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly, his lips lingering against hers as if savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

“We’re going to be a family,” he repeated, his voice filled with awe as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. His hand moved gently to rest on her stomach, his thumb tracing small, tender circles over the place where their child grew.

Y/N placed her hand over his, the warmth of his touch sending a wave of comfort through her. “Yes, we are,” she whispered, her voice full of love and certainty. “Our little family.”

Helmut’s eyes shone with emotion as he stared down at her, his usually composed demeanor softened by the weight of this new reality. He had faced countless challenges, confronted the most dangerous of foes, and yet, this moment—this simple, beautiful moment—was enough to bring him to his knees.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family of my own… I never thought it would be possible after everything that’s happened. And now, here we are…”

Y/N smiled, her heart breaking and healing at the same time. She knew his past was riddled with pain and loss, and she understood how much this meant to him. “You deserve this, Helmut. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

He shook his head slightly, his expression one of disbelief. “I don’t know if I deserve it, but I’m not foolish enough to let it slip away. You and our child…you’re my future now. My purpose.”

She could see the determination in his eyes, the promise that he would do everything in his power to protect them, to give them the life they deserved. It was a vow unspoken, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being.

Helmut gently pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered again, the words heavy with gratitude. “Thank you for giving me this gift, for giving me hope.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with love for him, a love that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. “You’ve given me so much, Helmut,” she replied softly, her fingers threading through his as they rested on her stomach. “This is our gift to each other.”

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the reality of their future slowly sinking in. It was a future filled with the unknown, but for the first time, they faced it together, not just as partners, but as a family.

After a while, Y/N broke the comfortable silence, her tone laced with playful curiosity. “So… have you thought of any names yet?”

Helmut chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, breaking through the seriousness of the moment. “Already? You’ve only just told me!”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and full of joy. “Well, we should get a head start, don’t you think? We need to be prepared.”

Helmut’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he considered her words. “True. But I think we should take our time. We have many months ahead of us to decide.” He paused, his gaze turning thoughtful. “But if I had to choose… something traditional, perhaps. Something with meaning.”

Y/N nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. “Something that honors your heritage, maybe? A name that connects our child to their roots.”

Helmut’s expression softened, a deep pride flashing in his eyes. “Yes,” he agreed, his voice low and serious. “Something that carries the weight of history, but also the promise of a new future.”

She could see how much this meant to him, and it warmed her heart to know that he was already thinking of their child’s legacy. “We’ll find the perfect name,” she assured him, leaning into his embrace. “One that represents everything we’ve been through, and everything we’re going to build together.”

Helmut kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering there as if sealing a promise. “We will,” he agreed. “And no matter what name we choose, our child will know they are loved. That is the most important thing.”

Y/N sighed contentedly, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. This was what she had always dreamed of—a life filled with love, a future full of hope. And now, with Helmut by her side, that dream was finally becoming a reality.

As the evening wore on, they talked about their plans for the future—the changes they would need to make, the things they would need to prepare for. They discussed where the nursery should be, what color to paint the walls, and how they would balance their new responsibilities. It was a conversation filled with excitement and a little bit of fear, but most of all, it was filled with love.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day caught up with them, and they found themselves curled up on the couch together, the warmth of the fire lulling them into a comfortable drowsiness. Helmut held her close, his arms wrapped around her protectively, his hand resting on her stomach as if to keep their child safe even in his sleep.

Y/N looked up at him, her heart swelling with love as she watched him drift off. There was a contentment in his expression that she hadn’t seen in a long time, a peace that came from knowing they were finally moving forward together.

And as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his chest, she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—united by the love they had for each other, and for the family they were about to start.

In that moment, Y/N realized that the future was no longer something to be feared. It was something to be embraced, something to be cherished. And with Helmut by her side, she knew they would create a life filled with happiness, love, and endless possibilities.

As sleep finally claimed her, Y/N’s last thought was of the tiny heartbeat growing inside her, a new life born out of the love she shared with Helmut Zemo—a love that would carry them through anything.

The rain outside had stopped, leaving the night quiet and still. And in the warmth of their home, their hearts beat as one, full of love, hope, and the promise of tomorrow.

[bullet-prooflove]

San Franisco: Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

It was raining in San Francisco, Zemo watched the raindrops spatter against the glass as he lay beside you, the crisp white sheets pooling around his hips. The sound was soothing, resounding in his ears before he tilted his head towards you. You were still asleep; he could see the evenness of your breathing as he watched you. This wasn’t him; he wasn’t the type of man to get caught up with emotions, he drew pleasure from mental pursuits, manipulations. It had been a long time since he had participated in physical gratification.

It had been subtle, the way it crept up on him. The brush of fingertips over the back of your hand, the scent of your perfume, delicate notes of jasmine and amber when you leaned in close, the heat that rolled off your skin. He hadn’t expected you to have this effect on him. He understood there was an attraction, he felt the rush of his pulse when you were in his proximity, the way it accelerated. Pheromones, he thought, his physiological response was a logical reaction, but it didn’t prevent him from wondering how you would taste on his tongue.

He had the answer to that now.

Divine, like nectar from the Olympus.

It was exquisite.

His body responding to the memory, another stirring in his groin. His desire for you was wanton, insatiable. Last night had been too hurried, too rushed. He wanted to savour these moments, to drink them down like a fine wine and immerse himself in the complexity of senses.

“My love.” He whispered into the curve of your throat, his lips ghosting over the love marks he’d left across your skin. “Let’s see if I can make you moan my name again.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[knightofmidnightsun]

When I go, bury me six feet in snow [1] | HELMUT ZEMO

Summary: You, Bucky, Sam and Helmut had a simple plan and yet… It all went wrong. Now you're in the middle of an unknown land, surrounded by snow and with Zemo as your only company. What could be worse than that?

Warnings: Description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. description of and violence, injury/pain, description of burning wounds, description of hypothermia and drowning in cold water, self-blame/guilt

Word count: 9K

Skeletons, skeletons series: [1], [2]

The sudden, searing pain in your back snapped your eyes open. It took a full minute for the blurriness in your vision to fade, allowing you to comprehend your surroundings.

Snow. It blanketed everything around you, a vast, desolate whiteness. The sun glared down, its blinding rays almost too intense to bear. For a moment, you couldn't remember why you were there, in the middle of this unknown land. But as the pain in your back spread to your legs, the memories began to creep back in.

You had been on an aircraft. Chaos had erupted, a blur of violence that left you disoriented, unable to distinguish friend from foe. You recalled familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, all intent on knocking you down, with James, Sam, and…

Then it hit you—the plan.

The fucking stupid plan. You kept repeating the phrase to yourself as you got strength to stand up. For a moment, you almost fell before deciding to continue where you were and embraced your knees, the tiredness filled your bones and nerves. It was impossible to get up without feeling like the bones in your legs would break in any second.

When you finally thought you were ready to try standing again, you choked on a mouthful of icy water. Yeah, maybe it was better to stay put for now.

"Cap," you pressed a trembling finger to the earpiece, trying to contact Sam, but were met with silence. "Sam? Are you there? James?"

Again, nothing, you groaned. Where the fuck they were? Why Sam and James weren't answering you?

"We lost their signal" The voice made your skin crawl. You knew exactly who he was.

A flood of memories from the aircraft surged back: clinging to the edge as the wind howled around you, your fingers gripping the metal as if your life depended on it—because it did. You had seen Zemo, his hand closing around your wrist, pulling you back from the brink, only to be shoved by another attacker, falling with you into the icy sea below.

It wasn’t a dream. It was all too real.

You and Zemo had fallen from the aircraft. Sam and James were still up there, as far as you knew, but now they were outnumbered. Anything could have happened to them… Even…

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for how badly you’d botched the mission.

As you fell, you had prayed for an end, for the sea to swallow you whole and let your body vanish into the abyss. But here you were, still breathing.

