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heydoaflip · 10 days ago

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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.

#helmut zemo fanfiction #marvel #mcu #helmut zemo x female original character #helmut zemo #baron zemo #marvel cinematic universe #helmut zemo x reader #zombie apocalypse #zombie apocolypse au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #vision

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whowantsnachos · 2 years ago

Text

Strawberry Champagne

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Original Fem!Character (or you can insert yourself if you want)

Summary: After Madripoor, Zemo thinks Lydia should stop drinking. This is the result. (set post episode 3 FATWS)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Lydia, my character, has like this fire magic thing that HYDRA implanted in her. She has a lot of scars because of all of the experiments and the injections, but she covered them all after she got out with different tattoos. Another thing, her hair does this thing where streaks of it will turn into like a brighter red / ginger than her regular hair color [kinda like Tonks is a good way to describe it] when her body temperature goes up. The language that is occasionally spoken is Serbian, but it’s supposed to be Sokovian, and I heard they were similar. Anyways, feedback and stuff is always accepted, given this is the first thing I wrote officially. Enjoy!

Lydia was sitting in bed, wearing an oversized Metallica hoodie with her knees close to her chest. Her dull, red hair was a mix of slightly messy and living hell. She thought about everything she had just witnessed in the past couple of hours with one arm wrapped around her legs and the other holding champagne. Lydia sat in the same position for about an hour or two, either thinking, spacing out or drinking. A sudden knock on her door made her jump in surprise.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” she heard Zemo ask on the other end.

“Um, yeah, sure,” she said quietly.

He opened the door and stepped inside. He raised his eyebrows in slight shock seeing her so distraught.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m over the moon,” she said sarcastically.

“I apologize, I probably should have warned you ahead of time what we were getting into.”

“Yeah, you think? I can’t really blame you though, I should’ve expected all of that. I mean, it’s you, Sam, and Bucky, how could it have been any different? Anyway, it’s more my fault for agreeing to get into all of this shit again.”

“It’s not-”

“No, wait, that’s right! It's not my fault. It’s you three that dragged me back into this shitfest. Why am I blaming myself? I guess I agreed… regardless! Why am I the one to fix your guys’ messes, huh?”

“Ok, that’s enough champagne,” Zemo said as he grabbed the glass from her, sensing her getting mad.

“I wasn’t done with that yet,” she said sternly, reaching for the glass.

“Yes. You were.”

Lydia glared at him, and Zemo rolled his eyes out of annoyance, grabbing the champagne bottle from the side table next to her. He went into the bathroom and poured the rest of it into the sink.

“Why do you have to ruin my fun all of the time?” she asked, crossing her arms.

Zemo raised his eyebrow and said, “I’m not. I just think you would rather not have a hangover first thing in the morning.”

“How would you know? Tomorrow hasn’t happened yet,” Lydia cockily stated.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, you’re trustworthy now?”

Zemo gave her a death stare and Lydia looked down, realizing she might’ve hit a nerve.

“Sorry,” she murmured, playing with the edge of her sleeve.

Zemo softened his gaze a little and leaned on the doorway of the bathroom. He noticed the tattoos near her wrist, each one a different pattern or idea than the other.

“What are those for?”

Lydia quickly put her sleeve back down and said, “Nothing.”

Zemo titled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at her but shrugged it off.

“Where did you find that champagne?” he asked.

“Um, I may or may not have stolen it from that club...”

Zemo’s face lit up in amusement, and he asked, “You stole two thousand dollar champagne?”

“Possibly,” Lydia said with a smirk.

“Impressive.”

“I can be spectacular sometimes.”

Zemo laughed breathly but didn’t say anything. Lydia wanted to thank him for helping her out when the shooting broke out, but she didn’t know if now would be the appropriate time or not.

Well, it couldn't hurt.

“Um, I wanted to thank you. For helping me out back there. It really means a lot to me, I mean, I know that I’m not your favorite person in the world, but-”

“What gives you that impression?” Zemo asked.

“You’re kidding me, right? You’ve shut down half of the ideas I had about how we were going to execute Madripoor, and look where we ended up!”

“I knew it better than you did.”

“Apparently not! We could’ve died, Helmut.”

“If we would have done it your way, that fate would have been met sooner.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And neither do you,” Zemo responded.

Lydia cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. Raising her eyebrows at Zemo, she went into the bathroom to grab something from under the sink. Lydia also noticed that some streaks of her hair lit up, but she hoped that he hadn’t noticed.

“What are you doing?” Zemo asked.

She answered him by holding up another bottle of champagne with a strained smile on her face as she was walking out of the bathroom. As she was about to open the bottle, Zemo grabbed it and put it on the bathroom counter. Lydia gave him a mock pouty look, and he rolled his eyes.

“You need to stop drinking, I’m serious. You giving me that look isn’t helping you,” he said.

“You sure?” she asked as she emphasized her look.

“Lydia. I’m serious.”

Her ears burned at the way that he had said her name, and she could only pray that her hair hadn’t betrayed her now.

“And,” Zemo continued, “For the record, I don’t hate you or anything like that. To be honest, you’re the only one I can stand out of the ones I’ve met.”

Lydia raised her eyebrow slightly, and he quickly added, “Not that you’re the best of the worst, it’s just, how should I put this… I guess it’s more around the lines of ‘you’re smart and they’re not.’”

“Wow, harsh,” Lydia said with an amused look on her face.

“Well, it’s true,” Zemo said with a smirk on his face.

“Well, if I’m so smart, then that means… my plan was the best.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Lydia rolled her eyes playfully at him and walked back into the bathroom, but Zemo stopped her by closing the door halfway.

“Lydia,” he said with a warning tone.

Now, Lydia could see her hair quickly turn into a brighter red color, and she cursed herself in her head silently, hoping he didn’t notice, but she wouldn’t bet on it.

“Does your hair always do that?”

God damn it.

“Do what?”

“Change color like that when your name is said.”

“Um, no. Not to my knowledge, no,”

Zemo narrowed her eyes at her while his attention seemed to turn to her hair. Lydia felt slightly embarrassed by his staring, but this only led to it turning brighter again. He smiled a little and said, “It’s a nice color; it suits you.”

She could feel her face burning mainly out of embarrassment and something else she couldn’t describe. Lydia jumped a little when she felt Zemo touch her arm. She felt her skin burn up, and he said, “I apologize, but I recognize this one.”

Zemo went to touch her arm again, but before he did, he asked, “May I?”

Lydia nodded, and he lifted her sleeve, intently scanning the dragon on her forearm. He carefully traced the outline of it, and Lydia felt her skin heat up with each trail he left. The way that he was looking at her tattoo sent shivers down her spine, but surprisingly, it was a nice feeling, considering she hasn’t felt anything cool in a long time.

“Змај,” (“Zmaj,”) Zemo whispered.

“What?”

“Змаj, correct?”

Lydia nodded, and Zemo hummed, “Yeah, I remember that story. My parents used to tell me that all the time.”

“My parents weren’t into the whole legend thing, they always said it was just a bunch of lies people tell to poison our minds, but I have heard it a few select times.”

“Your parents were quite the people, huh?” He laughed.

She laughed with him and said, “Yeah, they were definitely something, alright.”

“Well,” Zemo started as his hand traced bits and pieces of her tattoos before stopping at the palm of her hand, his fingers slowly intertwining with hers. “They raised well.”

Damn you.

She felt her skin heating up with every second, but she tried to contain it as much as she could. She looked over at the bathroom mirror that was mostly covered by the door, but she could see that dozens of streaks of her hair were lit up bright orange like crazy. He glanced back at her hair, and his smirk grew.

“Does it usually change when people touch you as well?”

“A-again, not to my knowledge, no.”

Zemo hummed again and began tracing the tattoos on her other arm before grabbing her other hand and running his thumb over her wrist. He carefully moved his hands up her forearms, tracing the shapes of her tattoos more fully this time, while pulling her closer to him. Lydia’s heart picked up even faster, not that she knew how that was possible. To her, it felt like they’d been spending an eternity standing in the doorway, but at the same time, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Lydia?”

She took a breath in, and looked up at him, asking, “Yeah?”

It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how close they were to each other. Zemo’s breath lightly fanned her face, and his hands let go of her arms, slowly wrapping them around her waist instead. Lydia swallowed discreetly from his stare, and Zemo tilted his head to the left slightly and smirked at her.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“N-no, why would you? I could beat your ass into next year if I wanted to, what would I have to be nervous about?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. I’m sure your hair doesn’t light up around other people every time you stand next to them, or they talk to you.”

He pulled her closer and leaned his head down just enough so that he was only inches away from her face.

“Unless… it’s something else that makes your hair light up whenever I'm around.”

After he said that, he backed up a little and looked at her hair. Several streaks of it were brightening up, lightly illuminating the aura around her head. He smiled and laughed lightly through his nose.

“If I remember correctly, ‘Miss Vesta’s abilities cause her physical appearance to change as well. Her hair will change into different shades if she has any sort of strong emotions, including, but not limited to: anger, stress, sadness, and attraction.’ Does that sound right?”

Lydia squinted at him in confusion, and Zemo chuckled, saying, “SHIELD’s not very good at hiding things like they think they are.”

Lydia sighed and looked to her right and then down at her feet.

“So, again, I must ask,” he started. “Lydia…”

He removed one hand from her waist and lifted her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Do I make you nervous?”

Lydia licked her lips and said, “...no.”

Zemo leaned in closer, guiding her face to his slowly. He stopped centimeters before her face, just like before, and she could smell his expensive cologne radiating off of him.

“Are you sure? Your skin is burning.”

‘Копиле.’ (‘Bastard.’)

“Maybe I shouldn’t-“

“Ох, забога.” (“Oh, for God’s sake.”)

Lydia put her hand in the back of his neck, pulled him down, and their lips met. Zemo’s grip on her waist tightened, and moved his hand from her chin to the side of her face, the extreme heat of her skin slightly burning his hand. He furrowed his brow and backed her up onto the doorway, allowing him to close any distance between them. The smell of strawberry champagne intoxicated his senses, and he couldn’t get enough of her.

Lydia could feel every part of her body start on fire, whether she knew that’s what was actually happening to her or not. Her heart felt like it skipped ten beats at once, and heat filled her chest. She felt magnetized to him, and every break for a quick breath of air filled her with a sense of longing for more. Lydia thought her knees were going to collapse from underneath her, and she was grateful for the doorway behind her. She felt ripples of chills go up her spine for the second time that day, and the sensation of his thumb grazing her cheek only made it harsher. She felt her fingers become white hot, and she quickly retracted her hand to his shoulder, not wanting to burn him. She felt every bone and muscle in her body become the same temperature, and she felt the texture of the material of his shirt change. She removed his hand from her cheek and pulled away from him, catching her breath.

“I-I’m sorry. My skin… I can’t-”

Zemo shrugged and said, “To be honest, I never liked this shirt anyways.”

“No, you don’t understand, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Zemo tilted his head and raised his eyebrows quickly. He looked down and put his hands in his pockets, taking out the pair of gloves he was wearing earlier that day and putting them on. After he did that, he put his hands up and smiled at her.

Lydia lightly laughed and said, “I appreciate the gesture, but that’s not gonna do you much good. I’ll just burn-”

Zemo cut her off by saying, “I’ll take that chance.”

He kissed her gently, not wanting to make her skin burn back up again.

A sudden knock at her door caused Lydia to jump and separate from him, turning her head towards her door.

“Lydia? We need to discuss the plan for tomorrow. Have you seen Zemo anywhere?” Bucky asked through her door.

Lydia turned back towards him with a devilish look on her face. She whispered, “Play along,” and quickly pushed him away from her, a glare forming on her face.

“Yeah, he’s trying to steal my champagne.”

Bucky opened the door to the pair glaring at each other with murderous intent.

“You mean, I’m trying to take away the champagne that you stole from the club,” Zemo quickly countered, getting the message.

“Well, it’s mine now, isn’t it?”

“Alright! Look, she can keep the champagne, it doesn’t matter,” Bucky said.

“James, that was worth probably around two thou-“

“I don’t care,” Bucky said while giving Zemo a death stare before continuing. “We don’t have time for this anyway. We have to figure out the plan for tomorrow, come on.”

He left the room, and Lydia turned towards Zemo, raised her eyebrows, and dramatically put her hand out. He rolled his eyes and took the champagne bottle off of the counter and gave it to her.

“You’re only getting this because he likes you more than me.”

“And who’s fault was that?” Lydia retorted.

Zemo gave her an annoyed look as she laughed, and they both walked out of the room.

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hereticpriest · 9 months ago

Text

Masterlist

MDNI

Series

Mercy

Rating: Explicit 18+

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

To begin with, some warnings about this story: A/B/O Dynamics, Female Alpha, Male Omega, Some chapters may involve messing with the whole 'alphas are always dom and omegas are always sub' because I think nuance exists even in A/B/O dynamics, Fucking with the timeline (this is a blend of Canon, Legends, and original lore), Minimal use of Y/N (Explained in the first chapter), Reader is an alien species of my own creation and thus has a physical description, Familial bonds explored heavily, Clone rights explored heavily, Violence is more graphic than canon-typical however any graphic descriptions will be noted, AFAB reader, Not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes.

