#dark!zemo x black!reader

[mariaxxxxx]

Welcome a Masterlist of Masterlist

Hello, I'm Maria E, She/They. Just a Brazilian girl who loves to write. I hope you enjoy my stories and forgive my bad English. My stories are for people of legal age (18+) Pay attention to warnings, please; Some themes can be sensitive and trigger triggers.🩷🩷

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Namor/K'ul'ku'kan

🐍 Love under the sunset (in progress)

🐍 Underneath the waves (in progress)

🐍 Dragon fruit (completed)

🐍 Fantasize ( completed)

🐍Gods Falls Sometimes ( completed)

🐍 I Wish Under The Same Roof ( completed)

Baron Helmut Zemo

🫐Blueberry (shortly)

🟣 The love you offer me ( completed)

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

🔫Cherry (completed)

🔫 Boy, I want your attention (completed)

Steve Rogers/Capitain America

🗽 Blackberry (completed)

[queenoftheworldisdead]

C.R.E.A.M

Chapter 4

A/N: I edited chapter 1 and 2 so reader doesn’t know who Zemo is. Just fyi if you’ve read this series when I first wrote it. Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don’t bite!

Summary: Thor crossed the wrong man, now you are caught in middle.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead.

Dark Thor x Reader, Dark Zemo x Reader (Mein Hase), Drug lord AU

Mein Hase: German for my Bunny 🐇

💵

You felt stupid. This was stupid. A smarter version of yourself would’ve lied—found an excuse to get out of this situation. But no, you’d panicked and let him lead you to his SUV.

You thank the elderly driver as he opens the door for you both. Sliding into the back seat, you feel the soft leather beneath you, warm but somehow stifling. The space between you and Zemo shrinks and the air becomes thick. You turn your gaze to the window, watching the city blur by in streaks of color, trying to focus on the familiar sights in a desperate attempt to calm the rising wave of anxiety threatening to swallow you whole.

“Thank you for joining me,” Zemo says, his voice measured. You don’t turn to look, but you sense him leaning away, his focus drifting to the passing scenery. The steady hum of the engine only amplifies the tension.

An itch tickles your neck, and you glance over. In the reflection of the glass, you catch his eyes on you, watching. You quickly look away, heart pounding.

You shift in your seat, the edges of your nerves unraveling. “I guess… I don’t understand why you want to have lunch with me.”

“Tell me, how much does Thor pay you, mein Hase?” His words cut through the air with the weight of judgment, a thin veil of disgust coating every syllable.

The ground beneath you seems to tilt. A wave of nausea rolls in. Your mind scrambles, flashes of that night with Thor—how he refused to listen—how he had taken what wasn’t his to take.

You say nothing. The silence stretching as you felt your mind spiral, tightening like a knot in your chest.

“Does he fill your apartment with pretty things?” His tone casual, almost mocking, but each word lands like a punch.

Thor. Just the thought of him makes your stomach churn. You hadn’t asked for the expensive dinners, the extravagant gifts, or the uninvited touches that followed. Everyone knew the Odinsons—respected, feared, untouchable.

His wife, a frequent guest at the auctions, painted the perfect picture of a family man. But beneath that, he was a criminal, a dangerous man second in line to a powerful empire. And a womanizer. You’d tried to say no, but men like him didn’t hear that word. They couldn’t. To them, 'no' simply didn’t exist.

Now it feels like it was happening all over again. Had Thor sold you off? You dig your nails into your palms, trying to ground yourself.

“I-I,” your voice cracking, barely a whisper. The tears you'd fought so hard to suppress finally spilling over, burning hot against your skin. "I never asked for this… I-I didn’t choose…"

"Calm down... breathe." He turns to you, a hand sliding across your back, a light touch—reassuring, but unwelcome. More like a violation than an act of gentleness.

"We’ve arrived, Baron Zemo," the driver’s voice cut through the haze, pulling you harshly back to reality.

Zemo's attention shifts slightly and before you could fully register it, your body moves. You bolt from the SUV, ignoring the calls to stop.

Horns blare as you dart onto the street, your feet hitting the pavement hard. You dash through the lanes of traffic, narrowly avoiding vehicles as you reach the other side. Everything becomes a blur—faces, cars, noise—all distant, out of reach. It didn’t matter where you were going, just that you had to get away.

💵

The encounter with Zemo leaves you feeling hollow, as if everything inside you has drained away. How many people knew? How many more times would this happen? You’d hoped, naively, that you were just some temporary plaything Thor would eventually get bored with and discard. But now, an even darker possibility gnaws at you—that you’re nothing more than a pawn, passed around in his circle of powerful friends.

Cold realization slows your pace. Your heart pounds in your chest. What did you just do? Disrespecting one of Thor's friends could mean swift, brutal punishment. What would Zemo do? You don't know anything about him. Was he just as dangerous, or worse?

You bite down on your bottom lip, your fingers trembling as you clutch your phone. Without thinking, you open the browser, your legs moving on autopilot in a direction you barely register. You search for Zemo’s name, desperate to know more about the man you’ve just fled from.