Both of you, alive. On a frozen beach, soaked to the bone after nearly drowning.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Zemo approaching, brushing snow off his clothes. His purple mask was gone, likely lost in the water, or perhaps he had discarded it, deeming it unnecessary now that the fight was over.

At least he wasn’t in any better shape than you. That was some consolation.

"Do you know where we are?" You asked him, forcing yourself not to shiver as the cold gnawed at your bones.

"I… No, I do not," His voice carried a note of discontent, a rare admission of uncertainty from someone who usually exuded control, "Perhaps Antarctica, if I recall the aircraft’s route… But I can’t be sure."

Even Zemo, with his fur coat and multiple layers, was shivering. His clothes were as soaked as yours, and it did nothing to help your situation.

“Great,” you muttered, scanning the endless expanse of snow. There was nothing—no buildings, no signs of life, just an infinite white void. “I can’t believe I’m going to die of hypothermia in the middle of nowhere with you. If you hadn’t held me back…”

“Hold on,” Zemo interrupted, crossing his arms, his gaze sharp. “Who was the one who got distracted and was the first to be thrown off the ship? That was you, as I recall.” He took a step closer, scrutinizing you as you struggled to stay upright. “I was trying to help you, and look where it got me, hm? You should be thanking me.”

He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the desolate landscape around you.

You were tempted to ignore the pain in your legs just to wipe that smug look off his face.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you shot back, turning your head away. Your hands cracked as you clenched them into fists, the cold seeping into your bones. “I didn’t want to cause any trouble for you. I was ready to fall and die or get back to the aircraft and plan an escape.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. He was silent for a moment, as if weighing your words.

“Neither of those things happened,” he said finally, a plume of cold breath escaping his lips. “Our priority now is finding shelter before we freeze to death.”

“But what about Sam? Or James? They’re still up there, as far as we know.” You pressed your hands into the snow, trying to summon the strength to stand. “We need to think of a plan to help them.”

“We can’t help them if we’re dead,” Zemo replied flatly, resting his hands on his hips. “Finding shelter is our only option.”

As much as you hated to admit it, the baron was right. There was no way to survive the journey back to Sam and James if you froze to death first.

Your limbs trembled uncontrollably as the cold invaded every nerve, turning them to ice. It was a pain sharper than any burn.

“Alright,” you conceded, wrapping your arms around your torso. “Just… Give me a second.”

You took a deep breath and pushed against the icy ground, trying to stand. The moment you put pressure on your legs, searing pain shot up from your calves to your thighs, as if your very bones were being torn apart. Your muscles screamed in agony, nearly knocking you back to the ground.

You bit your lip, stifling a cry, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and your feet slipped on the ice.

For a moment, everything went black. The world narrowed to the sheer, overwhelming pain in your legs, threatening to drag you into unconsciousness. But then, you felt a firm grip on your arms, steadying you, holding you up.

Zemo’s hands were surprisingly gentle yet strong. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, his breath visible in the frigid air as he rushed to your side.

For a brief moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes—panic, perhaps, or worry—before his expression returned to its usual guarded blankness. His brows furrowed as he studied you, trying to assess the situation.

You were too focused on the pain to care what the baron was thinking.

“Oh mein Gott,” he whispered, his voice low but laced with concern. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Well, you could tell the pain wasn’t because of the sea dragging you to the coast. Despite the coldness, if that was the case, your arms and torso would hold the same pain.

The damage had been done long before you hit the water.

Your mind drifted back to the fight on the aircraft. James had been battling Max Fury, Sam had been trading blows with Lightmaster, and Helmut had been deflecting attacks from Doctor Octopus. That left you facing the Tin Man—now known as Crimson Cowl, though he was still Ultron in all but name.

Despite being an android, you had been holding your own against him. You weren’t a super soldier, but your mutation gave you agility and elasticity. You could leap high, dodge quickly, and move with a fluidity that made you hard to pin down.

Your friends used to say you were like sand slipping through their fingers—impossible to catch.

You had been doing well against Ultron… Until you weren’t.

The android had grown impatient with your dodges and the minor annoyances you threw his way. Your goal wasn’t to defeat him—you knew that was impossible—but to buy time until James or Sam could deliver the final blow.

But Ultron was a machine, built by Tony Stark, and smarter than most people. You should have known that eventually, he would memorize your pattern and anticipate your next move.

It happened in an instant. As you prepared to leap to your next position, a blinding blue light seared through the air. The next thing you knew, your legs were on fire. You screamed, the agony tearing through your lungs as the laser burned through flesh and bone.

You faintly heard someone call your name, but it was distant, the words muffled. The last thing you remembered was one of Doctor Octopus’ robotic arms slamming into you, knocking you off the aircraft. The rest was a blur.

“My regeneration won’t work with both the burn and the hypothermia at the same time,” you muttered, daring to look at your legs, still covered by the remnants of your uniform.

The damage was bad. Worse than you had imagined.

“All the more reason to start moving,” Zemo said, raising his brows as if to emphasize his point. “Hold on to my shoulders. I’ll try to do something about your legs to buy us some time.”

“You don’t need to,” you muttered, your jaw trembling from the cold. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Zemo replied, guiding your hands to his shoulders. “I can see that.”

Before you could protest, he tore a strip of fabric from his coat and knelt down beside you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, your mind too numb with cold, until he began wrapping the cloth around one of your burns, tying it tightly.

He repeated the process on your other leg, his movements quick.

“Since our clothes are soaked with cold water, it’ll help cool down your wounds,” Zemo explained, rising from where he was and taking your arms so he could help you walk properly. “Before we go, we’ll need to shed some of our clothing as well. Despite the temperature, it’s better to carry as little soaked fabric as possible.”

You shuddered at the thought, your teeth chattering uncontrollably. The idea of removing any layer of warmth, no matter how wet, felt like a death sentence. It got worse when you imagined you had to go through this with Zemo from all the people.

But you knew he was right. The waterlogged clothing clung to your skin like icy shackles, draining what little warmth you had left.

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting Zemo’s hands guide yours to the clasps of your jacket. It took all your concentration just to undo the first one, your fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold. Faintly, you could feel his cold fingers against your skin, bringing a little to almost nothing of warmth, his hands moved with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused on the task at hand.

In a way, his calm demeanor in the face of such dire circumstances was almost comforting. But it was fleeting—a brief, circumstantial comfort in a ride-or-die situation.

The moment your jacket fell to the snow, the cold hit you like a slap. You gasped, hugging yourself instinctively as if your arms could shield you from the elements. The wind cut through your remaining layers, turning your skin to ice.

Zemo didn’t flinch. He shed his coat and outer layers with the same methodical precision, his movements devoid of hesitation, as if the cold tormenting you barely registered with him.

When he finished, he glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your condition. For a second, you thought he would jest.

“We’ll move as quickly as we can,” he said instead, more to himself than to you, “Lean on me. I’ll support your weight.”

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you focused on his shoulders. “I can do this on my own. I’ll be fine.”

“As fine as when you first got up?” he asked, and your lips pressed together in silence, refusing to answer. “Yes, that’s what I thought.”

Without further hesitation, he took one of your arms and draped it over his shoulder. You noticed that his skin, though chilled, still radiated some warmth. The baron wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to rely on, but as you clung to him, you realized he was the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the snow.

“You will thank me later,” Zemo smirked down at you.

Despite your will to punch him, you prioritize your life.

Each step was a struggle, your legs barely cooperating as you trudged through the drifts. Zemo’s grip on you was firm, almost too tight, as if he feared you might slip away at any moment. Your feet felt numb, each movement sending jolts of pain up your calves, but you forced yourself to keep going. The thought of stopping, of giving in to the cold, terrified you more than anything.

You glanced at the baron, time and time again, remembering what happened in the mission. What went wrong and triggered the fight, Sam and James trying to fight as they planned for a solution that would save all of you from dying, Zemo buying time and you… Well, you were trying to do your best to think about an escape plan as you dealt with the android. In the end, you were trying to help, in some way, to not be a burden.