Read on AO3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Nine Point Five - Part Ten -

Miniseries

The Typist - Laszlo Kreizler and his Bitey Wife

Bite - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia

Chew - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia, prequel to Bite

Swallow - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia, prequel to Bite and sequel to Chew

Gulp - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft lactation and mommy kink, sequel to Swallow

Alpha Mine - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft Omegaverse, AU to The Typist series

Bokeh - Niki Lauda and his Photographer Wife (Mouse)

Muse - Niki Lauda x photographer!reader ft soft femdom and bondage and breeding

What Happens in Ibiza - Niki Lauda x photographer!reader x James Hunt ft threesomes, double penetration and anal

Life and Death - Niki Lauda x photograhper!reader x James Hunt ft heavy hurt/comfort and mild petplay

Brûlée - Dirk Brûlée and his Single Mama

Sriracha - Dirk Brûlée x single mom!reader ft sex toys/sybian

Red Carpet - Dirk Brûlée x single mom!reader ft breeding

Victory - Helmut Zemo and his Super Soldier

Pyrrhic - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader ft 14k of HYDRA being the worst and Helmut Zemo being a consent king

Clutch - Helmut Zemo x Reader ft daddy kink, Hydra hunting and impact play

Oneshots

The Bath - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader ft cockwarming

Ctrl and Power - Ernst Schmidt x Reader ft rough sex and secret relationships

Ganache - Tony Balerdi x Original Male Character ft food play and body worship

Requests and Prompts

Reader likes to come up behind Zemo and kiss or bite him

Roman Sionis fucking reader in his club and being a show off about it (and also he's a total switch)

Roman Sionis making female reader cockwarm him during a gang meeting

Obi-Wan Kenobi noticing female reader's tattoos after sex and pausing to enjoy them

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x oc #obi-wan kenobi x original character #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #my writing #requests and prompts #masterlist #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis #black mask x reader #dirk brûlée x reader #tony balerdi x oc #tony balerdi x original male character

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blackleatherjacketz · 2 years ago

Text

Point of No Return

Baron Helmut Zemo x Original Female Character

Summary: While preparing for a mission where she has to seduce their target, Zemo convinces her to show him how she plans on doing it.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only!, Explicit Smut, Daniel Bruhl’s Magnetic Essence, Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Sugar Daddy Undertones, Soft Dom Zemo, Roleplay, Oral Sex (Male and Female Receiving), Vaginal Sex, Lingerie, Dresses, Tuxedos, Kissing, Face Holding, Teasing, Hair Pulling, Zemo’s Hands, Eye Contact, Classical Music References, Zemo Possibly Catching Feelings

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags: Thank you to @bullet-prooflove for helping me concoct this universe! @letsby @imadeadpoett @mrsmaxwelllord @genevievedarcygranger

Read more MARVEL stories!

“How does it fit?” He doesn’t bother to look at her as she walks into his room wearing the gown he had made especially for her, one he was certain would fit every curve and angle of her body. He takes care to glance over just as she looks away, pretending not to notice how the vibrant color of the cloth complements the olive tones in her skin, accented only by the raven locks that cascade down her shoulders.

“Well enough, I guess.” She lifts her arms up, defeated by the fact that her chromosomes drew her the short straw in the group tonight.

She had dressed up a handful of times before; weddings, parties and funerals all placing her in dresses of varying lengths throughout her lifetime, but none of them were quite like this. None of them had clung so tightly to her skin, restricted her movement or made her feel so incredibly vulnerable that she questioned her ability to carry out her skill set in the presence of her colleagues… and him.

The baron looks up at her as she slowly turns around in front of him, noticing that the zipper on the back of her dress is still only halfway up. “You’re not zipped all the way.”

“What?” She turns to each side to get a better view of the back of her dress, bending her arms backward in a failed attempt to get a grip on the elusive zipper, splaying her fingers out across the fabric.

“Here,” he presses his lips together and walks toward her, motioning for her to turn around, “Allow me.”

She walks over to the full sized mirror to get a better look at herself, making an effort to grab hold of her dress as if to show him that she can do it herself. She’ll be damned if she actually needs a man to help her to get into this thing, even if he is the one who paid for it. And the flat they’re currently staying in. And their mode of transportation. And all their meals. And everything else.

Damnit.

She huffs before letting go of the silky cloth, reluctantly letting him take his place behind her. Although she had thought about it a few times before, she had never let the baron get this close to her, heeding her partners’ warnings of his hidden agendas and dual nature. Even with the heels she has on he still towers over her, the top of her head barely meeting his eyeline as they both look straight forward into the mirror. It’s almost as if they’re posing for a formal portrait, a snapshot of this moment in time portraying them as an opulent couple who had been together for years, his hand finding a sudden familiarity on her lower back.

“It suits you,” he whispers into her ear, tracing his way down her shoulder blade with his opposite hand.

“Does it?” She keeps her eyes on their reflection in the mirror, hoping that her makeup is heavy enough to hide the flushing of her cheeks as his fingers send a shiver down her spine. She’s supposed to be getting into character, one who is single and ready to mingle with their target long enough for Sam and Bucky to get the information they need; not one who can’t get over the intoxicating scent of her benefactor’s cologne.

“You don’t think so?” He takes his time feathering his fingertips over her silken strap as it curves its way into the unfastened bodice. He follows it down the inner arch of her back, noticing the absence of black lace or any other delicate fabric underneath. “You’re not wearing the lingerie I set out for you.”

“It was too bulky, didn’t look right.” She pauses as he excites the skin on her lower back, sparking a hint of heat into her core. “It’s just been a while since I’ve worn a dress, is all,” she starts to explain herself, feeling his breath warm against her hairline as his lips brush the shell of her ear.

Good God, why does he have to be so fucking handsome?

“You should wear them more often.” He reaches the tiny metal zipper at the base of her spine and slowly pulls it upward before laying it down flush against the material of her bodice. “You’re a vision in red, but every piece of your costume serves a purpose, tells a part of the story.” He takes a breath, pausing before continuing on, “You’re going to have to do more than just look the part tonight.”

“I know that,” she says, more to herself than to him as she watches his hand smooth its way over her hip in the mirror. She holds her breath as he guides it up her belly, inhaling as it curves over her breast and touches the bare skin on her chest.

“Do you?” He reaches her chin with the pads of his fingers, turning her face away from the mirror. “You’re going to have to distract him.” He tilts her chin up so that she has no other choice but to look into the dark caramel of his eyes. “You’re going to have to seduce him.”

“I can do that.” Her sentence wavers as it leaves her lips, a pathetic whisper of a promise as he drags his fingers off of her face.

“Can you?” He lets go of her completely, taking a step back before turning on his heel. “Sam seems to have a lot of confidence in your abilities, but I have my doubts.”

“Really?” She watches him walk away from her, his musk still lingering on her skin as he casually makes his way over to the vanity. “Is that why you can’t stop touching me?” She does her best to sound level headed as she challenges him, her body already yearning for his touch. “Your doubts?”

“My attraction to you isn’t in question here.” He states the obvious so matter-of-factly that it takes her by surprise, keeping any rebuttal she may have prepared still in her throat. “Your ability to stand out from the dozens of other European socialites is. And we want him… need him to do more than just touch you.”

“I can’t apologize enough for being an American,” she puts her hands on her hips, still flustered by his flippancy, “But I can do a British accent if you want.”

“No.” He puts a hand up to stop her before letting it fall to his side. “I want you to be as believable as possible.”

“Okay, then I just won’t talk as much.” She takes a deep breath. “That usually works on men of any social class, they all love the sound of their own voice.”

“Is that so?” He scoffs, leaning his back against the vanity. “If you’re so confident in your skills, then why don’t you show me what you plan on doing.”

Her heart nearly stops as it’s beating, its last contraction a loud and heavy thump in her chest as she swallows the lump in her throat. If he wanted her so badly, then why didn’t he just keep touching her? Why didn’t he take the chance to kiss her when his lips were so close to her mouth only moments ago? Why pull away at all? Maybe he is just as manipulative as Sam had warned her about.

“Excuse me?” She checks, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline as his lips curl into a smirk.

He can’t be serious, can he?

He merely nods with a sound confidence that only the baron of Sokovia could have. “I’d like to see how you’re going to keep his attention. The lives of dozens of people depend on it.”

“Well,” she starts, eager to play his game. They have a few hours to kill before the party starts, and she can’t think of any better way to fill each passing minute than to get his hands back on her body. “I’ll walk by him and… I’ll give him the look.” She’s never really had to think through what she’s done in the past to get a man’s attention. It always just seemed to happen to her without her really trying.

“The look?” He stands up straight, tilting his head to get a better grasp of the idea.

“You know…” she turns to the side and glances at him, lashes batting with feigned desire. “The look.”

“And?”

“And?” She laughs, exacerbated. “And I’ll look away then wait for him to approach me.” She looks up to see an unamused look on his face, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ll laugh at his jokes, touch his arm, touch my neck, things like that.”

“And if he doesn’t have any jokes for you to laugh at? What then?” He raises his eyebrows scoldingly, his tone dripping with acid. “Julian isn’t nearly as kind or as generous as I am, and it’s imperative that you distract him tonight. We can’t count solely on the luck you’ve had with men in the past.”

“What makes you think I’ve had any luck in the past?” She decides to commit to the bit wholeheartedly now, wondering what it will take to bring that sensual side of the baron back out to play. She steps toward him in her heels, careful not to make too much noise in them as she corners him against the dresser.

“Women like you usually haven’t had to seduce anyone before.” He inhales as she gets closer, pressing his back against the vanity as the different colored liquids sway to and fro inside their delicate glass bottles.

“Women like me?” She smiles and touches the hem of his waistcoat, a timeless piece he undoubtedly kept in storage from a lifetime ago. “What do you know about women like me?” She slides her fingers up his chest, following the design of his tuxedo to the fastened collar of his dress shirt.

“I know enough.” His words barely blow a few stray strands of hair away from her face, their tone shaking just a little at the end.

“Really?” She stands up even higher on her tiptoes, the bottom of her heels leaving the ground as she smoothes her hand beneath his tuxedo jacket. “You seem so confident in your skills.” She uses his own line against him, whispering her taunt against his ear as she slides her hand up the base of his neck. “But your years behind bars would prove that you’re a little out of practice.” She smiles against his skin as his palms warm her waist.

“One would venture to say that it’s as easy as pedaling a bicycle.” His fingers find the zipper they spent so much time and effort pulling up just moments before, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “A muscle memory, if you will.” He tugs it slowly down her backside, loosening her bodice along with the straps around her shoulders.

“Well, I’ve always heard that practice makes perfect.” She presses her fingers into his hairline, forcing him to look down at her as she brings her other hand up to mirror its movements. She can smell his cologne even deeper at this proximity, his raging pulse enriching the notes of cedar wood and patchouli into her nostrils as she massages his scalp. It’s different than anything else she’s ever smelled before, a perfect signature scent for a man unlike anyone else she’s ever met before.

She continues to card her fingers through his hair as she gazes upon him, the chestnut hues in his irises making way for expanding pupils as they dart nervously over her features. She can feel his chest as it rises against hers, expanding with each prolonged inhalation as his heart beats wildly inside. He must be just as rapt as she is with the scent he dabbed onto her wrists earlier, a rich floral perfume with a hint of orange that is ‘fit for a queen’, if she remembers his words correctly. She presses her thumbs into his temples before sliding them down his cheeks to hold his face merely millimeters away from her own.

“Don’t you want to be perfect?” She parts her lips and feathers them over his, teasing the idea of a kiss that’s only just out of reach.

“More than anything.” He nods as he takes her in, his body giving him away as his nose gently nudges into hers. He opens his mouth and kisses her, tasting the savory combination of her lips and tongue as he slides his hands up the muscles of her exposed back. He pulls her in close, finally exhaling into her as he lets his guard down for the very first time in over a decade. He wants to relish every inch of her, to memorize how she feels as she trembles against him, but he must stay on track.

“Remove my jacket,” he tells her, smoothing his palms across her neck and shoulders before letting his arms fall to his side.

She nods and presses her hands over his chest, sliding her fingers beneath the thick black fabric of his coat. She takes her time sliding it off of his arms, carefully folding it in half before draping it over the back of the chair next to the bed.

“Now my tie.” His words are cold against the warmth of her cheek as she unfastens his off-white bow tie. “You’re doing well, darling, but I’m going to need you to look up at me with those eyes while you undress me.” He lifts her chin with a curled finger beneath it, holding himself back from tugging on her bottom lip with his thumb. “Let him know how badly you want it.” He tries to circle back to his original plan by taking his own needs and desires out of the situation, but it’s obvious that he’s already dipped his toe into the shoreline of the point of no return.

“Okay.” She finishes pulling his tie out of his collar, the fancy bow now reduced to a single flat piece of cloth as she makes quick work of unbuttoning his vest and shirt between intentional stolen glances.

With his clothes off he’s absolutely beautiful, his broad chest and trim figure nothing how she imagined it would be, but somehow that much more alluring to her. Dark hair scatters its way across his chest, mixing in with a constellation of moles down his belly and into his pants that seem to be growing tighter in between his thighs, proving the effectiveness of her skills.

“Now get out of that dress and onto the bed.” His order ties a knot into her stomach, the authoritative tone of his voice pulling on her muscles as his callous words do more for her libido than she cares to admit. She should probably unpack the origin of that gut reaction when she gets a chance, but there’s a time and place for all of that.

She turns around and unzips the rest of her gown, casually sliding it off her shoulders with ease as she steps out of her heels. She takes a moment to look back at him with her practiced stare, catching him with a hungry look in his eye as she follows his instructions. She only smirks before looking away again, stepping out of the gown and over to the king sized bed in her bare feet. She hears him undress his bottom half on his own, the sound of him undoing his belt buckle and pants zipper echoing loudly in this tiny little bedroom as she climbs up onto the freshly made bed.

She takes her time turning over onto her back, spreading her legs in full display as he finally approaches her, now just as naked as she is. All of the sudden he isn’t this manipulative mastermind who lied, cheated and killed his way to revenge. He isn’t an escaped felon, a criminal or an enemy of the state. He isn’t even a baron, her benefactor, or the one hope to get the information she needs for this mission.

He’s just a man.

She sits up and reaches out to him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist before bringing his hand to her breast. She waits for him to squeeze it before looking up at him just like he’s told her to, letting her eyes fill up with desire as he grows right in front of her face. “Still doubting my skills, Baron?” She chides, opening her mouth to lick his tip.

“No.” He takes a deep breath as she tastes him, slowly taking more of him into her mouth as her perfect lips wrap around his cock. “Not at all.” He runs his other hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear as she opens the back of her throat to take him in completely. He lets his eyelids fall down as her lips reach his pelvis, tugging on her hair so that her tongue encases his shaft as she sucks her way back up. He guides her back down again, repeating the motion over and over as he nearly gets lost in how good her mouth feels as it glides over his throbbing member. He can’t get over how the warmth of her lips and the sensation of her tongue are far superior than that of his hand slick with spit in the cool recesses of his prison cell.

He also can’t get over the fact that he’s actually here, a conditionally free man who gets to enjoy a woman so utterly gorgeous as she does nearly anything that he asks…. a real, tangible woman. She looks so beautiful like this, eyes wide as she nearly chokes on his girth, saliva dripping down the corners of her mouth. He could finish like this in a matter of minutes if he wanted to, his hand in her hair as she swallows his release; leaving Sam and James none the wiser to their current activities, but he wants something more. He wants to know what she feels like from the inside, how the warmth of her cunt compares to the warmth of her mouth as her features contort with the pleasure he’s so ready to give her.

He pulls her off of him and loosens his grip on her hair, smoothing it out as he memorizes every curve of her face before leaning down to kiss her. He can feel himself walking straight into the depth of his desires, subconsciously crossing that line between motivation and need, between restraint and reckless abandon. At this point he doesn’t care what they’re supposed to be doing or how he’s supposed to be acting, all he can bring himself to care about is how he can taste himself on her lips as he presses his knees into the mattress.

He pushes her onto her back and climbs on top of her, kissing his way up her legs before tasting the moisture between her thighs, savoring the delicacy of her tangy flavor with muffled moans. He feels her fingers weave their way into his hair as she writhes beneath him, groaning as he laps her up until those groans increase in pitch, climbing up the octave scale one note at a time. It’s as if she’s singing her very own aria, telling the story of her pleasure to the centuries-old walls as he greedily dines on her flesh.

He grabs onto her wrists as the twitching of her hips becomes more sporadic, holding them down at her sides as that inner music moves its way through her. It steals her breath, turning that consistent vibrato in her lungs to a stifled staccato as her flavor grows sweeter beneath his tongue. It’s the most divine thing he’s ever heard in his life, each note sticking out in his memory forever as he kisses his way up her pelvis and chest, trying his best not to suck a few bruises into the delicate skin of her neck.

He releases his grip on her wrists, lifting her thighs around his waist as she nods for him to continue, pushing that staccato deep inside of her. He watches her mouth fall open as he stretches her out, leaning down to kiss her lips as he takes his turn adding his own groans to their proper duet. He takes advantage of the freedom of these walls, moaning into her as she envelops him with her velvety warmth, bringing him even closer to the brink.

He grabs onto her jaw as he rocks into her, gradually picking up the pace as their hearts provide the drum beat to their chaotic song of groans and grunts. He can’t help but bury his face in her shoulder to soften his fervor, tasting the salt of her skin as she reaches another octave while he pushes inside at a brand new angle.

“You feel so good,” she barely whispers, crossing her legs behind his back to keep him there. “Oh my God, Zemo!” She wraps her arms around his back in a similar fashion, pulling him in even closer as their steady collection of notes build upon each other, one right after the other with each rhythmic thrust of his hips until they both reach the height of their crescendo.

He cries out against her shoulder as the pleasure washes over him, releasing his bliss inside her walls in irregular spurts as he merges his body with hers, both of them vibrating in rhythm together. He kisses his way up her neck and jawline, still holding her face in his hand as he kisses her lips and cheeks. He pulls back, opening his mouth as if to say something mean or witty, to reinstate the power dynamics of their relationship, but the ecstasy wreaking havoc on his nervous system won’t let that happen. Instead he only kisses her again, soft and gentle as he rests his forehead against hers while he allows himself to forget everything that’s happened except for this very moment. He allows himself another scene of romance after their passionate duet, knowing full well that it can only last as long as it takes for the curtain to fall and the next act to begin.

#baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #daniel brühl #Helmut Zemo #Helmut Zemo Fan Fiction #Daniel bruhl #the falcon and the winter soldier

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years ago

Text

Love Across the Galaxy 🌌 | Helmut Zemo Imagine

Contains spoilers for GOTG Vol.3

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Baron Helmut Zemo x Roman Goddess/Guardians!reader (romantic), The Thunderbolts—Baron Zemo, Bucky Barnes, Thaddeus Ross, Valentina Alegra De Fontaine, John Walker, Ghost, Justin Hammer, Taskmaster, Yelena, & Red Hulk (platonic), The Guardians of the Galaxy—Quill, Mantis, Nebula, Drax, Rocket, Groot, Kraglin, & Cosmo (platonic)

Content Warnings: profanity, light angst, fluff, mentions of death, fighting & violence, spoilers for GOTG Vol.3 (don’t read if you haven’t seen it!) | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 4.9k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: In which Baron Helmut Zemo, hater of the Avengers and desire to rid the planet of enhanced beings, becomes a member of the antihero team led by General Thaddeus Ross & CIA Director Valentina Fontaine where he meets the legendary group of misfits turned Guardians of the freakin Galaxy and loses his heart to a Goddess with a love for 80s music and talent for cutting of limbs.

Note: GOTG Vol 3 has permanently altered my brain chemistry and I cannot stop thinking about it. Truly the best film since Endgame & it’s inspired me cause I’m also back to loving Zemo again. I refuse to believe Marvel would give us a Thunderbolts film w/o Zemo so I will make sure he’s in this team.

After learning about all the Gods in Thor: Love & Thunder, picture you are Minerva, the Roman Goddess of Wisdom & War (Roman equivalent to the Greek’s Athena) and has cosmic powers similar to the Eternal’s Thena and has been with the Guardians since the events of the first GOTG film.

————————

Fall 2023

“I don’t see why we need these people to help us,” Zemo rolled his eyes, strolling beside General Ross with the rest of the team around them. Once outside the cool breeze hit him, ruffling the lapels of his coat as his eyes squinted from the bright light.

Ross lets out a tired sigh, “Because, Zemo, as much as it galls me to admit it this threat is far beyond what we can deal with. It’s not terrestrial and chances are these…” he had trouble coming up with the word, “let’s just say they’re more experienced for this situation.”

They all stop before the flight line. It’s clear all around them with no sign of an approaching vessel.

“Who are these guys again?” Justin Hammer popped some jelly beans in his mouth. John looks down at the file in his hands, making a face as he does.

“They call themselves…The Guardians of the Galaxy.”

“Oh God,” Bucky moans, immediately making mental notes to protect his mental arm knowing a certain talking animal was on the hunt for it. He was gonna have to sleep with one eye open.

Zemo raises his brow, “Friends of yours, James?” Bucky is not pleased by the assumption.

“I wouldn’t call them that.”

“Aren’t they part of the Avengers?” Ava’s tone is slightly disapproving. While Scott Lang and the Pym/Van Dyne’s helped her, she still got bad rep despite doing what she did to survive.

Zemo, not happy with the idea of working with Avengers, snatches the file from Walker.

“Not technically,” Ross replies while Zemo reads over the page. “They arrived with Thor in 2018 against the first battle with Thanos, remained an associate to the team while continuing whatever the hell it is they do in space, and returned in 2023 to defeat the purple bastard once and for all.”

“Did you fight with them, Bucky?” Yelena asks from beside the soldier.

“Yeah,” the memory appears in his mind. Specifically where he grabbed Rocket by the scruff and spun them in circles to cover more area as they fired off their guns. “Our interactions were brief…but memorable.”

The Baron had seen many things over the years, like the rest of humanity with the formation of the Avengers and reveal of intergalactic and enhanced beings, but to stay he wasn’t thinking, ‘what the fuck?’ by the picture in front of him would be a lie.

An earthling turned ravager, a blue mercenary, a woman with antennas, a genetically engineered raccoon, a living tree, a gray alien that could take down Thor, a man with a metal Mohawk, a telekinetic dog, and an exiled sword wielding Goddess. All misfits and outcasts, mostly space criminals turned superhero guardians of the cosmos.

Well….they were quite the bunch.

“They are not still with the Avengers, I take it?” Zemo wanders around, eyes lingering on the Goddess. White streaks adorned her natural hair color, eyes gold and lips painted with what appeared to be a permanent smirk. She wore a gold and white headpiece that had an owl extending its wings.

Name/Alias: Minerva, Goddess of War; Race: Deity; Planet of Origin: Caelum; Age: approx. 2500 yrs (39 Earth yrs); Occupation: Warrior/Mercenary/Defender of the Andromeda Galaxy; Allegiance: The High Council of Caelum (formerly), Guardians of the Galaxy, Thor, God of Thunder, The Avengers (formerly); Abilities: Cosmic manipulation, enhanced strength, agility, speed, & durability, thermal detection & mental teleportation; Specialization: artillery and battle strategy.

Ross let out a sigh, “only when the planet is about to go to shit due to an intergalactic threat. Which we’ve now got on our hands, but considering the Avengers are all on sabbatical I’m sending you in,” he checks his watch, “but I need all the extra hands and like I said, they’re experienced.”

Zemo stares at the blank sky, “How will we know they've arrived?”

“Believe me,” Ross mutters under his breath. “You’ll know.”

A loud rumbling noise caught everyone’s attention, gazes turning upward as a hexagon shaped breech in the sky revealed a very large spaceship in its wake, followed by the distinct lyrics of AC/DC’s ‘Back to Black.’

“Back in black. I hit the sack. I’ve been too long, I’m glad to be back. Yes, I’m let loose. From the noose. That’s kept me hanging about.”

“Oh my,” Yelena breathed out, hair flying back from the gust of wind. Zemo lifted a hand to cover his face from the leaves, as did the others, many wide eyed.

“I’ve been looking at the sky. ‘Cause it’s gettin’ me high. Forget the hearse ‘cause I never die. I got nine lives. Cat’s eyes. Abusin’ every one of them running wild.”

“Great song,” Justin voiced, grinning from ear to ear. The ship made its descent, music getting louder.

“‘Cause I’m back. Yes, I’m back. Well, I’m back,” it approached the tarmac, “Yes, I’m back. Well, I’m back, back.” wheels hit the tarmac, engine powering down but music still blasting, “Well, I’m back in black,” the ship doors opened, revealing steps extending to the ground, “Yes, I’m back in black.”

It was almost like a scene from a movie. Slow-motion if one will by how the Guardians exited their ship and stepped foot on the tarmac with AC/DC on full volume. All dressed in their new suits of red and blue leather with the Ravager flames on the chest.

Arriving in style.

Quill led with the rest flanking his sides. Drax munching on snacks while Nebula looked menacing and Groot towered over everyone. Cosmo had her tongue out in excitement, Rocket carrying his gun strapped to his back. Mantis’s chin held high, like she was on top of the world and Kraglin trying not to appear lost. Lastly Minerva was drinking a caprisun, Ray Bans covering her gold eyes.

Zemo tilts his head in amusement at the sight. He expected the Goddess, of war nonetheless, to have a more menacing approach like Nebula considering her reputation. But she was just as relaxed and laid back as Drax.

The Guardians walked several paces until they were directly in front of the Thunderbolts. It was then the music stopped, Ross being the first to address them. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

Quill gave a smug grin, “We know.” Hands go to his hips, “You’re wearing a suit so you must be the boss man. Although I believe there’s also a boss lady we’re here to do business with.”

“Director Fontaine is currently occupied. She’ll be arriving in the morning.”

“I assume we won’t be knowing a damn thing until that happens, huh?”

Ross tightens his lips, “You assume correctly.”

“I told you we should’ve handled it on our own,” Minerva’s glances to Quill annoyed. Surprised by her voice, Zemo's eyebrows raised at her sudden input. Her accent was slightly Italian given her mythological origin is Roman.

Quill clicked his tongue, “We don’t have authority here, Minnie.”

“Midgard is part of the Andromeda Galaxy. Technically we should.”

Now the man was giving her a pointed look after Ross’s body language turned defensive, “I’d rather not get our asses thrown in Earth’s prison system. We go by the rules—the ones we established.”

Minerva grumbles under her breath, finishing the last remnants of her juice pouch, “Would’ve finished the job faster. They wouldn’t even know we were here.”

“Okay well, we’re doing things this way. We’re here as a team to work with a team. Right, Mr. Secretary?”

Ross’ disapproving eyes linger on Minerva, who in return rolls her own, before turning his attention back to Quill, “Yes. Now let’s move on shall we?”

He lets out a breath of relief, “Agreed.” Bidding a warning look to each of his teammates, they all wait for what the man in the suit has to say. Ross extends a hand to the people on either side of him.

“This is my team. All with different levels of skill and experience. Justin Hammer is our tech and weapons specialist,” Justin gives a wave, “Yelena Belova,” Ross points to the blonde in a white tactical suit, “former Black Widow and master assassin.” At the mention of Black Widow Rocket, Nebula, and Minerva all tense, faces becoming solemn at the memory of Natasha. They were the three remaining Guardians during the blip, becoming close with the Avenger.

“Ava Starr, she can phase through anything,” they all look impressed, finding the talent cool. “Antonia Dreykov, who we like to call Taskmaster.”

“Why’s that?” Kraglin asked intrigued.

“She has photographic reflexes and can mimic your fighting powers. Basically use your own moves against you.”

“Niceeee,” all the Guardians echo. Ross points to the two individuals in between Zemo and Yelena.

“Our super soldiers, Captain John Walker and I believe you all know Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky tightens his mouth with a curt nod.

“You still got that arm on ya?” Rocket muses, earning a nudge—well more like a kick—from Minerva. The rest of the Thunderbolts besides Bucky all become wide-eyed at the talking Raccoon…even though it said on the file he could.

But how the fuck else were they suppose to react to a talking raccoon?

All Bucky does is glare, “Don’t even think about it.” Rocket shrugs, “Worth a shot.”

“Why is that one carrying a giant frisbee?” Drax’s mouth is filled with Zargnuts. Walker, the man in question, becomes visibly offended.

“It’s a shield not a frisbee.” Zemo bites back a smirk at the soldier's tone. Not to mention the Guardians' reactions were priceless.

“A shield?” Mantis repeats confused.

“It’s a frisbee,” Drax mumbles.

“Like that circular object Minerva conjures to deflect attacks,” Nebula tiredly explains. Mantis’s mouth forms the shape of an ‘o’.

“And lastly,” Ross sounds just as exhausted as the cyborg, “Baron Helmut Zemo, former intelligence operative.”