And that was exactly what brought you in that situation. You and Zemo, your gaze locked at him again. You recalled the feeling of his fingers clasping your wrist, trying with all his might to pull you back to the ground but falling with you instead.

After that, all was a blur, you felt the air lack your lungs as you screamed. You felt arms holding you tight and a breath next to your ear. You really thought you would die after that. Except that, you didn’t.

“Do you think we’ll find anything out here?” you asked Zemo through chattering teeth, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything, to keep your mind off the cold and the pain.

Zemo didn’t answer right away. He was focused on the horizon, scanning the endless white expanse for any sign of shelter or civilization. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, before he finally spoke.

“There must be something. A research station, perhaps, or a temporary base. This region isn’t entirely uninhabited.”

It was a slim hope, but you clung to it, letting his words push you forward. You had to believe there was something out there—a place where you could rest, recover, and find a way back to the others.

But with each passing minute, that hope began to fade. The snow stretched on endlessly, the landscape unchanging. Your legs ached, muscles screaming with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. The cold was relentless, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for you to falter.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened on the airship, about your friends, and what could have become of them. By now, they could be prisoners, tortured, or worse… dead. All because of that stupid plan—it was doomed from the start, but still…

If something had happened to them, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d rather die here and tell Zemo to go on without you.

“Keep moving,” Zemo urged, his voice sharp. He gave you a slight tug, pulling you closer as if to share what little warmth he had. “We can’t afford to stop now.”

“I’m tired, Zemo,” you groaned, your voice trembling as the cold seemed to freeze the tears in the corners of your eyes. “The cold… It’s draining me. Maybe we’ve finally found my real weakness.”

“Don’t say that,” Helmut shook his head, his tone firm. “You’re insufferable, but I won’t let you die here.”

“Maybe you should,” you closed your eyes, your feet dragging through the snow as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is my fault after all. It’d be better if you leave me here and go by yourself, find some shelter, and try to save the rest of our crew.”

Zemo stopped walking, forcing you to halt as well. His grip on your arm tightened, but he didn’t say anything at first. The silence between you was thick, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions that neither of you could afford to acknowledge.

“I’ve lost too many people on my account already,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a trace of something deeper, something almost vulnerable in his tone. “I won’t lose you as well. Especially not because of your self-pity.”

The words stung, not because they were harsh, but because they were sincere. Zemo’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern.

“You’re not the only one who’s made mistakes. This mission was flawed from the start, but we’re in this together now,” he said, moving closer, his breath visible in the frigid air. “So, stop blaming yourself. That won’t solve anything.”

“How could it not be my fault?” you asked in a strained whisper, “Do you remember how the plan started to go south? I brought this on us. Who knows what’s happened to Sam and James? What could they be doing to them? By the time we find somewhere safe, they could already be dead. You’ll find shelter faster without having to drag me along as dead weight.”

Zemo’s eyes hardened, his grip on your arm tightening. He took a step closer, his presence imposing and bringing you more shivers than the cold.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice cutting through the cold air with a sharpness that made you flinch, “We all made choices that led to what happened. Blaming yourself won’t change the past, and giving up now certainly won’t help your friends.”

You tried to pull away, but he held firm, forcing you to meet his gaze. There was no trace of mockery in his expression, no condescension—just a raw, unyielding determination.

“Don’t you ever suggest me to do such a thing again.” Zemo whispered, his voice low, almost a growl. “Understand?”

Despite everything, you could see a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes, a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

“We’re not dead yet,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “We still have a chance. But only if we keep moving.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. Zemo’s words were harsh, but they were the slap of reality you needed. He was right—giving up wouldn’t save Sam or James. It wouldn’t change anything.

With a deep breath, you nodded, accepting the painful truth. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Zemo’s grip on your arm loosened slightly, and he gave you a small nod of approval. Together, you started walking again, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but you pushed through, determined not to slow him down.

The cold was relentless, but so was Zemo, his presence beside you reminding you to not stop no matter what. You kept your focus on the horizon, refusing to let your mind wander back to the guilt, carving its way into your chest.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the silence was broken only by the sound of your labored breathing and the crunch of snow beneath your boots. The world around you was eerily quiet, the storm having passed but leaving behind a desolate, frozen wasteland.

Suddenly, Zemo halted. You almost stumbled, but his arm shot out, steadying you once more. Looking up, you noticed his eyes narrowing as he focused intently ahead.

“What are y—”

Before you could finish, Zemo pulled you down with him, pressing you into the snow behind a small drift. The cold burned against your already frigid skin, and you struggled to suppress the groan of pain that threatened to escape your lips. Your burns flared with agony, the icy ground amplifying the sharp, relentless pain. But you swallowed it, forcing yourself to stay quiet as Zemo leaned closer, his hand firmly covering your mouth.

He nodded towards the snowy expanse ahead, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to a single point in the distance. Your vision was still hazy from the pain, but you squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing.

There, amidst the endless white, was a figure—a person dressed in a suit that was all too familiar. Dark blue, red stripes, a white star… Shit.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and your blood ran cold.

“Of all people,” you muttered, dread coiling in your stomach.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, a silent signal to stay alert. “This complicates things,” he said under his breath.

There was John Walker, the U.S. Agent, his uniform enhanced for the freezing conditions, standing out starkly against the snow. The sight of him sent a jolt of fear through you. If he was out here, that meant they were already searching for you, and they hadn’t found your bodies yet. They knew you were still alive.

He wasn’t too far from you and Zemo. He intently watched his surroundings with narrowed eyes, inching closer in your direction. That wasn’t a good thing.

Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle tensing as Walker’s gaze swept over the area. Zemo’s hand remained on your mouth, a silent reminder to stay quiet, to not make a sound. You could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring ready to snap.

Both of you hid back to the small drift, you’d need to start your prayers.

Walker’s steps were deliberate, each one bringing him closer to where you and Zemo were hidden. The snow crunched under his boots, a sound that seemed deafening in the eerie silence of the frozen wasteland. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound almost drowning out everything else.

Zemo’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression cold and calculating. He slowly moved his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a finger to his lips. The message was clear: stay silent.

You nodded slightly, barely daring to breathe as Walker came dangerously close. The snow drift that hid you wasn’t large, and if Walker got too close, he would easily spot you. The weight of Zemo’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing grounding you, keeping you from bolting out of sheer panic.

The world seemed to narrow to the sound of Walker’s footsteps, the crunch of snow, the biting cold, and the tension between you and Zemo as you both held your breath, praying that he would pass by without noticing you.

You could almost sense his presence looming over the snow drift that hid you and Zemo.

Then, just as it seemed Walker was about to discover your hiding spot, you heard another set of footsteps crunching through the snow, approaching Walker from behind. Your heart raced as you strained to listen.

“Walker,” a gruff voice called out, and you recognized it immediately—Abner Jenkins, better known as the Beetle. The sound of his mechanical suit hummed lowly as he approached.

You heard Walker’s steps pause, followed by a low, annoyed grunt. “What is it, Jenkins?” His voice was tense, betraying his frustration at being interrupted.

“We’ve got orders,” Abner replied, his tone clipped. “Madame Hydra wants them alive. We’re to take them back to her—no exceptions.”

Then, you and Zemo heard the distinct sound of a shield being stowed. It took a moment for you both to realize that Walker had been holding it the entire time. God knew what his intentions were if he had found you before Beetle stopped him.

Zemo’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly at the mention of Madame Hydra. You could feel the unspoken understanding between the two of you: this was far more dangerous than you had anticipated.

“And what about the others?” Walker asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were wary of being overheard by anyone else in the area.

“They’re searching too. We’ve spread out to cover more ground, but the baron and the girl likely headed this way. We need to find them before we are met with a storm.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the tension in the air thickening. You could hear Walker’s heavy breathing, followed by a begrudging sigh. “Fine. Let’s move. We’ll search further ahead.”

The sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow grew more distant, fading away into the howling wind. You and Zemo stayed perfectly still, not daring to move until you were sure they were gone.

After what felt like an eternity, Zemo finally released the breath he’d been holding and carefully removed his hand from your shoulder. “They’re hunting us,” he murmured, his voice low and cold. “And it seems they’re not the only ones.”

You nodded, your thoughts racing. “But that means Sam and James are alive too. They said Madame Hydra needs us all alive, they already have them or they escaped as well.”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed slightly, calculating the situation. “True, but that also means we’re walking into a trap if we continue in that direction. They’re likely covering the area ahead.”

“So we go the other way,” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Zemo’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded. “It’ll take longer, and it’s more dangerous in this weather, but it’s better than facing Walker and Jenkins head-on.”

With the decision made, the two of you began to carefully backtrack, moving away from where Walker and Abner had gone. The cold bit into your skin, but the sense of urgency kept you moving. You couldn’t afford to be caught, not by them.

Not when you knew there was so much more at stake.

The biting cold gnawed at your exposed skin, a relentless reminder of just how perilous your situation had become. Each step you took away from the place where Walker and Abner had nearly discovered you felt like a small victory, but the fear gnawing at your insides refused to subside. The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the dread coiling in your gut.

Zemo's presence beside you, his arm supporting you, was the only thing grounding you in the moment. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as if every step was a move in a larger game. He seemed impervious to the cold, his expression calm and focused, in stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. You knew you couldn’t afford to let your guard down around him. Zemo was as dangerous as the environment itself, maybe even more so.

After all, this was Zemo, Helmut Zemo—the man who had manipulated and deceived some of the most powerful people you once knew. But out here, in this frozen wasteland, what choice did you have left?

The burn wound on your side throbbed with every movement, a constant reminder of the injury you had barely survived. The pain was sharp, radiating from the angry, blistered skin, but it had dulled to a persistent ache, almost as if it had become a part of you. Zemo had helped bandage it, his hands steady and sure as he worked. He had saved you, in his own way, but the trust between you was fragile, a thin layer of ice over treacherous waters.

As the two of you trudged through the snow, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your mind kept cycling back to Madame Hydra.

Her name alone sent a tremor through your already trembling form. You didn’t know much about her—few did—but what you had heard was enough to fill you with a cold dread that rivaled the harsh weather. The fact that she was involved meant that things were far more complicated than a simple mission gone wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that this was all part of some larger plan, that you were pieces on a chessboard in a game only she knew how to play.

Zemo had to know more than he was letting on, but now wasn’t the time to press him for answers. Not when every moment of delay could mean Walker, Abner or any other member of the Master of Evil catching up with you. Not when the only thing standing between you and certain death was the man whose arm was currently draped over your shoulders, keeping you upright.

“Keep moving,” Zemo’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, but there was an urgency to it that snapped you back to reality.

You nodded, your breath coming in short, labored gasps, each one stinging your lungs with the frigid air. The pain in your side flared again, but you bit down on a cry of pain. You wouldn’t give in to it. Not now. Not when there was still a chance.

The idea of seeing Sam and James again was the only thing that kept you from collapsing in the snow. You pictured their faces in your mind, the way they had always been there for you when everything else had fallen apart. They were your family, the only thing left in this world that mattered to you. The thought of them out there, possibly alive, was the small flame that kept burning inside you, refusing to be extinguished by the cold or the fear.

Zemo’s grip on your arm tightened slightly as you stumbled, bringing you back to the present. You glanced at him, catching the briefest flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or calculation. It was hard to tell with him, but whatever it was, it wasn’t cruelty. Not yet.

You were still useful to him, and for now, that was enough. It was what was keeping you alive, right? You were Sam and James’s friend, you were a mutant with good abilities when not injured by burns, you knew a thing or two that he didn’t yet. He needed you as you needed him.

It was the only reason for him to had chose to reach for you when you were hanging by the edge of the airship. His eyes wide open when they met yours, without any hesitation cowering over the edge and reaching his hand to grip your wrist, in an attempt to stop you from falling off the ship. Someone like him wouldn’t do such a thing for her.

If you died, none of your friends would forgive him, that had to be the reason for him to be so kind to you so far. Helping you to get up, taking care of your wounds, sustaining her body as you walked together…

There was any other logical explanation.

The snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, covering the landscape in a white blanket that stretched out as far as you could see. The world had been reduced to shades of white and gray, the horizon barely distinguishable from the sky above. It was easy to lose your sense of direction out here, easy to give in to the overwhelming feeling of isolation.

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

Then, out of nowhere, something called your attention.

An orange glow appeared on the horizon, faint at first, almost imperceptible through the swirling snow. You squinted, trying to make it out, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of it.

Fire. Light. Shelter.

“Zemo,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out, “there, do you see it?”

He followed your gaze, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant glow. “Yes,” he said after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. “It could be a fire. Perhaps someone is there.”

A glimmer of hope ignited within you, though it was intertwined with anxiety. A fire could mean warmth, safety, or a place to rest—yet it could just as easily signal danger, another trap in Madame Hydra's web, waiting to ensnare you... Another peril to complicate your situation.

Zemo seemed to sense your hesitation. “We have to investigate,” he said firmly. “It may be our only chance. But we proceed with caution.”

“Okay,” you agreed, though the word felt heavy, laden with the weight of everything that could go wrong.

The two of you pressed on, your steps slow and cautious as you moved toward the distant glow. The snow continued to fall, thickening the air around you, muffling the world in a cold, suffocating silence. Each step felt like a battle against the elements, your muscles aching from the strain, your body screaming for rest. But you couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until you reached that fire, that glimmer of hope in the endless white.

As you trudged forward, the glow on the horizon grew brighter, more distinct. It wasn’t just a trick of the light—there was something there, something real. The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through you, giving you the strength to push forward despite the pain in your legs and the exhaustion that threatened to drag you down.

But as you drew closer, something else came into view, something that made your heart sink. A large, dark expanse stretched out before you, the snow-covered surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was a lake, frozen solid under a thick sheet of ice.

The fire you had seen was on the other side, inside a small wooden house taunting you with its proximity.

Zemo stopped beside you, his gaze fixed on the frozen lake.

“What do we do now?” you asked in a low voice, you glanced at the baron, “If we go through the lake, we might fall into the water but if we try to contour it, we could never find another way there or any other place for the matter”

Zemo’s eyes narrowed as he considered the options, his mind clearly racing through the possibilities. The frozen lake stretched out before you like a vast, treacherous barrier, its surface deceptive in its stillness. The fire’s warmth seemed tantalizingly close, yet the journey across the ice was fraught with danger.

“We can’t afford to lose time,” Zemo finally said, his voice edged with urgency. “The cold will kill us if we stay out here much longer.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of crossing that ice sent a chill down your spine. One misstep, and you could end up submerged in the freezing water below, with no chance of escape. It would be a slow, agonizing death.

“But if the ice breaks…” Your voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air.

Zemo glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a hint of resolve in his gaze. “We’ll move slowly, test every step. If the ice shows any sign of giving way, we’ll retreat. But we don’t have the luxury of finding another way. Not in this weather.”

You forced yourself to nod, there was no real alternative, you had no other choice. The idea of backtracking and trying to find a way around the lake seemed impossible, especially with the storm worsening by the minute. The cold was biting, seeping into your bones, and you knew that any delay could be deadly.

Zemo's face was a mask of stern resolve, his features composed into a calm that bordered on the unsettling. His brow was slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he assessed the situation. The line of his mouth was tight, giving nothing away, but if you looked closer—if you dared to search beyond the surface—you could see it.

A faint crease at the corner of his eye, a subtle tension in his jaw that hinted at something more. It wasn’t fear, not exactly, but a glimmer of concern that he couldn’t entirely hide. It was the kind of worry that didn’t scream out, but whispered in the quiet spaces between his thoughts. Whatever he was thinking, it was enough to push him forward, enough to make him the first to step onto the uncertain ice, determined to lead the way despite the risks.