“I am Groot,” Zemo’s attention goes to the tree alien, confused by his words. Minerva, seeing his expression, addresses it, “He says he likes your fancy cape.”

‘Cape?’ He thinks, but doesn’t comment on it and his perplexed reaction makes Minerva smirk. Instead Zemo says, “Well, I appreciate the compliment. Thank you.” Groot’s pleased, grinning wide like a child.

It’s then Quill’s turn to formally introduce the Guardians. The Thunderbolts bite back their own amusement at the nicknames and surprise of hearing the dog, Cosmo, speak through her suit with a distinct Russian accent. Afterwards Ross leads them all into the hangar, Minerva removing her sunglasses now that she was inside, allowing her gold eyes to be visible.

From there they all interact, awkwardly for the most part as they have no idea what the hell to do as they wait for further instruction. It soon becomes bickering and even challenging someone in hand-to-hand combat.

Well, what can you expect when a team of heroes meet a team of villains/anti heroes? Rivalry at its finest.

“Any day now, Quill,” Minerva groans, relaxing her stance. Across from her several feet away was Walker, confused by why she was taking so long to attack. They were standing in the middle of the squared off area with the teams surrounding them, but giving enough space to avoid being in the crossfire. Quill was scrolling through his Walkmen.

“What’s he doing?” Zemo whispers to Kraglin, eyes flicking back and forth from the human Guardian and the Goddess.

“Trying to find a good fight song. You know, get the vibes going.” Out on the square Minerva lets out a loud huff signaling her annoyance was increasing.

“Just give me another second—.”

“Quill.”

“I almost got it.”

“Pick a goddamn song!”

“Fine!” Quill shouts, randomly selecting the first one his finger hits. A second later Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry Like the Wolf,’ blasts through all the speakers attached to the Guardians arms. The antiheroes become perplexed, while also noting the song choice. Justin and Yelena started to bop their heads.

“Darken the city, night is a wire. Steam in the subway, earth is afire. (Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do)”

Minerva smirked, retaking her stance. As she lifts her hands, cosmic energy around her consorts to physical matter, taking the shape of a spear and shield in either hand. Wide eyes take over the Thunderbolts.

“Woman, you want me, give me a sign. And catch my breathing even closer behind. (Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do)”

“Wow,” Justin exhales. “In touch with the ground. I’m on the hunt, I’m after you.”

“That’s so cool,” Yelena muses, others muttering in agreement. “Smell like the sound, I'm lost in the crowd. And I’m hungry like the wolf.” Keeping his admirations to himself, Zemo watches the scene unfold in silence.

“First one to step or get thrown out of the square loses,” Bucky shouts over the music, “Ready….” Walker clutches the strap of his shield, Minerva twirling her spear once, “Fight!”

“Stalked in the forest, too close to hide,” Walker lets out a cry, charging at the Goddess. “I’ll be upon you by the moonlight side (Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do,” Minerva blocks his attack, pushing back slightly only to crouch to swipe at his legs, “High blood drumming on your skin, it’s so tight,” Walker dodges her spear, but fails to avoid her kick to his chest, sending him backward. “You feel my heat, I’m just a moment behind.” He brings his shield up in time as her spear barrels down at him. “Do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do.”

They continue their one-on-one for several minutes, both coming close to getting the other out of the square and the song changing to ‘Cherry Bomb’ by The Runaways—a favorite amongst the Guardians. The entire time Zemo was mesmerized to say the least. Every move she made was effortless, showcasing strengths and ability to predict Walker's moves.

He hadn’t felt such attraction to a woman in so long. And here he was experiencing a feeling that was almost unfamiliar.

Ultimately Minerva wins the battle in what one would call a divine move. At the peak of the song, Minerva’s golden eyes glow bright resulting in the eyes of the owl headpiece to also glow and become animated. It takes form, coming to life and soars straight at Walker, throwing him off by covering his face.

“What the—uuugh!!” He’s flying through the air, back meeting the harsh ground with an audible groan. The owl leaves him, returning to Minerva and consorting back into a headpiece. When it does her eyes dim back to their normal hue. Her team broke out into whistles and hollars, meanwhile Walker’s were unimpressed.

“Guardians for the win!” Rocket cheered.

“I am Groot!”

“Never underestimate the power of Duran Duran!”

Minerva helps Walker up, “Not bad, soldier.” As she turns to head off the pad, her eyes lock with Zemo’s and a wink is sent his way. Heat rises in the Baron, glancing away to hide his smirk.

Oh boy, trouble was on the horizon.

Next Yelena went against Nebula. Their fight was even more intense and nearly ended in a draw. Eventually Yelena overpowered the cyborg and got her to step out of the square. It was a tie. Groot and Rocket teamed up against Ross in the form of the Red Hulk—which took a lot of convincing—the two claiming the win after fooling the General. Taskmaster beat out Quill, handing his ass to him which had the Guardians in a heap of laughter.

“I enjoyed that more than I should have,” Minerva teases, crossing her arms as she takes a spot beside Zemo. He glances at her, mirroring her expression.

“Not a common occurrence for your friend to lose a fight?”

She scoffs, “You’d be surprised by his record.”

Lastly Bucky went toe-to-toe with Drax, and of course Rocket had to yell, “Take his arm and give it to me!” And well….it ended with them tackling each other out of the square.They didn’t know who won at that point, so the teams were tied 2-2 initiating a debate on who should be crowned the best.

“Okay, let’s call it a day,” Ross announces, ending the squabbling between the groups. “Night’s upon us and frankly I could use a drink. We’ll return here first thing in the morning—7am sharp to discuss the threat and where to go,” he turns to Quill, “we’ve got sleeping quarters arranged for you all if you please. Otherwise my guess is you’ll remain in your ship?”

About an hour later, after both teams settled for the night, Zemo decided to take a walk around the flight line. It became a habit of his since joining the Thunderbolts. A way to clear his mind after a long day of briefings and training. He basked in the peace that came with being alone, but there were times he felt lonely and longing for company to share the peace with.

Ten years since losing his family and the pain never strayed. Yet, he managed to live with it. He accomplished his goal in 2016 when he tore apart the Avengers. Likely is to blame for the loss against Thanos resulting in half of the universe’s population turning into dust for five years.

Did he feel remorse for the consequences of his actions? Possibly. Did he regret it? No. At this rate he’s accepted the reputation he painted himself to be.

“Zemo, correct?” The sudden intrusion spooked the Baron, jumping slightly by the glowing eyes in the darkness. A moment later Minerva stepped into the lighting, eyes dimming to normal. She was still in her suit, though her hair was pulled back, white streaks seeping through the natural color.

“Yes, but you may call me Helmut,” he replied, nodding in greeting to the Goddess.

“Helmut,” she tests the name, “like the headwear people use when they ride bikes or spacesuits?”

“That’s one way to look at it, but yes I suppose so.”

“Interesting. What brings you out this late in the evening?”

He shrugs, “wanted to get away from the constant complaining of my comrades,” eyes go to the sky, “and I like to admire the stars.” Minerva moves to his right, glancing up as well.

“They’re much more incredible up close.” He peers down at her, not bothering to question her judgment. She lives in space after all.

“I bet so. I’m sure the view from here is nothing compared to what you’ve witnessed.”

She shrugs, “These stars you don’t even know if they’re still alive. It took years—possibly millions—for the light to reach Earth.” Zemo looks back up, focusing on the North Star.

“For all we know they burnt out ages ago.”

Their eyes connect, Zemo feeling a weight on his chest by the intensity of her gaze. It’s followed by unease when she says, “Natasha told me about you.”

Instantly he looks away, feeling an unfamiliar wave of dread. “Ah.” Here was a discussion he was not expecting, nor willing, to have.

But Minerva didn’t show criticism. In fact, her gaze and tone resembled understanding. “How do you do it?” The question took him aback.

“Do what, exactly?”

“Align yourself with people who go against what you stand for?” Minerva’s tone wasn’t condescending at all, only curious. “Most of your team are enhanced individuals—two are super soldiers to be exact. You went to many lengths to disband the Avengers and put an end to superheroes,” there’s a slight tilt of her head, eyeing the Baron with intrigue, “but you join a group consisting of people who fall between the spectrum of hero and villain where most are the exact thing you wished to eradicate. Not to mention led by two people you wouldn’t say you share similar moral values with. Why join them?”

For the first time in his life, Zemo was at a loss for words. Not a single word uttered as he tried to comprehend what Minerva had just confronted him with. How could he explain? Hell, he didn’t even know the real truth other than wanting to stay out of his cell. A big price to pay in exchange for freedom.

Minerva spoke again before he could respond, “I once committed an act similar to you,” the surprise is evident on Zemo, “Vengeance against those who were responsible for the death of my loved ones. It’s why I was exiled,” a frown appears, her attention returning to the stars. “So I understand you, probably better than anyone here. Understand why you committed those acts to destroy the Avengers. I don’t fault you for what you did—if I did it would make me a hypocrite. You’re not the villain Ross and the Avengers made you out to be.”

“How so?” His voice is strained, “what have you lost?” He didn’t mean to come off as defensive, but the conversation was bringing up emotions Zemo didn’t want to face.

“As Goddess of War all I knew was bloodshed. How to prevent it and how to fight it. Battle strategy was my domain, and the High Council knew better than to question my judgment,” she releases an exhale, “but Mars, the God of War and my brother, was my ultimate rival. He hated how much our father doted on me and agreed with plans I coordinated. It made him feel inferior. He’d do anything to prove himself.” Her tone remains neutral despite the painful memory surfacing.

Zemo remained quiet, picturing the scene as Minerva relayed it. Though stoic the Baron could see the pain and sadness lurking behind her eyes. Managing it as best she could for the sake of her friends. Who knows how many years it’d been since she lost whoever it was close to her. But the hole would always remain.

“To put it short,” she started again, bidding a glance, “Our home was under attack and his rash decision to slow down the enemy led to the death of my family—my husband and children.” Sympathy arose in the Baron, understanding her anguish, “An intentional move on Mars’ part because he believed I wouldn’t be fit to remain on the High Council after stuffing such a loss, therefore he would take my place as Head Commander of our armies and my father’s second Command.”

“He wasn’t exiled?” The question left Zemo before he could stop it. Confused by how the God avoided persecution for his crime, Minvera was shunned. “Your family was targeted.”

Minerva’s smile was bitter, “because their deaths were a result of war, the High Council viewed it as collateral. They failed to see Mars’ responsibility, believing he didn’t intend to kill them. So, I took it upon myself to bring justice. Not only to Mars but also the High Council.” Her smile fell once more, “I made sure they would pay. And they did, but it was far from over after finishing the job. Those who survived didn’t hesitate to throw me out to the wolves once I was contained.”

Zemo nods his head, “where did you go afterward if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I was imprisoned on Xandar for some time,” well they certainly had some things in common, “Once I escaped I became what your people would call a bounty hunter. Where it led me to meeting those clowns I now call my family,” she pauses before adding, “and escaping prison for a second time. Only it was to save the Galaxy.”

The laugh that escapes Zemo surprises him, “I guess it all worked out then.” Once more they lock eyes, twinkling against the stars shining down above.

“I suppose it did.”

Three Years Later

Zemo raced out the door the moment he awoke to rumbling that shook the foundation of his home. After three years he’d recognize the sound in an instant, only this time it was without warning.

An action that rarely occurred.

Throwing on his coat and house slippers, the clock read 2:30 am, flooding the Baron with worry. ‘What is she doing here at this hour?”

Usually when Minerva drops in she gives Zemo a heads up. A day or two’s notice, but recently he couldn’t get a hold of her and passed it off as the Guardians on a job. With the unexpected visit, so late at night, Zemo instantly knew something was wrong.

Hurrying out to the front lawn right as her ship landed, Zemo jogged to where the stairs extended. When they did, the doors revealed his Goddess, still wearing her suit, standing before him. Zemo noted the exhaustion painting her demeanor. Dark circles beneath her eyes, which appeared dimmer than usual, and scars indicating recently healed wounds.

His arms are around her the moment she’s within distance, her own around his neck, “This is a surprise.”

“Sorry I didn’t call,” the exhaustion was evident in her voice. Barely above a whisper causing Zemo to tighten his hold.

“It’s alright, darling. I’m just glad to see you are okay,” his hand runs along her hair, “wanna tell me what happened?” He hears her sniff, increasing his dread, “Close call?”

“Too many,” her voice cracks and there’s a pause. “We almost lost Rocket. We saved him thankfully, but then we nearly lost Peter. And I almost—,” she stops short, not wanting to relive her near death experience. “This was…it was too much for all of us, Helmut.” A kiss is pressed to her head, offering comfort.

“Let’s get you inside, mein schatz.” Zemo leads Minerva into the home, sitting her in the living room while he goes to put a kettle on the stove. Filling two cups of cherry blossom tea, Minerva’s favorite, he joins her in the living room.

After taking her first sip of the brew, Minerva removes the headpiece from her hair and makes herself comfortable before giving Zemo a play-by-play of the past three days. He stays quiet, listening intently but visibly reacts with each awful detail Minvera relays to him. From the unexpected attack from Adam Warlock, to the disgusting abuse Rocket endured at the hands of the High Evolutionary, to Quill nearly imploading in space had it not been for Adam’s change of heart.

Zemo’s knuckles turned white when Minerva spoke of what happened to her. Anger consumed him and he wished he had been there to protect her. Seeing his distress Minerva placed her hand on his, gently squeezing, “I’m okay, Helmut. I’m here now and we all made it out. There were many close calls, but we’re all alive and that’s what matters.”

Taking her hand, Zemo brought it up to brush his lips against her fingers, softly kissing her knuckles. “I don’t know what I would've done if I lost you, Minnie. I—-,” he stops himself to exhale, squeezing his eyes shut, “I would’ve found a way to fly across the galaxy to avenge you.”

“I know you would,” she murmurs, removing her hand but positioning herself in his lap. Arms snake around his neck, pulling him so they were inches apart. “I’d expect nothing less. Also I’d be a hypocrite considering I would do the same for you.” A playful smirk formed, “I was already plotting when Ross let you get captured by those bastards last year. Had it ended any other way, Ross would cease to exist.”