You released your grip on Zemo's shoulder, realizing that both of you together would put too much strain on the ice. The weight concentrated in one spot was a risk neither of you could afford.

The separation made each step harder, more uncertain. With each inch of distance that grew between you, the more vulnerable you felt, the bitter cold gnawing at your strength.

Zemo, sensing the need for caution, took a step ahead, then stopped to look back at you, his gaze never wavering until you caught up. Only then did he move forward again, the pattern repeating with each careful step.

The wind howled around you, whipping snow across the frozen lake, and your heart pounded with each delicate movement. You matched Zemo’s rhythm, taking your time to ensure the ice held beneath your feet. But your progress was slower, your body weighed down not only by exhaustion and pain but by the growing fear that the ice might not hold.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed across the lake, splitting the silence. Your eyes widened with alarm and Zemo froze, as the ice beneath his feet began to fracture. Quickly, he shifted his weight, moving to a more stable section before the crack could spread further.

“Don’t step here!” he warned, his voice cutting through the wind.

It wasn’t like you were planning to do so.

You avoided the spot, carefully navigating around it as your pulse quickened. At first, it looked fine, you both were going well so far. You didn’t take your eyes off Zemo's back, not for one second, just like he didn’t stop looking back at you time and time again. Not at all.

Then, from afar, a distant voice reached your ears. The voice was very far from you both, you couldn’t discern for sure who was and what the person was saying, but it came from where both of you were before. So, it wasn’t difficult to not assume the worst.

“We have to be quick,” you whispered to the baron. Even knowing it would be a difficult task to you, you knew that there was no better alternative.

Zemo nodded, it wasn’t the time to disagree with you.

You picked up your pace, each step a calculated risk on the treacherous ice. The cold air bit at your exposed skin, your breath visible in the frigid air. The ice groaned under the weight of your footsteps, each sound sending a shiver down your spine. The memory of the crack beneath Helmut's feet was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

As you moved, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sense of impending doom hanging heavy over you. The distant voice continued to echo in your mind, urging you to move faster, to escape whatever threat loomed behind you. But the ice was unpredictable, each step requiring your full attention, leaving little room for anything else.

You glanced back at Zemo, his determined expression mirroring your own. He was focused, his eyes scanning the ice for any signs of weakness. You could see the strain in his features, the tension in his body as he led the way.

As you hurried across the ice, the ominous crack beneath Helmut's feet earlier seemed to chase you with relentless determination. The fissure, which had once seemed distant and harmless, now raced towards you with terrifying speed.

Then, it happened. Of course, it would.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the crack reached your feet, and before you could react, the ice gave way entirely, plunging you into the frigid abyss below.

The icy water enveloped you, its cold grip a thousand needles stabbing into your skin, seizing your lungs in a vice of unbearable agony. It was a pain more excruciating than the searing flames that had scarred you, a sensation of burning from within as water replaced the air in your lungs. Panic set in as you thrashed, trying to find the surface, but the water was disorienting, pulling you down into its dark depths.

Your vision blurry, the world above a distorted, unreachable realm.

You could feel the burn in your chest as you struggled to hold your breath, the cold seeping into your very core. It was like being on fire, the water a cruel, icy inferno. You fought harder, desperate for air, for warmth, for life.

In a snap of fingers, you didn’t want to die anymore and were fighting to live.

Just when you thought you couldn't hold on any longer, through the haze of your despair, you felt it—a strong hand gripping your wrist, pulling you back from the brink before the waters guided you away. The touch was firm, reassuring, and it brought you back to the present. You remembered Helmut's concerned eyes, searching for yours when you were suspended in the air, holding the edge of the airship with all your might.

You would never dare admit it, but at first, you had thought he would take your hands off the edge and let you fall. But you were surprised when he started to pull you back before being hit and falling with you out of the ship. The determination to save you was what doomed him to be there with you but the glint in his eyes reassured you that he didn’t regret it.

You clung to that memory as you were dragged from the water. The relief of knowing that perhaps he did care for you. Perhaps.

You broke the surface, gasping for air, coughing up the icy liquid that had filled your lungs. Helmut's voice cut through the haze of your shock, steady and grounding. "Are you alright?" he asked, his grip on your wrist unyielding as you trembled violently.

You nodded, though your body betrayed you, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped deeper. You felt as though you might succumb to death at any moment.

Helmut's eyes scanned the area, calculating the distance to the shore and assessing the condition of the ice. His jaw tightened with resolve as he realized the urgency of the situation. He seemed to be weighing the risks, determining if you could make it across before the cold claimed you. Obviously, you’d start to see your nails following in the middle of the way and when you reached the land… God knows what would be of you.

You saw a flash of determination in his eyes, despite the odds, a hint of a plan forming in his mind. It was as if he had already decided what needed to be done, even if it seemed reckless. You could almost see the gears turning in his head, calculating the likelihood of success and the potential for disaster.

Before you could ask what he was thinking, without hesitation, Helmut tightened his hold on your wrist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Cradling you against his chest, he simply took off across the unstable ice, each step a gamble as the surface threatened to give way beneath you.

“Stop it,” you shouted, your eyes open wide when met by the crack in the ice left by every heavy step that Zemo took, “You will kill us both, stop it.”

Your protests and screams of defiance fell on deaf ears as he ran, the ice cracking ominously but miraculously holding until you reached solid ground on the other side.

What the…?

Once safe, you could only stare at the baron in stunned silence, your mind grappling with the whirlwind of events. It was difficult to process what had just happened with you, what you saw and what could have been of both of you.

Zemo was insane, but he was a smart type of insane.

Helmut's voice broke through your daze, "We need to get you warm.”

He continued to carry you until you reached the hut.

The hut was small and rough, built from weathered timber and stone, tucked away as if nature itself had hidden it. The air inside was thick with the scent of wood smoke and damp earth, mingling with the faint, lingering aroma of recently cooked meat. Animal pelts, a sign of a hunter's presence for sure, were strewn across the floor and draped over the few pieces of rough-hewn furniture. A rack of hunting rifles and a collection of traps hung on one wall, their metal gleaming faintly in the dim light.

The fire in the stone hearth was still smoldering, the embers glowing a dull red, suggesting it hadn't been long since it was tended. A pot of stew, now cold, sat to one side, its contents barely touched. The hunter had likely left in a hurry, not more than ten minutes before your arrival. Helmut's eyes swept the room, taking in the details, his mind working quickly.

He set you down gently on a sturdy wooden chair covered with a thick fur, moving swiftly to restart the fire. The cold had seeped into your bones, and you shivered uncontrollably as you watched him work. He shrugged off his coat and your shirt, hanging them nearby on an iron hook to dry. Each movement was deliberate, efficient, as if he had done this many times before.

You knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t in his record anything about almost dying in a cold environment.

Helmut found a few logs of wood stacked neatly in the corner and added them to the dying embers, coaxing the flames back to life. The fire crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth began to spread slowly through the room, providing a small but welcome relief from the biting cold.

You watched him through a haze of shivers, he found a heavy wool blanket and wrapped it around you, then knelt to remove your boots and wet socks. The initial sting of the cold was sharp, but as the warmth from the fire began to reach you, the agony of hypothermia started to ease. Your body was wracked with shivers, muscles spasming as they fought to generate heat.

Helmut stopped to watch you, gauging your condition. Seeing you still trembling uncontrollably, he didn't think twice before stripping off his own shirt, the last layer on his torso. He settled beside you, pulling the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around you to share his body warmth.

You protested, your voice a shaky whisper, "You'll get cold too... Why are you doing this?"

"It's the quickest way to warm you up," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "Skin-to-skin contact will help raise your body temperature and save you from hypothermia faster."

For the first time since the fall, you felt your regeneration slowly starting to act, trying to push the cold away from your nerves. So, you didn’t argue with him about that, letting him hug you and hid beneath the blanket by your side.