Zemo snickered, “I see we haven’t really changed completely despite our friends believing the opposite. Neither of us hesitating to return to old ways if it comes down to such circumstances.”

She smirks, “No, I don’t suppose we haven’t.”

“What a pair we are,” leaning in, his lips meet hers in a soft caress. Warmth seeping through his veins. That effortless high he believed he’d never have again after the loss of his family.

But he found it with a Goddess in the stars. Where love swept across the galaxy.

When they pull away after a moment, Zemo keeps his forehead against hers. Gold meeting brown. “I’m not sure I can let you go now, liebling. At least not for a while.”

“You never have to anymore,” her words have him startled, the man pulling away slightly to get a better look at her.

“What are you saying?”

Minerva’s gaze turns soft, though there’s slight nervousness, “After everything we all realized something. We found the family we were searching for, but some of us needed to find ourselves. Peter’s here on Earth to find his grandfather. Mantis is off on her own adventure. Drax and Nebula are on Knowhere to help raise the children we saved from the High Evolutionary. Rocket and Groot are leading a new era of the Guardians. And me,” she stops, emitting a gaze full of love that takes Zemo’s breath away. “I’d like to be here. With you, Helmut. If you’ll have me.”

If his heart could explode from the happiness Zemo was feeling it would. Tears were threatening to prick his eyes, the Baron willing himself to remain composed. “Oh, Schatz,” he croaked, cupping the side of her jaw. “I should be the one asking you that. Of course I’ll have you. I love you more than every star in the galaxy.” With that he kisses her, putting all his love and passion it causes her own eyes to water.

“I love you too,” she kisses him again. They remain on the couch, falling asleep eventually curled up in each other’s embrace. Their last thoughts filled with joy as they awaited the new adventure on the horizon.

An adventure just between them. A reinstated Goddess and a fully pardoned Baron opening the next chapter of their lives. Together.

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rose-l-20 · 3 months ago

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MARVEL MASTERLIST

Please refer to my main Masterlist for my request/writing boundaries!

Requests: OPEN

CHARACTERS:

Helmut Zemo, Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier, Loki, Natasha Romanov, Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Peggy/Captain Carter, Sam Wilson, Norman Osborne, Dr Otto Octavius.

WORKS:

His biggest weakness - Helmut “Baron” Zemo x female reader (COMING SOON)

#helmut zemo #bucky barnes #marvel #marvel fanfiction #loki laufeyson #natasha romanoff #the winter soldier #peggy carter #yelena belova #dr otto octavius #norman osborn #captain carter #sam wilson #kate bishop

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loveofafangirl · 4 years ago

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I’ve Got You

[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist]

Pairing: Baron Zemo x Reader/You (no gender, race, body type given)

Headcanon/Synopsis: Zemo won’t fall asleep at night until he knows you’re already safely asleep. *Fluff*

Word Count: ~1,100

A/N: Was just going to post the headcanon (above) but it turned into this instead.

His fingers dance carefully through your hair, brushing away the loose strands that threaten to tickle your face. His eyes are warm chocolate melting you with their comfort.

You try to speak, but sleep is already attempting to overtake you.

"Shh—" he breathes, quieting any attempt for you to speak with a chaste kiss. "Rest, Liebling." His lips press to your forehead next. "I've got you."

The heat of his breath seeps over your features, bathing you in his care. You focus on his nearness and the way his arms envelop you perfectly.

The world around you falls away until only he remains. He had that effect on you. You thought it might have been the bliss of a new relationship at the start, but every day since, you've grown more in love, and that feeling has only strengthened.

Your eyes flutter shut as you nestle in his embrace, letting his tender affection lull you. You had never felt this safe before, but with him, the world could be on fire, and you knew he would never let anything happen to you. You drift peacefully to sleep, his warmth beside you, never straying far.

You had many such nights like this, soothed to sleep by his affection. You were so enamored by his nightly watch that it took you longer than you care to admit to realize that you always fell asleep first.

Determined to let him fall tonight, you focus your efforts on caring for him. You massage his shoulders and end up caressing the nape of his neck as you paint his jaw with soft, feathery kisses. You feel his muscles relax and tensions melt under your touch. "I've got you," you breathe.

He draws you nearer, pulling your hips to his. For a moment, you forget the plan, letting his tenderness begin to lull you again.

"Helm," you whisper with a somewhat frustrated groan as you shift back. Your body begs you to give in to the peace he brought you, but you had promised yourself you would be there for him tonight.

"Is everything okay?" His eyes flash with concern at your sudden movement.

Your fingers delicately brush a lock of hair off his forehead. "Everything's fine. You always take such care of me. I wanted to return the favor. Let me watch over you as you sleep tonight."

His eyes close, contemplating your words. His head falls to the side.

When his eyes reopen, you see a faint whisper of pain. You know that look and what it meant. "I'm right here." You cradle his face.

Even after all this time, the loss of his family still haunted him; and more so, the feeling of helplessness that had overtaken him that day as a result. You kiss his forehead, holding him in your arms as he had done so many times before for you. "It's okay. I've got you."

He takes a moment, composing his thoughts. His face flashes with a tangled web of emotions.

"Please;" his gaze finally meets yours; it's warm again. He breathes deeply, letting a soft smile settle on his face as he focuses on you. "I need to know you'll still be there when I wake and that no harm has come to you."

You nod, a smile growing on your lips at his reasoning. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Nevertheless, allow me this." The back of his hand ghosts over your features, pulling you back into his warmth. "I need to know you’re safe."

You understand. You know the weight of the guilt he carries over not protecting his wife and son.

"Okay." You roll over, shifting until your back presses against his torso. As soon as his arms wrap around you, you hug them to your chest. "Thank you." Your voice is quiet as you allow yourself to relax in his care once more.

Nestling his head in your hair, he whispers sweet nothings in your ear until he feels your body succumb to sleep. He listens to your relaxed breathing, allowing its steady rhythm to comfort him as he falls beside you, sleeping tranquility with you in his arms.

It was like this for more nights than you could count. Most of the time, you happily accepted his care. Sometimes, you protested, still wanting your turn to watch over him, but you understood his motives. If this brought him some small peace, you would never wish to take it from him. You understood that this helped give him some control over the fears that still haunted him. However, you began to wonder if there wasn't a part of him that was just afraid of being completely vulnerable with you.

***

It was a mild spring day; the trees had blossomed, peppering the world with their soft, colorful petals when a breeze swept through. You relax together on the chaise in the conservatory. The brilliant sun blankets you in its warmth.

He rests his head in your lap, gazing up at you with more adoration than you ever imagined possible.

You can't help but smile down at the man you love. You pull away from his gaze and continue reading aloud from the book of poetry he had chosen.

He loves the way your voice reflects the spectrum of emotions in the works you read and how your passion overtakes you when you get to a particularly moving passage.

You mindlessly stroke his hair and continue reading softly.

His eyes close as he focuses on your words and gentle touch.

"Helm?" You question quietly; a smile pulls on your face realizing he has fallen asleep in your care. Your heart warms, knowing that this was not easy for him—to be this vulnerable with another person, to know that all would be alright until he woke and that you would never leave or betray him.

You continue reading, hoping that even in his sleep, your voice would be an anchor, protecting him from the storm of his own mind.

Eventually, he stirs in your lap, his body jolting into awareness.

"Shh," you calm him, caressing his cheek. "I've got you."

His eyes search you before settling on your reassuring gaze for support.

"You're safe." You press your lips to his forehead, stroking his hair as he remains in your lap. "We both are. Rest, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

His hands reach for you, gently pulling your face down toward his lips. He holds you there, kissing you so delicately, as though you had all the time in the world.

Perma(til the end of the line): @the-soot-sprite; @fandomxreaders

Marvel: @callmeellabella

Zemo tags: @montypythonsholysnail ; @killsandthrills ; @noavengers ; @nalabarnes1031

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. I truly appreciate your support!

#baron zemo #zemo #hemlut zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x female character #zemo x reader #zemo x you #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #hemlut zemo x reader #hemlut zemo x you

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late-to-the-party-81 · 2 years ago

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Planes and Barons and Knives, oh my!

AN: Welcome to day 23. Another fic that's a bit different today as I'm using an OFC rather than a reader insert. I hope you still enjoy. This story is set in the same universe as 'Bad Kids', but all you need to know for this story is that Zemo and Marcy are in an established 'Sugar' relationship.

I’m using dialogue prompts from this post by @nightprompts and they can be found emboldened in the text.

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Beta’d by @lunarbuck

Dividers by @firefly-graphics, banners and covers by me.

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x OFC Marcy Scholtz

CW: Role play, Knife kink, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby relationship, Baron Zemo's coat, mild threats of violence within Role play, age difference (Marcy is mid-20's, Zemo is in his 40's).

Word count: 1.8k

The plane lurched, and Marcy grabbed hold of the sideboard in the small galley. Why she’d agreed to this, she had no idea, but when the magnetic man who is paying for all of your university tuition asks something of you, you do it.

With the small pocket of turbulence passed by, she smoothed down the skirt of her hostess uniform, picked up the drinks tray containing the Old Fashioned cocktail that had been ordered by the single passenger and owner of the aircraft, and sashayed out of the small prep area towards her quarry.

Her eyes lingered on the frame of the man. Chestnut hair, expertly coiffed, eyes as dark and mesmerising as the whisky in the tumbler, and a knowing quirk on his lips. He knew he was attractive - not only because of his visage but also because of his wealth. He wore a dark brown coat with an ostentatious fur collar. Marcy still wasn’t sure how she felt about wearing real fur.

As she reached his side, his smile broadened. Fuck, he was handsome. It was going to make it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Here’s your drink, sir.”

She smiled back as she placed the crystal tumbler down on the little side table. The passenger didn’t even look at it, instead focusing his gaze on her form, the way her uniform fit, up to her hair that was tied back neatly in a bun at her nape. He reached out a hand, settling it on her hip, giving a slight squeeze, before stroking down, quickly, over her ass and making a small gasp escape her lips.

The only other hostess on this flight was currently in the cockpit with the pilot, but really, that’s what Marcy needed. Instead of slapping his hand away, she placed her hand on her hip, cocking it out to the side so that her uniform skirt tightened over her backside.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”

His smile was predatory, and for a moment Marcy wondered if she could actually do this, do what she’s been asked - no, commanded - to do. However, before she could even blink, the man had snagged her wrist and pulled her down to sit, sideways across his lap.

“Keep me company, Zlatko, whilst I enjoy this lovely drink you have made me.”

Marcy giggled, hiding her mouth with her hand coquettishly.

“I can’t believe that a man such as you ever lacks for company.”

“You’d be surprised, my dear. I’ll have you know that I’m quite picky.”

He raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip, looking at her intently over the rim.

“I’m honoured then that you would like to spend some time with me.”

Marcy tried not to let her glee take over. This was going better than she thought. She moved her hands tentatively, one to press over the man’s heart, through his shirt, and the other to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, scratching gently at the delicate skin with the tips of her manicured nails. Now all she had to do was wait.

Twenty minutes later and Marcy’s back was bouncing off the door of the jet’s private bedroom. Her skirt was hitched up, so that her legs could wrap around the man’s waist. His arms were around her back, his face buried in her neck as he kissed and sucked and bit at her sensitive flesh. She mewled and ground against him, the impressive bulge in his woollen slacks pressing up against her damp lace panties.

“I’ve never done something like this before…” Her voice was breathy as it left her throat, her mind cloudy with desire as she tried desperately to remember what she was supposed to be doing.

“Now it is I who is honoured then, Maličký.”

Her companion started to kiss his way towards the top of her blouse and the swell of her breasts when she recalled her mission. She lifted his head and pressed her forehead against his.

“Take me to the bed. We’ll be more comfortable.”

He raised his eyebrow but did as she asked, letting her slide down his body slowly as he reached the plush mattress. Marcy eased the fur coat off his shoulders and gave him a small push to indicate he should sit as she hung up the expensive piece of clothing - she didn’t want to distract him by treating his clothes shabbily.

When she returned, she straddled his lap, hands cupping his face, before kissing him seductively. His arms wrapped back around her waist as he fiercely kissed her back, his tongue invading her mouth as groans of desire left his. His eyes closed, and that’s when Marcy decided to take her chance. Under the guise of undoing her blouse, she reached into her bra for the small, ceramic-blade flick knife. Opening it behind his back, she angled her wrist so the point was aimed towards his neck and wondered if she could actually do it.

However, the next thing she knew, she was laying face down on the bed, a knee in her back and the point of the knife now pressing against her own neck…

“Tut tut, Mačiatko. Sloppy. You need to be better than that to get me. You’d have had more luck poisoning the drink.”

Marcy drew in a shuddering breath, clenching her fists into the bed sheets.

“Please… I’m sorry… I…”

“Shhhhh…” Gently, he trailed the knife over the back of her neck to her nape, then used the point to ease the wig off her head, revealing her bright pink bob.

“There…much better. Being a brunette didn’t suit you at all.”

Squirming, she tried to shift him off her back, and when his knee lifted, she thought she’d done it, but he skillfully flipped her over before straddling her waist. He immediately resumed teasing her with the knife point again, making barely visible trails across her pale skin.

“Baron, please…”

The point pressed firmer into the skin near her shoulder, making her wince.

“Did I say you could speak?”

Eyes wide and biting her lip, Marcy shook her head. She should have realised that this is what would happen if she didn’t succeed.

“Good girl. Stay quiet now. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time for me to have mine.”

With a deft, practised movement, he changed his grip on the knife handle, eased the point under Marcy’s blouse, and cut it open. She gasped loudly, and his feral grin returned, shifting himself down her body so he could dispose of her skirt in the same manner. She was left lying on the bed in nude stockings and lingerie that matched her bubblegum pink hair.

“Now, would you look at that… it strikes me that you wanted to get caught…”

He trailed the blade over Marcy’s near-naked body, making her shudder and shiver under its fine, cool touch. It struck her that she should be scared or at least trying to make some kind of escape, but in reality, she was getting aroused. Aroused by her own vulnerability. Aroused by his mastery of the blade and his calmness. When she rubbed her thighs together without thinking, her body trying to ease the ache between them, the Baron growled under his breath.