You shared a strange but comforting silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire in front of you. Gradually, the cold receded, no longer an unbearable ache in your bones. You still felt the chill, but it was no longer the paralyzing freeze that had gripped you before. You began to feel far better than before, your body responding to the warmth, your movements less restricted by the cold.

The warmth also reminded you of the burn wounds on your legs, the pain a dull throb now instead of the sharp agony it had been. You flinched at the sensation, letting your legs drop completely to the floor instead of hugging them.

Zemo noticed, of course.

"We'll take care of those burns properly," he said, taking a look at them beneath the tears of his coat, "Once I'm sure you're alright, I'll find a medical kit around here."

You knitted your brows, watching his face beneath your eyelashes. He remained with the same eyes full of uncertainty, concern, clearer than before. The ones you had met in the airship and found when he held you close before colliding to the cold sea.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked again, your voice laced with confusion and low.

Helmut looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, his eyes softening slightly. "It's important to treat burn wounds properly to prevent infection and promote healing. You need to stay hydrated, keep the—."

"No, I mean…” You interrupted him, pressing your lips in a thin line, “why are you helping me? Why do you care?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of the fire, the crackling of the wood as it burned. Helmut's eyes met yours, and you saw something there—something unspoken but deeply felt.

“What do you mean?” he asked you back, furrowing his brows.

“You could had ignored me when I was at the edge of that airship, instead you chose to ignore that Doctor Octo-something and came to me, tried to help me even if it meant you going down with me as well,” you shook your head, bewildered by your own words, neither you believed they were true, “Then, when I couldn’t even get up because of these burns, you helped me move forward, without questions or hesitation”

“I—” Zemo opened his mouth, but you were quick to stop him from saying anything.

“The same thing in that lake, there could be John or one of the others when we heard that voice, the smarter thing you could had done when I fell, was to go without me and survive alone,” you sighed, meeting his gaze again, “But you didn’t do it, instead you risked your own life to get me back and ran with me on your arms until we arrived here”

Helmut didn’t look away from you, his lips sealed as he processed what you had just said.

“I still don’t understand your point,” finally, he says, taking a tighter hold of the blanket.

“Why?” you asked again, “Why did you do all of those things for me? I thought you hated me.”

Zemo’s eyes held yours, and for a long moment, he didn’t speak. The firelight danced in his gaze, casting shadows across his face that made him look even more unreadable than usual. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, as if he was carefully weighing every word he was about to say.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally responded, his voice quieter than you expected. “If I did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

You frowned, yes, you did know that, “It doesn’t explain why you’ve risked so much for me.”

He sighed, a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of more than just this conversation. “You’re part of this mission. And as much as I disagree with your methods, or your allies,” he paused, almost as if choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen your commitment. Your… Hm, courage. I respect that.”

His words were measured, calculated, but there was something underneath them—something that felt almost... Personal. But before you could dissect it, he continued.

“We’ve all made sacrifices. This mission, these battles—it’s taken something from each of us. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. It wouldn’t make sense to leave you behind when we’re so close to the end.”

The logical reasoning made sense, and you wanted to believe it was as simple as that. But there was an undercurrent in his words that tugged at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“You trust me,” you said, more a statement than a question.

It… It couldn’t be it, right?

Zemo’s expression softened just slightly, but it was enough for you to notice.

“I do,” the confession sounded like a sacrifice for Helmut, but he kept going, “You made decisions even when your friends pointed out the risk, how untrusting it would be. Despite that, you did, time and time again.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” you said, looking away, “I was the first to get exposed by John and the others, he instantly noticed me and that’s why the whole fight started.”

“But he wasn’t going to attack until I fired at him, before he could think about hitting you,” he pointed out in response, “Is that really why you’ve been self-reproaching since I found you? I thought you had changed your mind after I talked to you there. I’m more guilty than you are, as Sam, as James…”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. Zemo had a way of cutting through your defenses, making you question the very things you were sure of. You had been blaming yourself, replaying the events in your mind, searching for the moment you could have done something to keep everyone safe. But here he was, taking part of the burden, as if he, too, felt the weight of every choice made.

It was unnerving, this sudden realization that maybe you weren’t alone in this guilt.

“I still don’t understand why you saved me,” you confessed quietly, the words escaping before you could stop it.

Zemo’s eyes flickered with something—something almost vulnerable, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“Because leaving you behind wasn’t an option,” he replied, his voice steady, resolute.

The room felt smaller, the fire’s warmth pressing in on the two of you. The tension hung between you, thick and heavy, but neither of you made a move to break it. You studied his face, trying to find the exact moment when the man who had once been your enemy had started caring about you—really caring. But all you saw was that same enigmatic expression, guarding whatever he truly felt.

Maybe he didn’t even know himself.

“You’re not so bad, Helmut,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, “Not at all”.

But he heard you, his lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“And you, mein schatz, are far more trouble than you’re worth,” he teased lightly, though there was no real bite to his words.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. The moment passed, and as you both settled into a more comfortable silence, you felt a strange sort of contentment—a realization that somehow, amidst all the chaos.

“I trust you too,” you whispered to the silence, a quiet confession.

As you closed your eyes, exhaustion finally took hold. The thought of Helmut didn’t leave you as you drifted into sleep, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest despite the cold.

Neither you left his mind when he watched you closing your eyes and resting your head on his shoulders. He looked away, not able to hold back a smile.

next chapter: Wasting our chances >>

[arcriotwrites]

~𝒯𝒽𝑒 ℬ𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓃'𝓈 ℬ𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎~

Helmut Zemo x AFAB reader (gender neutral names) 18+

Warnings: Swearing, smut, choking, teasing, hand kink, fingering, oral (female anatomy used), established dynamic, brat taming, dom!zemo, use of petnames (Bunny, Darling, etc.)

Author’s Note:

I am back with another one! I feel like Zemo doesn’t get enough love as it is so I’m writing for him😤. I’ve had this idea for a long time and finally have found the brain power to write it. This is an 18+ fanfic, PLEASE TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY! Enjoy!

The bright lights and loud music of the bar seemed to welcome you in. Wolfman’s Bar sits along a quiet street in Madripoor, if there is such a thing as a quiet street here. The entrance is in a back alley, needing strict access to even enter the bar. You step onto the concrete sidewalk, knocking firmly against the heavy metal door. The metal vibrated with the bass of the music, your attention on the man as he opens the door. He takes one look at you and steps aside, welcoming you in. A smirk rests on your lips as you saunter in, noticing many people turn and whisper to each other upon your arrivals you pull the maroon leather jacket off of yourself and drape it over the back of one of the barstools, taking a seat. The bartender comes over to you almost instantly.

“What can I get you, Jester?”

The name rolls off his tongue with a hint of fear and you can’t help but feel proud.

“A dirty martini should be fine.”

You watch as he quickly shuffles off to fulfill your request. As you sit there, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, you pull it out to look at the text.

Carlos: Slight trouble with current mission, need 2 more days to fulfill your wishes.

You let out a frustrated sigh as you type back, your back straightening slightly.

Me: You have one day. If the money isn’t transferred by this time tomorrow, the hunt is on.

You let out a deep grumble as you hit send, sliding your phone into your pocket once more. You tap your fingers in your lap as you wait for your drink.

You suddenly feel a hand between your shoulder blades, your right hand flying to your thigh, pulling your handgun from it’s holster.

“Calm down, darling. It’s just me.”

His voice hits your ears like a drug, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You turn around to see him. Before you stand Baron Zemo, or at least what everyone here knew him as. You knew him as Helmut, being the only one who is allowed to use his first name.

“Welcome back, Helmut. What brings you to my domain?” You ask, a smirk settling on your lips as he sits on the barstool next to you. You clip your gun back into the holster that is strapped to your thigh. As you do so, the bartender sets your drink down in front of you and you nod a thanks at him before taking a sip.