“Enough of this.” With a flick of his wrist, Zemo sent the knife flying across the room, embedding it into the sideboard. “I want you, now.”

His fingers tangled into Marcy’s hair, and their previously banked desire came back to the fore, rising now that the game was discarded. They writhed together on the bed, working to rid Zemo of his turtleneck and slacks. Now it was Marcy’s turn to ogle him.

While he might be quite a bit older than her, she appreciated him physically. She wouldn’t have agreed to a change in their agreement if she hadn’t. His body was overall lean and muscular, with a slight softening around his stomach. Dark hair was sprinkled across his chest alongside a whole story told in scars. She loved to trace the silvery trails as they lay in bed together, trying to work out which of the stories he told about how he gained them were true - if any. He told a new story every night.

Her appreciative study of her benefactor-turned-lover was cut short as he pulled her panties down her legs, roughly shoved them apart, and thrust into her.

“Hel! Oh god!”

He snapped his hips and nipped at her earlobe.

“I did wonder how you were going to make your attempt. It was hard not to be on edge every second. Wondering what you had up your sleeve. I didn’t expect it to be in your bra instead…” He moved his mouth to worry at her neck, increasing the number of marks he had already placed there, marks of ownership, of mastery.

Marcy dug her fingers into his bare shoulders, pressing in crescent-shaped marks, before dragging them down his back, leaving raised welts in their wake and making him hiss against her throat.

“Two more seconds and I’d have had you…”

Zemo slid a broad palm under the small of Marcy’s back, tilting her hips and driving deeper, and making her eyes roll back into her head.

“But you didn’t. And that means when we get home, I’ll have to punish you, Princezná. But for now…”

He slid his other hand between them, fingers easily finding the young woman’s clit and stroking the engorged bundle of nerves.

“Please! Oh, Hel, please! Oh!”

“Cum for me. That’s it. Let go and be a good girl…”

Marcy’s legs tightened around his waist, her heels pressing into his buttocks as she went rigid, her orgasm washing through her. A few more thrusts and Zemo followed her over the precipice, filling her with his cum, before rolling over on the large bed, drawing her with him.

As they lay, recovering, he carded his fingers through her neon locks, marvelling at how much her hair had grown in the few months since the start of their arrangement. His superiors hadn’t been impressed with the way he had dealt with the apparent threat to the peace that had been Marcy’s ragtag organisation of protestors, but they couldn’t really argue that it hadn’t been effective. Paying for the problem to go away hadn’t been in the GRC wheelhouse of solutions. Luckily, it was always in Zemo’s.

“Hel…”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for this assassin work. Even if it is pretend.”

He smiled fondly at the young woman, who he was coming to realise he cared for more than he should.

“Well, maybe next time, you could just be my maid…”

“Maybe I’ll tickle you to death with a duster…”

Zemo growled playfully, rolling them again and pinning her to the bed. God, did she make him feel young again.

“You could try, Zlatko. You could try.”

The plane flew on, towards Sokovia, turbulence-free, except in the bedroom.

Zlatko - sweetheart

Princezná - princess

Maličký – little one

Mačiatko – kitten

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @krissy25 @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @sheismarvelousworld

#kinktober22 #kinktober 2022 #late writes #baron zemo #helmut zemo #Zemo x OFC #OFC fic #Zemo x original female character #baron helmut zemo #zemo fic

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blackjackmagi83 · 2 years ago

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Criminal Behavior (7)

Masterlist

WC: 3.8k

Pairing: Druglords Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes X Detective Original Female Character

Summary: Rose Phillips, one of the best vice detectives in the game, was given a mission to catch the biggest drug lord in all of New York. James Buchanan Barnes. Framing as a lady of the night at a hidden gentlemen’s club, her mission being to do anything it takes to lure her target into her trap. Even if it means going through one of his accomplices to get there. Will the notorious criminals fall for her trap or will Rose fall for their criminal behavior?

Warnings: Lots of swearing, violence, and mild sexual content.

Hope you enjoy the chapter! ♡

Rose watched in silent excitement as Stark gripped the piece of paper. Eyes in disbelieving at the amount of names on the list in his hands. Most he recognized, sending a rush of panic and anger through him. He felt betrayed as he counted the names. He would have to take care of this mess himself.

"This is a great find, truly. I’m not doubting your skills but you're certain this was given to Rogers? I don’t want to be baited into unknown territory for nothing."

Rose shrugged, sipping at the bitter liquid swirling in the cup in her hand, "It was in his office, tucked away in a book. That’s a little sketchy. Plus when he dropped me off at my apartment he gave me a whole speech about going on a business trip for an uncertain amount of time and how much he’d miss me, sappy shit to cover up the real issue. Don't think it gets more certain than that."

Stark nodded, placing the paper in a folder on top of his desk before tucking it into one of the many filing cabinets behind it, "I'll have someone check it out, snap some pictures. You know, the usual routine."

Rose nodded again, drifting her eyes to her coffee, an unsettling amount of guilt burrowing her chest. She pounded the rest of her coffee down, needing the buzz of caffeine to distract her from thinking of the intrusive thoughts brewing at the back of her mind.

This is her job. To catch criminals like him. Like them. No strings attached, just pure acting and faking it till she made it to her goal. She had to keep chanting it to make it stick, forcing the thoughts back into the dark.

Tony's concerned expression came into her view, distracting her train of thought, "You alright there sunshine? You’ve gone a bit pale if that’s possible."

Rose sighed, rubbing a hand over her face, "I think I need to get back on the road again, I feel caged being stuck around these guys. They’re draining and piss me off more. Let me investigate Rogers. That way I get myself out of Brooklyn for some time but still keep an eye on him at least. I doubt Barnes will go anywhere, not without trying to get to me first. Just let me do something, Chief. Please."

She knew Natasha would be pissed at her again, abandoning her word on coming back to her old schedule. She could deal with her pissy tantrum later, she wanted this small relief. Like a caged circus animal, once used to the wild, now begging to run on the grass, even for a mere few seconds.

Tony immediately shook his head, fingers anxiously scratching at the thin facial hair that lined his chin and upper lip, "Absolutely not, it's too dangerous.”

She gave him a deadpan stare, "How is this any different from what I've done in the past? I’ve gotten knocked out, broken bones, hell I even got shot a few times. Trust me I’m a big girl, I can handle a little shadowing without issue."

“That’s exactly my point, you’re better off here. You need to distance yourself from Rogers and get closer to Barnes. Give me something, anything with him because you’ve given me nothing but a distribution list and to be frank that’s nowhere near enough to prosecute shit.” Tony refused to look at her, hiding the true reason he wouldn’t let her go. This was too personal for him to give it to anyone but himself and he didn’t want to admit it was because he worried for her safety. He knew these men more than he was letting on. But she didn't know that. Not now, not ever if possible.

Rose gritted her teeth at the insult to her ego, she wasn’t used to disappointing Stark while on a case as important as this one and certainly not with her level of experience, “I’m trying my best alright? Don’t forget I’m playing two different people here. I can’t be in two places at once. The minute either of them find out I’m the same person it’ll start a full on possession war between them and then what? Oh yeah, we’re fucked. Now give me the real reason you won’t let me investigate this and don't bullshit me on this. You've been fidgety and paranoid since I handed that list to you.”

Tony was almost to his limit with her bullshit, chewing at his bottom lip till he tasted the iron substance on his tongue, "Because I said no Rose. End of story."

Rose was begging almost on her hands and knees at this point, "Chief pl-"

Tony threw the coffee mug he was holding against the back wall, coffee and glass splattering everywhere, "For once in your fucking life will you listen and do what you're told?"

That shook Rose almost as far as her core. Stark had never acted out that way towards her or anyone for that matter before even with her constant annoyances. This side of him frightened her, her body shaking from the panic that rose from the archives of her body. Something that hasn’t been around since she was a child.

Rose sat there in stunned silence as Stark breathed heavily, head hung low in shame and boiling rage, “Just go Rose. Please.”

She gave a simple nod, trying not to let her body collapse beneath her as she walked out of the office. The commotion had echoed throughout the whole building, turning everyone’s eyes towards her hunched figure as she made it to the main floor. Their eyes burned holes in her, building scenarios that could've led to such an outrage from the composed chief. Especially towards his star detective.

Martin saw how she shrunk within herself, holding onto her arms anxiously as she walked by silently. He's only seen her like this when she first came into vice, shiny and untouched like a newly released action figure. Now that simply wouldn’t do for him though, he wanted to make her squirm.

“Awh did daddy yell at his babygirl? You gonna go cry to one of your boy toys about it? Maybe they’ll fuck you better if you ask nicely.”

Rose didn't say anything sarcastic back to his nasty remark. She didn’t say anything at all. Not even an eye in his direction. She breezed through him as if he was a leaf blowing in the wind beside her. Her mind reminiscing in the old emotions that began to pick at her, bringing back memories she wanted to keep locked up for the rest of eternity.

"Don't look at me like that sweetheart you know you did wrong. You know you should've listened like a good fucking girl but what did you do? What the fuck did you do Rose?!"

Stark held the same anger as her dad did that day. The day she left the house without permission to go play with a new friend she had made at school that day. One of the few people who weren't aware of her home life and was allowed to play with her. But like the others, that didn't last long. No one wanted to play with the girl who was in a broken home with parents who cared more about their next fix than their child. Where violence was a form of love and the shattering of glass was music. Who would allow their child to be around that life. No one.

Rose's senses dimmed from her emotional state, barely feeling the watchful eyes target her as she left the building, following her every step around the bustling city. She finally noticed something was off when she stopped at one of the crosswalks. The air had shifted to a heavy dread. She felt the culprit lurking quietly around every corner she turned, hidden in shadows and alleyways. If she wasn't used to being followed from past cases she'd be paranoid to the point of a breakdown by now. It was an expectation while in the field. What Rose didn't expect was to find Sam Wilson lounging on her couch with a glass of scotch when she entered her apartment.

She had her .38 revolver pointed towards the shadowed figure on the couch within seconds of hearing the ice clink. Her finger toyed with the trigger, hearing the satisfying click as she pushed the hammer down. The noise caught the figure’s attention as well, raising their glass in mock surrender.

"No need for the dramatics. Just came for a drink is all."

The figure pulled at the cord of the lamp in the corner beside them, revealing Sam Wilson, eyes in a continuous blank stare as he inspected her.

She lowered the gun, placing it back in the holster under her blouse. She carried whenever the opportunity allowed it. Stark's orders rather than her own. She wasn't trained to fight only to rely on a piece of metal that misfired more than she could count on.

Rose made herself a well deserved drink, nearly spilling the liquid all over the counter as her hands still shook from the incident with Stark. She sipped at the liquid for a moment, helping her nerves calm enough to try to assess the unexpected situation at hand now. If Sam was the one watching her then most likely he saw her come out of the station and tapped into her phone lines like Stark had predicted at the case briefing. God only knows what else he’s messed with in her apartment. Not to mention what he might have already told James.

Irritated at the thought of losing her only sense of privacy and lead in the case, she turned sharply, pounding the rest of the liquor down in a large gulp. Her hand slammed the glass on the counter top earning a less than impressed glance from the intruder, “Let’s cut to the chase, did James send you to spy on me?”

Sam ignored her question, eyes focused back on the amber liquid in the crystal container he held, “Enlighten me Rose, what is a young woman such as yourself doing with a weapon like that?”

She put on a neutral face as she held the urge to tap along the countertop, a clear sign of nervousness, “Protection.”

Sam shook his head, displeased with her response. He stood from his spot on the couch, glass still untouched, approaching her at the counter with a pointed finger, “Statistically, women tend to carry smaller weapons, like pocket knives, pepper spray, nothing lethal. Not unless trained that is. You see, I know a lot of things Rose, and I know for certain that only cops are allowed to carry those guns. So what are you doing with it?”

Rose visibly gulped involuntarily, the hole she had stepped in had gotten bigger beneath her, “It was originally my grandfather’s. He passed it down to me after he retired from the force.”

She wasn’t fully lying, her grandfather did serve but not on the police force. He served in the military, becoming one of the first founders of shield from what she was told. But that’s as much as she was allowed to know. Her grandfather was a very private man, especially when it came to his past.

"That why you became a cop? Follow in his legendary footsteps?" His eyes locked on hers as he sipped on his drink.

Not fully. The real reason was her hatred for the drugs that took over her life. The people who deal it out like a pack of candy, not a care given on the consequences. She couldn't let people like that get away, living the rich life while their customers lost everything, "That's the reason why I never could become a cop, to become like him. That job was his life till he was on his deathbed. I don't want to live that way, no one should."

Sam gave another shake of his head, seeming to be having a mental struggle with himself. He wasn’t happy with the results he was getting from this conversation, he didn’t want to tiptoe anymore, “How do you know Natasha Romanoff? You two seem rather acquainted.”

There was no point in covering that secret up, she knew he had listened to her conversation earlier, “She’s my boss.”

Sam’s brows raised, eyes glazing at the multiple possibilities of her position with the ex-spy, “For?”

Rose clenched her jaw, her fingers aching from her grip along the countertop, “I work at the club when she needs someone. Speaking of which, I need to get my afternoon nap in before it’s too late and I get no sleep for the next 8 hours so if this interrogation is over then you can get the fuck out of my apartment.”

A deep rumble released from Sam’s chest, the closest noise to a laugh she’d probably hear from him, “I see why he wants you so much now.”

“Because he’s a controlling asshole who can’t take no for an answer? Because he can’t accept the fact that someone is happy and he isn’t? The list I assure you goes on for a very long time.”

Sam released another attempt at a chuckle from the venomous sting you leave in your words, “In a way yes. You challenge him to the point it drives him crazy. That sort of feeling becomes addictive to someone like him. Better watch yourself."

"He'll learn to sober up."

Sam had finished his drink by now, delicately placing the glass besides yours on the counter.

"I meant it when I said watch yourself Rose. James is a man you don't want to toy with. He doesn't discriminate against women, Natasha knows that from experience. You don't want to be next."

If that wasn't a threat then Rose didn't know what was, "It's not polite to threaten a woman Mr. Wilson."

"Then it's a good thing you're no ordinary woman."

Rose could see Natasha was on edge when she found her inside the club dressing room, watching protectively from the doorway. It took the impossible to bother Natasha but something had scared her. Or someone.

"He doesn't discriminate against women, Natasha knows that from experience."

Rose could only imagine what he could've done to cause such an effect on her. She struggled to pull away from the image of Natasha getting her face bashed in, blood pooling from her broken nose and eye socket.

The hand on her, rubbed fondly against the top of her thigh as she rested in her companion's lap, enjoying a glass of champagne as she listened to him talk. His sokovian accented voice was pleasant to her ears, complimenting her whenever the chance was given.

"You seem so miserable here, let me take you away my darling. I can cherish you the way you deserve."

Helmut Zemo, a brilliant and very rich nobleman. Known for being the son of Heinrich Zemo, the man who aided the enemy of the war. He was one of Rose's first returning clients, gifting her with many beautiful pieces of jewelry whenever he paid a visit. One of the few she tolerated, dare even say was fond of.

"Oh don't tease me Zemo, it's too cruel." Rose patted a hand on his chest, shifting on his lap as his arm tightened on her.

"You know I don't tease when I'm with you. I mean every word. Please, let me take care of you." Zemo's fingers danced along the sapphire necklace he bought that adorned Rose's neck as he gazed up at her. His eyes held truth and affection.

The offer was more than tempting if not for her morals. To live in a life of luxury and carefree moments filled with expensive drinks and clothes. But he was still a bad man, one who’s had his fair share of crimes and far from who Rose would ever become.

“Zemo-”

The bang of the main door opening startled her, shattering the glass onto the decorative carpet, and the men around her forced the room to go abruptly silent. Eyes followed each other to land on an angry James Barnes. Jaw tensed, fist white and bruised darkly along the knuckles. His face was lined with the same color, traveling from his eye to his cheek.

"What the fuck you all looking at?!" He growled, slamming a fist along the bar counter.

Everyone's attention turned back to their company, not daring to take another glance at the ex super soldier. Rose however remained her eyes on him as he slowly became aware she was among the crowd but he didn't move from his seat. He just stared mindlessly at her. So Rose had an idea. A very dangerous one.

She turned back to Zemo who sat unamused by the angered display, her lips brushing his ear, "Tell me my love, if I agreed to go with you tonight, how would you spoil me?"

She felt him shiver under her touch as she placed kisses along the curve of his neck down to his collarbone. The pulse of his vein quickened beneath her lips,

"First I'd take you back to Sokovia, show you around your new home." His voice was almost completely steady if the edge that laced it didn’t completely give away that he was internally unwinding at her touch.

Her eyes trailed back up to James over Zemo's shoulder as she kissed back up to his ear, "And then? I need a little more convincing than that."

The mindless staring was morphing into possessive jealousy, his breathing had picked up again in an animalistic pant as he watched her challenge him. She was surprised that the glass in his hand hadn’t completely shattered beneath the death grip he held.

Zemo caught the bottom of her chin, pulling her face to line up with his, "And then I'll give you the world. Anything you want you shall have it. My life, my money and myself is yours, just say the words my darling."

Rose was internally screaming. How come it's the bad ones that are so charming?

The sound of a gun clicking next to her head broke her out of the fogged daze that was beginning to consume her, "Over your dead body pal."

There he was in all his glory, the rotten beast she was after. Rose internally smirked at the animalistic dominance he was radiating. His body ready to pounce what he viewed as the weaker link to the mate he desired to have. How calm he appeared but eyes screaming, daring for him to make an attempt at taking her.

Zemo’s composure didn’t falter, calm and collected with a hint of polite sarcasm lacing his tone, "There's no need to be impolite, friend."

The glint of the metal shined out of the corner of her eye. The hand hidden besides her leg was locked and loaded, aimed for James's looming figure. This incident gave him an excuse to kill James Barnes right there. One of the leading men that aided in killing his father during the war. Steve Rogers was more so his main target but he was willing to be a step ahead and take one over nothing right then and there.

Not wanting a mess on everyone's hand, especially her own, she didn’t need another table full of reports to fill out on her hands. So, Rose placed a hand against Zemo's chest grabbing his attention with a soft smile, "It's alright Zemo, I'll see you when you get back from Sokovia."

Zemo nodded in understanding, placing a delicate kiss to the back of her hand as she stood from his lap, "Till then my darling."

Her focus shifted to James, her eyes screaming angrily to follow her and for once he did it with no further complaint, not to her at least. Just a wave of his gun and a snippy comment in a language she wasn’t familiar with. Zemo sent back a hasty response earning only a snicker from James.

The remnants of her glass crunched beneath her heels, the sound tingled her senses, becoming more aware of the man following behind her. How he hovered over her protectively, hiding her from the eyes that dared to follow them. The vibranium hand rested along her back, the cold vibrations traveling up her spine to the back of her head causing a slight chatter on her teeth. How he could deal with the constant hum against him without issue baffled her. Must’ve taken a long time to grow used to.

Rose twirled around in her heels to face him. Never keep your back to a predator, stay calm and watch without eye contact. She held an irritable but playful smirk, noticing he never left more than a foot of room between them, his body towering over her’s, "So why all the fuss? Don't get me wrong, that little show was cute but very unnecessary. All you had to say was please."

His hands dragged up her arms, nails gliding against her skin leaving goosebumps in their path, "It's like coming home from a bad day of work to find your wife fucking the pool boy. I don't like to share my toys."

The sensation brought that emotion she passionately hated back. The one she only had with him. It was desireful, dangerous and greedy. She wanted him to explore the crevices of her but beat the cocky smirk off his face at the same time. Watch him bleed like he did to Natasha, like he wanted to do to the real Rose. A sensational gory battle that she couldn’t win.

Her eyes dared to meet his, uncertainty caving in as her body was reacting to him against her wishes, "Thankfully I'm no toy, especially not yours Mr. Barnes ."

He bit his lip as she rolled his name from her spiteful tongue. He wanted to nip at it till it bled, taste the iron as he devoured every part of her. The thought was both blissful and enraging, "See, that's where you're wrong doll."

He didn’t need to hold her in place as he nudged her nose with his lips, teasing her’s with a simple brush. He knew he had her. She could deny and hide behind a confident cover all she wanted to but he knew the truth. By the way she sensed his presence in the room without needing to look. How captivating he was to her despite his cocky demeanor. How her breath hitched as his teeth dug into her bottom lip while his eyes pierced into her, watching the barrier she built crumble in her hands.

“You’ve been mine since you walked into the room that night and there’s not a single person who will tell me otherwise. You’re caving beneath my touch as we speak. You’ve lost. Now all you have to do is completely give in.”

Rose felt like she was slowly drowning. James’s hands pulling her further and further under the shimmering surface as all the air within her vanished, bubbling above her. Words barely formed as his nips trailed down her collarbone, his hand gripping possessively at her throat, gently squeezing at her quiet response, “Never.”

A dark chuckle left his lips, “But you already have.”

Part 8

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cherryblossomtease · 3 years ago

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Chapter 7

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Last years collection my ass you think holding your head high as you slip your hand around Zemo’s arm. This dress is so killer you could slay a few of the rich old dragons watching as the Baron escorts you into the ballroom.

You have to give him credit, not that he’s hurting for it but the man has taste.

The dress is black, long sleeved and stops mid-thigh. The cut of the shoulders is exaggerated just enough to draw attention. But what does it for you—the little bit of something special that no one else can see— is the fact that he had Maureen do some extra tailoring and now you know why he wanted you in this particular dress.

When Zemo stood behind you earlier at the apartment and zipped you up, the high turtleneck slowly closed around your throat mimicking the Baron’s own firm hold on your neck. You’d gasped with a fleeting sensation of panic but calmed when he kissed the spot behind your ear, and grabbed your hips, pressing his erection against your ass as he inhaled the scent of your hair. His muffled moan had vibrated through your shoulders and for the first time you realized the level of restraint his particular kind of kink required on his part too and you felt strangely bonded to him through your wonderful suffering. His lips brushed the curve of your ear as he’d whispered… “So that you don’t forget who you belong to.”

After that he’d given you permission to take off the underwear saying that the dress was enough and you’d thanked him, happy to be free of those perfectly evil things.

So now, you’re walking through this opulent ballroom collared and claimed and thankful to be so cared for by a man you can trust with your body enough to let him do these things to you.

“Remember to stay in character.” He says, eyes scanning the crowd “We can not let them know who we are.”

“Of course…Stavro” You say really emphasizing the fake name you deiced he needed on the ride over. Having given up on convincing you it wasn’t necessary he just laughs and kisses your temple before leading you further in.

You love to see him happy even when it’s fleeting and you steal a glance at Zemo in his dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, all of it tailored to the last stitch. He looks Breathtaking as usual… if you could breathe. You run your fingers down the center of your collar and flush feeling a resurgence of that deep connection. You are his and he is most certainly yours. It’s a good thing too, because this place is crawling with horny old men…

The ballroom of this grand hotel has been set up for a casino themed fundraiser. The sort where getting in cost a yacht. Zemo however seemed to have little trouble faking his way onto the list— at least you think he lied— and now you realize you haven’t done anything like this in forever, and certainly not with stakes this high.

The point of being here (as Zemo explained in the car) is to get this guy Polinsky to either give up what he knows about the serum Zemo is tracking down or get his hotel key to search his room. Either works, one is more desirable than the next but When Zemo’s target turns out to be the first man to openly flirt with you, the Baron lets the fates decide and whispers “Go with it”

Acting as though you aren’t here together, he goes down to the side of the craps table, pretending to be interested in the gambling while watching you two.

Polinsky is loud and crude and you really think you might shove the dice in his eye if he looks at you like that again, but Zemo is still calm and collected so you continue to play along. When Zemo motions for you to drink, you take one off the servers tray and share it with Polinksy who probably doesn’t need much more.

Just when you think this is going no where and you’re tired of being used as a ploy, Zemo does his thing.

He brings up Polinksy’s accent and it’s revealed that he’s Sokovian. They become fast friends and after a few more wins, the target is telling the Baron everything, unfortunately it’s not what he needs to hear and you can tell that he’s starting to grow impatient.

You’ve only ever seen what happens when Zemo is sick of you not listening to his commands, and it's cruel in the best way. So what happens in the real world when a dangerous, genius man with a military background is tired of waiting?

When Polinksy tells you to blow on his dice for luck and casually reaches to get a good handful of your ass as you do, you know you’re about to find out.

Zemo moves without much effort or thought, you see it and spot the instinct to protect what’s his immediately. His grip on Polinsky’s arm is shocking and the man’s face goes red instantly with drunken outrage.

Jaw clenched and eyes wide, you see that Zemo is ready to break Polinsky’s arm, but you quickly step between them and lay a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. “No.” You mouth shaking your head. “Follow my lead” You say low enough so that only he can hear.

Zemo gives you an intrigued head tilt, glances up at the man one last time then flings his arm away. “She’s not available.” He snaps at the man who is more annoyed than ready for a fight.

“Forgive me for speaking without asking sir.” You bow your head to Zemo then look up at Polinsky. “He likes to be the one to say when and how I am touched. But he let’s other men do much more than that for the right price…”

Polinksy quickly catches on and shoots a look at the Baron.

Zemo understands instantly and straightens his head. “Apologies, I should have made it clear. She can be yours, but not without me there to insist she be compliant.” He reaches and slides his finger down the side of your face, his hand going around the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your collar and you lift your chin and shut your eyes so that Polinsky can see what sort of situation he’s being presented with.

Someone yells for Polinsky to roll the dice which he does. The small crowd goes wild with another win, but the three of you stay silent.

"How much?”

“Six thousand.”

“Done”

“To watch. Eight to touch.”

He frowns, but when Zemo smacks your ass and you give a little yelp, Polinsky nearly drools. “Sold.”

You’re standing in the middle of the hotel room. Zemo is in the chair in the corner and Polinksy is sitting on the bed.

You’re scared, wondering how far this will go, but one look over at him and you know Zemo would never sell you like this. Not really. He’ll protect you.

“Turn around and bend over.” Polinksy says unzipping his pants.

You glance at Zemo who gives the nod to obey.

You do and you can hear the man moaning when he see’s the line of your pale pink underwear.

“Spread.” He growls standing.

The blood is rushing to your head as you look over to Zemo not bothering to hide your fear.

The Baron is quietly standing up. You reach back and lay your hands flat on your ass and start to, but it’s too much. You don’t know this man.

“I said spread!” Polinksy shouts and you shut your eyes half expecting to feel his hand make contact with your skin, but it doesn’t come.

You quickly stand in time to see Zemo grab his arm and punch the man once before kicking him down and onto the floor. You back away wide eyed, your heart racing and you pull your dress down.

Polinksy is groaning and reaching up as if to grab hold of something but Zemo doesn’t give him a second chance. With a swinging kick to the head, he knocks the man out and you are stunned to see what the Baron is capable of.

“ I needed him off his guard completely. I would not have let him touch you.” Zemo says still looking down at Polinsky who is out cold. He turns away from the gross sight to find you.

You nod but you’re shaken. “ Please, just get what you need and let’s go.”

For a change he listens to you and you watch him rip the room apart until he finds what he’s looking for which seem to be a card, with a name on it? He stares down at the object in his hand, distracted only by the pinging of Polinsky’s phone on the floor.

When Zemo looks down at it, you see the color drain from his face.

“Time to go.” He says grabbing your arm and you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong but he won’t listen or talk, he just moves and pulls you along with him until you’re back downstairs and going through the chaos of the casino.

When he stops, you look up at him trying to figure out what the problem is. “Are we being followed?”

He doesn’t answer, it looks like he’s waiting, or perhaps getting his timing right. You know the latter is true when he falls into step with two waitresses carrying drink trays, with you still held firm.

As they turn to go towards the bar, he goes the other way heading for the doors and the two of you are outside and practically running towards the waiting car.

“Drive” Zemo says once you’re safely inside.

As you speed off, you look over at him. The night took an unexpected turn but you made it out, doesn’t that count for something. “Didn’t you find what you were looking for?” You ask.