“I had some time off so I figured I’d pay you a visit. I heard the Powerbroker has taken a step back huh?” He asks, his eyes never leaving you as you set your drink back on the bar top.

“Yep. With Selby dead thanks to you and the Powerbroker regaining a home in the US, that leaves Madripoor with no leader, at least until recently.”

As you speak, you can’t help the proud smile that falls on your lips. You run your fingers along the base of your martini glass, wiping off a smudge. You turn to look at him once more, noticing confusion evident in his eyes. You let out a soft laugh, seeing the wrinkles of his face deepen as he puts on a curious expression.

“What do you mean by that, darling?” Your smirk only deepens at his question, finishing your drink swiftly before standing from your chair and grabbing your jacket from the back of it.

“C’mon. We can talk more at my place. I got a nice house in high town.” You say as you start to walk out of the bar. You feel a hand on your wrist pull you back. As you turn you almost slam into his chest.

“You know the rules. Follow them.” His voice sounded deep and gruff in your ears, his tone commanding. A shiver runs down your spine as you remember what he told you during his last visit.

Never stray too far from me.

He chuckles deeply as he watches you process what he said. You swallow hard, nodding before turning and starting to walk towards the exit, slower this time. You look back at him every few seconds to make sure he is right behind you. As you exit the bar, he grabs your hand. The feeling of his hand in yours has your mind fogging a bit, the feeling so familiar yet from so long ago.

Once you reach your house, you bring him inside, shutting off the security system. As you flip the lights on, you see him taking off his coat, draping it over the black armchair in the foyer. You walk into the living space, glancing around as you light the fireplace. The warmth of it makes you hum slightly as you feel arms wrap around your waist. You look down and see the deep purple sleeves and aged hands that rest near your stomach. A smile breaks out onto your lips as you lean into his touch.

“I missed you, Baron.” You whisper softly, hearing a slight hum vibrate through his chest. You always knew that name affected him and now was no different.

“I missed you too, Bunny.” As the petname rolls off his tongue, you can feel your mind fogging again, just like it had earlier when he grabbed your hand. He always called you that. To him you were something delicate, something to handle with care. No matter how wild you could be, you were always his soft, delicate bunny.

You hear him chuckle as your eyes close, not having noticed you were now fully leaning into him, a blush creeping up your neck and to your cheeks. His voice is husky now, his accent thick.

“Did my Bunny miss my touch hmm?”He smirks as he speaks, you’re able to hear it in his voice. All you can do is nod, scared that your voice will betray you if you try to speak but he cuts you off in your actions.

“Ah ah ah, words, darling. You know how this works.” His tone becomes authoritative, causing you to shutter against him.

“Yes, I did.” You say, your voice coming out soft and obedient. It was as if your body was acting out of need, not want. You needed his hands on you, you needed him to keep speaking to you like this. A part of your brain flips, starting to drift in thought.

What would happen if I didn’t submit?

A small smirk crawls its way to your lips, slowly sliding yourself out of his arms. You turn to look at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. You watch as he looks you up and down, as if examining his prey. He seems to scoff slightly as you look at him, determination evident in your posture.

“Actually, I don’t need your touch. I am perfectly fine getting off by myself.” You spit out, smirking the entire time. You knew the words you spoke weren’t true, all those late nights whimpering his name into your pillow out of frustration. You watch as he raises his eyebrows, shaking his head as he smirks.

“Oh is that so, bunny? So you weren’t frustrated with my absence? You didn’t miss my hands tracing your body, feeling every inch of you? You didn’t miss me leaving marks on your thighs, owning every inch of you?” As he speaks, he takes steps closer to you, starting to walk you back against the wall. He towers over you now, your back flush against the wall as you realize he has trapped you just as he planned. “You didn’t miss the way my tongue felt as I licked that pretty pussy clean?” He whispers in your ear now, his voice deep and gruff. His words have you leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and stay nuetral. You feel his hand wrap around your hip, his thumb digging into your side. God his hands always interested you. They were so callous and rough from his work, covered in scars from the countless fights he got into. Despite this, he always touched you with the softest touch. The veins that ran down his forearms and into his hands always had you mesmerized, remembering all the countless nights you spent tracing them when you couldn’t sleep. Though there was another side to those hands. The way they held a gun so steady, he could get a headshot from a mile away. The way that they ran down your sides and to your legs, spreading them open as they had many times before.

As your mind started to drift, you could hear him chuckle. You hadn’t noticed you had zoned out, blushing deeply when you noticed you are gripping his sweater. You blink a few times, slowly letting go of his shirt, clearing your throat.

“Still trying to be defiant.” He states it as a fact, not a question. The disappointed tone in his voice makes you falter slightly, like your brain is fighting itself. Without any time to prepare, his hand comes up around your throat, squeezing the sides in a tight grip as he presses you back into the wall harder. “Come on now. You know exactly where this would get you, pinned to the wall, unable to breathe. Hm? Did you want this? Did you plan this since you saw me? Planned to work me up so that I’d fuck you senseless hm?” His angry tone makes your head spin. You can’t tell if it’s the lack of oxygen or the way you can feel his hand sliding from your waist to the front of your shorts that is making you feel lightheaded. You can feel him undoing the button and zipper, anticipating his touch. You craved it. Him feeling how wet you are because of him, his finger teasing your clit until you are sobbing, begging him to fuck you. Yet as your mind reels, his hand comes to rest back on your waist, his grip on your throat loosening slightly. You gasp, feeling your lungs burn as you try not to cough. He smirks, chuckling at your red face as he runs his thumb over your cheek.

“Look at you. You’re so desperate aren’t you? It’s taking everything in you to not fall to your knees and beg me to take you right here right now. I can see it in your face. I can see it in the way your hips pressed against my hand when I undid your shorts. You need me so badly yet you won’t say it. You know the rules, Bunny. I won’t do a damn thing until you ask me to.” His voice is stern, a teasing tone tagging onto it as he reminds you of the rule you hated most. You hated asking him, vocalizing your filthiest desires seemed like a nightmare. You swallow hard, feeling his hand against the front of your throat. You clear your throat, your eyes glazing over as you look up at him, deciding that your current aches are far more important than the anxiety rising in your belly.

“Please touch me, Baron.”

Your voice comes out just above a whisper. You watch the smile spread across his face, a mischievous look falling over his eyes.

“There you go. You did such a good job, Bunny. Come on, let your Baron take care of you.” He speaks softly, his tone completely different than the stern one he held moments ago. He takes your hand, leading you over to the leather couch that sits in front of the fire. He takes a seat, spreading his legs open. “Take those shorts off for me, darling.”

You can tell it’s a command yet his voice comes out gentle. It’s as if he is silently letting you know you can back out. He was always doing that, making sure you were ok and comfortable, letting you know you could stop at any time. You nod softly as you slide the shorts down your legs, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. You watch as his eyes fall over you, his tongue poking out to lick his lips.

“God… I missed looking at you.” He whispers out, breathless. You blush deeply, the red tint now spreading to your ears as he looks at you like a predator watching its prey. “Come here.” He motions with his fingers as he speaks, adjusting how he sits to sit back further on the couch. You walk to stand in front of him, your hands clasped behind your back. You feel your mind fully leave, any thoughts you had fog over and the only thing you can focus on is him.

He suddenly grabs your waist and turns you around, pulling you to sit In between his legs on the couch, your back flush to his chest. His cologne fills your nose like a drug, making you hum in delight. He lets his hands roam you, sliding down your back and around your waist, finally rest on your thighs. You can feel yourself squirming slightly, the puddle you sit in becoming uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to take care of you, Bunny?” He voice is soft in your ear, the words spilling from his lips like a prayer. There he goes again, asking you if you are ok without being direct.

“Yes, Baron. Please.” Your words come out broken, not expecting to hear yourself sound so desperate. When you speak, you feel his hands grip your thighs, gently spreading them apart.

“There you go. Let me control you, bun. Just relax ok? I’ll take good care of you.” His voice fills your ears as you feel his middle finger lightly drag up your underwear. As his touch reachers your clit, you jump in his lap, slamming your legs shut out of shock. You hear him chuckle as he pulls your thighs apart again, continuing his feather light touch over your underwear. “Look at you.” He presses his finger into the wet patch that had soaked through; “so wet for me already.” You nod quickly at his statement, feeling your hips rise, trying to chase his touch. Both of his hands grip your hips, slamming you back onto the couch. “Stay still.” His tone is stern, dangerous. The contrast in his gentle touch to his aggressive tone makes you whimper.

“Give into me, bunny. Come on. You almost had it, then you got too greedy. I will touch you however and whenever I want.” His tone is soft, gentle, as if trying to coax your body into doing as he says. You relax back against his chest, resting your head back onto his shoulder. “There you go.” His touch returns to your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle circles against your clit, feeling the wet spot grow as he does so. You can feel his shit eating grin against your head, placing a kiss to your forehead. You let out a breath you hadn’t noticed you had been holding, soft moans leaving your lips. You bite your lip as his speed and pressure picks up, your legs starting to shake at the shocks that run up your spine. As it begins to be too much, he withdrawals his hand causing you to whine in protest.

“Sshh bun, you’re ok, patience.” His tone is gentle once more, soothing your aching body back against his chest. You feel his finger slide your underwear to the side, his finger starting to run up and down through your wet mess. He hums in approval as he slowly traces around your entrance, feeling how your body quivers against him. You moan as he finally touches you, finally feeling what you have needed for the past 7 months. Finally having what you dreamed of every night.

He slowly pushes the tip of his middle finger into you, going in and out slowly, gently.

“You’re so tight, darling. Is all of this mess for me hmm?” His voice is teasing, slowly putting more of his finger into you with every push. All you can do is nod, moaning as he pushes his finger fully into you. “Your body missed me, darling. I can feel it in how your walls throb against my finger.”

His statement makes me shiver, feeling his other hand slide up your chest to your neck, gripping your jaw gently and pulling your head back so you look at him. As he does this, he rapidly picks up speed, sliding a second finger into you. “If you didn’t miss me, bunny, then how come your pussy is making a puddle on this couch for me hm? How come your body is shaking in pleasure as if you haven’t felt this in months hm?” His tone is still gentle, almost mocking you as you moan loudly against his neck. The pleasure mixed with his words makes you writhe in his lap, gasping as tears start to roll down your cheeks. It’s too much, the way he taunts you, teases you while fully handling your body in anyway he wished.

As it all builds, you feel your climax reaching its peak, desperately needing the release you had waited months for.

“Baron please! Don’t stop…. M-I’m close.” You gurgle out, your body shaking against his as he fingers you relentlessly.

“Come on, give it to me, Bunny. Show me how much you missed me.”

At his words, you cum, feeling your hips stutter against his hands as he continues at a brutal pace. You gasp and moan against his skin, eventually biting into his neck as you groan. As you come down from your high, he slows down, eventually pulling his fingers out of you. He examines the glistening digits, seeing your gaze on his hands. You watch as he slides his fingers between his lips, sucking them clean. The sight has you squirming, seeing him savor every inch of you. He pulls his fingers from his lips and wipes them on his dress pants. He smiles softly down at you as you look at him dazed, your head empty.

“Do you want me to clean you up, darling?” The question doesn’t process in your brain for a few seconds yet you find yourself nodding without hesitation. He picks you up, laying you on your back on the couch. You look down at him as he crawls down your body, sliding his tongue over the mess on your thighs. The feeling makes you gasp, shivering against the cold leather. You watch him as he makes eye contact with you, sliding his tongue up between your folds, watching you as you moan. His slides his tongue over your clit, noticing how you jump at the contact. He smirks against your pussy, licking at you slowly and gently. Once he decided it was enough torture, he sits up.

“Come here, Bunny. Let yourself doze off, ok? That was a lot after our long break hm.” He says, chuckling as you shakily crawl over, curling up against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, the sound making you smile. He was really here, he was truly here to take care of you after so much time apart.

“I love you, Baron” the words come out of your mouth as you doze off, the last thing you hear before sleep takes you;

“I love you too, Bunny.”

[buckysdollsworld]

The Adventures of Bucky Barnes and Y/n Stark | Madrippoor | Bucky's Doll

GIF’s not mine

Content warnings: 18+, MDNI, alcohol use, oral sex, dom/sub dynamic

My first post let me know your thoughts!!

You were at a club in Madrippoor, on a mission with Sam, Bucky, and Zemo. You all were going to meet with Selby.

“Remember, stay in character,” Zemo says quietly as we walk to where Selby is.

“Baron welcome welcome, I wasn’t expecting you here tonight and you’ve brought friends I see.” Selby grins staring you down with a predatory demeanor.

“Ah, apologies I did not introduce you yet. Selby this is our friend y/n.” Zemo began, you don’t make eye contact but, give a polite smile.

“A quiet one I see. I like that come here, my dear.” Selby commanded, you simply walked over but glanced at the others before approaching her.

You knew you had to do as told but were quite hesitant, unsure what would come next. Selby grabbed your wrist pulling you to sit next to her. "Now Baron, what is it you came here for?" She looked towards Zemo while still having a grip on you

"Well my dear, I have come with an offer. You see we need some information on the super soldier serum..." Zemo was cut off

"And let me guess, you need my help?"

"Precisely" Zemo gives a smug smile.

Selby gives a mischievous grin before saying "Well, what is it you have to offer?"

"Glad you asked. As for what I have to offer well, I can give you our little friend here. She's quite good company." he smirks, and your gaze goes to him quickly in slight fear, this was never a part of the plan.

Bucky steps forward like he is about to say something but stays quiet, clenching his jaw clearly holding back. Selby grins at the thought of owning you

"Alright, Baron. Will she do anything I ask or will we have to break her in?"

"No need she is quite the obedient one, isn't that right y/n?" Zemo looks at you with a smug smile you shyly nod.

"Aw come on, use your word my pet" Zemo gestures for you to speak

"Yes sir" you reply in a soft-spoken voice.

"Before you hand her off I'd like a demonstration just so I know I'm not being lied to," Selby says not quite convinced of my submissiveness

"Of course, come here my pet" Zemo commanded you went over to him immediately but you glanced at Bucky knowing he hated every moment of someone touching what's his.

Zemo looks to you "Kneel" he demands you get down to your knees staring down he takes his hand and gently but firmly grabs your chin tilting your head up to meet his gaze. From there Zemo runs his thumb across your bottom lip

"Let's show what that pretty little mouth can do" With that he brings his other hand to his waistband beginning to undo his pants.

Bucky was barely holding it together he had his hand in a fist his jaw clenched. Zemo smirks while pulling his rock-hard cock out it was on full display he tugged at your bottom lip before releasing his grip on you. You look up at him before sticking your tongue out your mouth dropping open he brings his cock closer putting his hands at the back of your head and forcing you forward. Your mouth wraps around Zemos shaft as he thrusts into your mouth gagging you with his length. He grabs all of your hair turning it into a makeshift ponytail and pushing you down further on his shaft Selby has an evil grin on her face watching intently sipping her cocktail.

"Such a good girl" he groans drool starting to run down your face your mind somewhat melting away as you taste the saltiness of precum.

Zemo's head tilts back slightly he groans feeling so much pleasure as your head bobs on his cock finally he comes releasing his load into your mouth "Swallow" he demands his voice low and ragged you meet his eyes and swallow

"Good girl" he pulls his cock from your mouth and wipes the mix of his seed and your saliva from your chin. Zemo puts his cock back into his pants adjusting himself Selby smirked with amusement. It was obvious she was intrigued by you and your submissive nature she also loved getting a rise out of Bucky who was clearly angered by the whole ordeal.

"I must say Baron she is quite the obedient one. We have a deal" Selby grins walking over "Perfect. She's all yours" Zemo backs away from you.