He doesn’t look at you, just nods and looks out the window.

You haven’t seen him like this before —wait— yes you have. “It’s all right. I’m sure everything will fall into place now.” He doesn’t say anything, and you, for the first time don’t know what to do. He reminds you very much of that silent, broken man he was eight years ago.

Giving him space, you sit back and look out your own window until you feel his hand lay over yours on the seat and you spin your head around surprised but relieved.

He holds your hand tight and raises it up, kissing your fingers before pulling you over.

“I could have killed him.” He says starring ahead angrily. He is stroking your arm gently but you know what these hands can do. “And you…”

He looks down and you see the way his anger fades, but he holds onto it long enough to say “You broke rule one.”

You laugh a little and shrug. “I knew I could get you into his room.”

“Perhaps don’t offer yourself to strange men next time?”

“You went along with it while it was working!”

“I did, but I didn’t like it.”

“Me either.” You say looking off.

Zemo hooks his finger around your chin turning your head to face him again and he slips his hand up to cradle your cheek “You, are an extraordinary woman. And I—am lucky to have you.”

You melt in his arms trying your best not to profess your true feelings and wonder what’s stopping you, but before you can let the thoughts progress, he kisses your head and raises your chin a little more to look deep into your eyes. “You will take off your dress.” He says softly and you realize he’s got a hold of your zipper with the fingers of his other hand. “You will lay down in the middle of the bed on your stomach and you will wait for me.” He whispers in your ear as he pulls the closure down to the center of your shoulder blades and stops. “Understood?”

You nod “Yes Baron.”

He does that soft, deep moan that is equal parts pleased and aroused as he looks you over, smoothing a wayward strand of hair from your face, his brows knitting together with concentration before relaxing again. “I will thrash the memory of that man from you until you remember that you belong only to me.”

#baron zemo #zemo fatws #zemo x reader #zemo x you #baron zemo fanfiction #zemo smut #anticipation #submisivegirl #strong female characters #yes sir #yes baron #jelousy #he adores you

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zemohoe · 4 years ago

Text

little taste of heaven (chapter 7/?)

Welcome back to chapter seven, where Sasha, Zemo, and Co. arrive in Germany.

Following the events of "The Whole World is Watching," a member of the Flag-Smashers runs into a certain Baron in the sewers beneath the city. available at AO3

Thank you to everyone who has been reading little taste of heaven!

And yes, if you were wondering there is smut in this update as well. I can't stop and won't stop.

#baron helmut zemo #zemo x female oc #zemo x oc #zemo x reader #helmut zemo #helmut zemo fanfic #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x female character #helmut zemo smut

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f1yogurt · 3 years ago

Note

hii, here is me- friendly neighbourhood mutual- with my silly little fic request/prompt

I love in any zemo x reader fic where they touch on the meeting with Selby because Zemo acting possesive of the reader is one of my favs. (this also plays into my soft spot for fake dating I suppose-)

Shield agent!reader has to act as Zemo's eye-catching arm candy to a fancy underground event. They collect some data on the flagsmashers (verbal or digital idk im not a spy) I had fem!reader in mind because Zemo makes me feel so feminine but this could definitely work as gn!reader <3

First fic request! Thank you! This was so much fun to write, I hope it hit all the right spots. possessive!Zemo is a gem.

Baron of Mine

Summary: You're a SHIELD agent who's assigned to be Baron Helmut Zemo's fake date for the evening. Your mission is to gather intel on the Flagsmashers at a fancy underground event. Zemo finds himself unexpectedly attracted to you, his new partner, and when one of the bargoers threatens you harm, he can't help but get possessive.

AO3 Link - BARON OF MINE -- Link to my Fic Request Guide

Rating: Mature

Characters: Helmut Zemo, fem!Reader, Original Male Character

Relationships: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader

Tags: Fake Dating, turns into real relationship, Kissing, No Smut, Madripoor, Protective Helmut Zemo, Soft Helmut Zemo, Possessive Helmut Zemo, reader knows what she wants, Zemo is smitten

Word Count: 2266

Warnings: Mild threats of violence/non-con with reader by the villian (brief), mild female degradation, but don't worry Zemo quickly saves the day

You sighed and gazed in concentration at your reflection as you finished pinning on your ruby red earrings. The look you were going for tonight was simple, yet elegant. You figured that your partner for tonight would look eccentric enough for the two of you, as he had a reputation for being quite over the top. He was a baron, after all.

Helmut Zemo, or Zemo, as he liked to be called, was your assigned fake date on this lovely evening. It wasn’t unusual for a SHIELD agent like you to be given the mission of partnering as another agent’s date, but this particular man felt different somehow. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him, unlike the other men you had worked with before.

The two of you were currently at Zemo’s luxurious apartment in Riga, taking a short amount of time to prepare before going out for the evening. Zemo had immediately ushered you to the spacious bathroom, giving you room to change into your gorgeous dress for the night and apply some final makeup touches. Now, you were feeling confident in your role as the feminine eye candy.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, you gave yourself a good luck wink and stepped out of the bathroom. Zemo must have been waiting for you, because he rose from his position on the sofa as soon as he saw you come out. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise at seeing how the dress hugged your curves in all the right places. Even more gorgeous was the way you carried yourself, like a baroness fit to walk by his side.

“Well?” you asked, not quite sure if this was the sort of look he had been envisioning for the underground club the two of you were going to. Zemo swallowed and tried not to let his gaze linger on the sway of your hips as you moved.

“You look lovely,” he said in his low, silky smooth voice. “Exquisite.” You grinned at his praise, already eager for the night.

“Can you zip me up please?” you asked, turning to reveal the top part of the dress that you couldn’t zip at your back. Zemo immediately moved forward to help, his warm hands steadying your waist.

“Of course,” he whispered, his hands lingering only a bit too long wherever he touched. “I am quite positive that no one will rival your elegance tonight, draga.” You smiled at his praise.

“Well, you clean up pretty well yourself,” you said. It was true. You could tell that he had styled his hair for the evening, and even though he wore a more combat style trench coat over a nice turtleneck and trousers, he looked just as elegant as you.

Zemo just made a thoughtful noise, and his eyes met yours in a searching gaze. You two stared at each other for a few moments before he looked away and cleared his throat, pulling his hands away from your bare skin. You immediately missed the contact.

“Well, my darling,” he said, giving you a dangerous smirk. “Here’s to a pleasant evening.”

–

It turned out that your worries about your outfit were unfounded. Many other women were styled even more extravagant than you, but you stood out in your bright red dress. Your mission was to extract information from your target, a man known to have connections to the Flagsmashers, while Zemo re-established his position with the Madripoor underground elite. The perfect setup.

Zemo guided you through the crowded bar effortlessly. You knew his hand low on your waist was to signal to everyone that you two were a couple, but it also was a pleasant, comforting feeling to believe even for a moment that he felt protective over you.

Throughout the evening, the two of you mingled with the patrons of the bar, gathering as much information as you could. You noticed that Zemo would find little reasons to touch you, or stand close enough that you could smell his spicy cologne. You felt right at home playing your part as the eye candy the the illustrious baron.

Soon, however, you spotted your target over at the bar, and you subtly signaled Zemo that it was time for you to go and do some digging. Zemo looked hesitant to let you go but nodded, knowing your mission required you to intercept the man alone. You decided to make a smooth exit from the group of people you two were talking with.

“I hate to interrupt, but I am going to get a drink. Zemo, my love, I will be right back,” you told the baron, giving his arm a squeeze. You leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, deciding to play it up for the audience. After all, you were supposed to be Baron Zemo’s date.

When you pulled back, Zemo was looking at you in pleasant surprise, although he quickly schooled his expression. He couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks, though.

“Of course, darling,” he said, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips for a reverent kiss. The kiss was chaste, but the look in his eyes was dark with unspoken promises. You nearly said something in return, but you remembered what you were here for.

As soon as he released your hand, you turned and strode elegantly over to the bar, the sea of patrons making way for you. You sidled yourself next to the man you were looking for: jet black hair, muscular, and, in his trademark characteristic of a missing eye. Yes, this was your target. “Lord” Jason Blackmoore, as the Madripoor underground elite liked to call him.

The neon lights cast a purple glow on the countertop as you ordered yourself a drink. Blackmoore noticed you immediately, and you suppressed a shudder at the lecherous gaze he sent you in your pretty red dress. Time to go to work and get this over with.

Fortunately, after the two of you began talking, you encouraged him to order a few more drinks for himself so that you could steer the conversation in the direction you wanted. You were gradually able to extract the needed information from him about the Flag Smashers. However, as the evening progressed, he seemed to get more and more wary of your interrogation. And even more lecherous.

Midway between a question you were asking him, he stopped you and interrupted.

“Sweetheart, I’ve had fun tonight. But here’s the problem. I don’t like pretty girls who ask for too much information,” he said, sending you a dangerous glance. “You look like some rich prick’s little side thing with only half a brain… but after hearing you talk, I think you know a thing or two.” He leaned closer, and casually layed a knife on the bartop within view.

“What are you hiding? I know how to make girls like you talk,” he threatened lowly. “Nice and slow, so that you really feel it. Gentle at first, then rough, so that you can’t hold back even a single secret. I have a room upstairs that’s open… it would be perfect for a gem like you.” You felt a rush of panic, even though you didn’t show it. This was going south very fast, and you needed help.

Suddenly, as if by fate, you felt a hand snake around your waist and saw Zemo appear at your side. You did your best to hide your surprise when you realized that he must have been watching the whole interaction. The baron placed a kiss on your cheek, much like the one you had given him earlier, and he rested a comforting hand on your back.

“Hello, draga… ah, Lord Blackmoore, what a coincidence,” Zemo greeted in his most haughty voice, as if it was normal to interrupt an intimate conversation. “It is certainly unexpected to see you here, old friend.” Blackmoore drew back and eyed Zemo warily, surprised by the baron’s appearance.

“Zemo, don’t tell me this… woman… is with you?” he said skeptically, his gaze flickering between you and Zemo. “A true baron wouldn’t leave his pretty side piece unattended.” You swallowed nervously. If Blackmoore had even the slightest suspicion that you were an independent agent, with no affiliation with Zemo, the mission would be compromised.

“Well, that is unfortunate for you then, my friend. Because she is with me,” Zemo said, almost sneering at the other man. You suppressed a gasp as Zemo lifted you from your chair and sat down himself, placing you in his lap. The position was oddly comfortable.

“Isn’t she exquisite? Such a fine creature, so lovely in her element. I just had to bring her along tonight,” Zemo drawled lowly in his accent. “Perfect for someone like me.” Immediately you regained some of your confidence, and you artfully draped yourself across him, hoping Blackmoore would take the bait.

“Is that so? Because the Baron I knew would never abandon his date,” Blackmoore said, picking up his knife from the countertop. Zemo’s eyes flickered to the glint of the blade, yet he remained composed as ever.

“Yes, well…it was my date who abandoned me, tonight. Flitting off like a little bird with her own imagination,” he said, skimming his fingers possessively along the skin of your leg. You nearly shivered in pleasure as you felt his hand creep up your thigh, his fingers dipping below the exposed cut of fabric that your dress offered.

“I do not intend to let her go again.” Blackmoore’s gaze saw Zemo’s hand resting on your thigh, and he finally sheathed the knife somewhere within his jacket.

“Tough luck, Baron,” Blackmoore sneered, downing the rest of his drink before slamming the glass back on the bartop. “She didn’t seem so willing to do anything with me. I doubt you’ll have any success tonight.” With that the man stood and turned from the bar, walking back into the crowd of people.

As soon as the man was out of sight, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly to Zemo, still managing to maintain your cover even while recovering from your panic. Zemo moved his hand away from your leg, and he used it to brush a few strands of hair off of your face. He caught your gaze with his, and you were surprised to find his big brown eyes filled with concern.

“Schatz, you’re trembling…” he whispered lowly. You took a deep breath and nodded, grounding yourself. To anyone else, it looked as if the baron was flirting with you, which allowed you some time to recover without drawing attention from the other patrons.

“Yes, he… that was terrifying,” you admitted. “I’m alright now. Fortunately I have you, who couldn’t even let me out of your sight tonight. The illustrious Baron Zemo, unable to let his date go off for a bit and flirt, hm? How possessive.” At your teasing smile, Zemo blushed, but he didn’t look guilty.

“Draga, I only wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, although you weren’t convinced that was the only reason he had been watching you tonight. However, he had saved you, and you were very grateful. No other man you had worked with before would have been that attentive.

“Well, either way, thank you for saving me. Plus, you’re kind of sexy when you’re jealous, Baron” you said. After a moment’s hesitation, you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Zemo made a surprised noise, but he reacted eagerly, moving his lips against yours as he fell into the kiss. His hands clutched at your waist to stabilize you, and you brought your own hands up to cradle his face, your fingers carding gently through the soft hair at his nape.

You both were breathless by the time you pulled back, and you figured that Zemo’s lustful gaze matched your own.

“Draga, I…” Zemo found himself strangely tongue tied. You really were the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen, and he had hated seeing you flirt with that lowlife all evening. Even though the two of you had just met, and he had no reason to be possessive, something about it had lit a fire of jealousy in his belly.

After a few moments, you found the words for him and cleared your throat, trying to shake off the arousal the kiss had created.

“Well, Baron Zemo, I hope that I was an ideal date for tonight,” you said, smiling shyly. Feeling a bit embarrassed at the way you had thrown yourself at him, you fidgeted, smoothing the lapels of his coat and fixing his hair, brushing back some of the wavy strands that had fallen over his forehead. Zemo sat there and tried to pretend that you fussing over him wasn’t stirring feelings that had been dormant for eight long years in prison.

“So, I guess our night’s almost over,” you said when he failed to say anything. You were honestly disappointed that the evening was drawing to a close, but you had completed your mission, and there was no reason to stay and attract unwanted attention.

“Yes, indeed,” Zemo said, agreeing with you. “But not entirely over, I suppose. Let me call my driver. The night is still young, draga. Let us make of it what we will.” He lifted you easily to your feet, surprising you with his strength. Just like before, he placed a guiding hand on your back, and together you made your way through the crowd of people.

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