You read the results, the headlines screaming at you: Sokovian Crime Boss, Baron Zemo blood rivals with the boarding Asgardians, Turn Territory into a War Zone.

You squint in confusion at another article: Zemo listed among his wife and son. all killed during their son’s birthday party, with rumors circulating that the Odinsons were prime suspects in the attack. Your heart stops. how could that be? from the pictures that was the man you knew as Zemo.

Your stomach sinks, lightheartedness creeping in. Was he going to kill you to send a message? You were disposable—just another one of Thor's whores.

The weight of it all crashes over you. Your phone feels heavier in your trembling hand as the dizziness threatens to pull you under.

💵

Your body returns to the warehouse, but your mind is still far away. You move through the motions of your tasks. Zemo’s face haunts every step, but you try and push it away in vein. He knew too much—where you lived, worked, even your connection to Thor. Should you even be here? Were you putting your coworkers in danger?

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you flinch, your heart skipping a beat. Natasha’s voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, but the tension doesn’t leave your chest.

"You alright?"

You nod too and force a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "Uh… fine." You lie, though the tremor in your voice surely betrays you.

Natasha’s brow arches, skeptical, but she doesn’t press further. "I just wanted to thank you for the great work you did at the auction. I know it wasn’t easy, but you were great."

"Right," you mumble, still distracted. The praise barely registers as you shift on your feet. "Glad I could help."

"Good... Because I need another favor."

You fight back a frown, but you can't stop your stomach from clenching at the thought of doing another auction.

"Tony’s hosting a charity casino night. I need you to go in my place to represent the warehouse."

"Me? What about you?" you choke out.

She hesitates, her gaze lowering briefly before she answers. "I’ll be there… with Tony."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Your eyes catch the glint of a diamond on her finger. She notices and quickly shoves her hands into her pockets—it’s an engagement ring, no doubt.

"Natasha, I’m so sorry…" Your voice softens as you give her a worried look, but she refuses to meet your eyes.

She forces a chuckle, but it’s hollow. "Don’t be. I underestimated how far he'd go to torment me."

The weight of her admission makes your chest tighten. There’s more to her story, but you know better than to push.

"Anyway… the event," she continues. "It’s to celebrate his retirement. He’s passing the reins to his protégé. It’s supposed to be good faith event—introducing him to the other families, politicians, everyone. I know I’m asking a lot, but you won’t need to do much. Just show up, smile. People might hassle you for invites to the next auction, but you can handle that. Just… don’t mention my name this time. As far as they’re concerned, you’re in charge."

💵

You stand in front of your apartment door and breathe in. Today was long, too long, but now at least it was over.

You twist the key in the lock, and with a soft click, you push the door open. A wash of warm light spills into the hallway. Your chest tightens—you never leave the light on. The thought makes your pulse quicken.

Your eyes search the living room, nothing is out of place, but unease doesn’t leave you. Your thoughts fall to Thor, he didn’t have a key-not like a lock would stop him.

The familiar rattle of the kettle catches your ear, pulling you from your thoughts. You step in cautiously, your gaze drifting toward the kitchen. Steam rises, curling in soft wisps, the whistle still moments away. It hasn’t been on long. The realization makes your stomach twist.

“Hello again mien Hase. Welcome home.” Your breath catches in your throat. Zemo’s voice floats in from the hallway. He steps out slowly, a smile soft on his lips, but it does nothing to ease the gnawing fear clawing at your insides. If anything, it tightens the coil. “From the the look on your face I deduce by now you've figured out who I am by now-yes?"

Stiffly you nod as he moves to the kitchen. He opens the cabinet where you keep your cups and moves without fail to the next that keeps your teas. Every motion calculated, as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

“I assure you I am not a ghost,” he says, his tone gentle, almost soothing, though it sends a chill down your spine. “And you have nothing to fear. You’re not the one I’m after. Now, come. Have a seat. This is your home, after all.”

You don’t believe him, but you do as you're told, moving without protest. The bar-stool scrapes against the linoleum floor, the sound grating, as you drag it back and sit down. You swallow thickly, eyes on him as he steeps his tea with infuriating calm.

"Are you going to hurt me?" The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling under the weight of your anxiety.

He chuckles softly, lips curving into a smile as he takes a slow sip from his cup.

"No, mein Hase." His voice dips, the accent curling around the words like a caress. "Tea?"

You shake your head, throat tight. "No, thank you."

He places his cup down with a careful clink, fingers spreading wide across the countertop, drumming lightly as he leans forward. The air between you feels thinner, suffocating.

"Relax, mein Hase. I've only come to congratulate you on your promotion."

Your brows knit in confusion. "I... I didn’t get a promotion."

He tilts his head, a mockery of surprise flickering across his face. "Really? How strange. Apologies, I must’ve been misinformed. Does that also mean you won’t be attending Herr Stark’s charity event?"

"Yes... I promised Mrs. Romanoff I’d attend on behalf of the warehouse." You answer, hands twisting together in your lap. You dig your nails into your palms, willing yourself not to shake. Running seems pointless. Calling for help, even more so. What would you say? That a man Thor tried to kill is sitting in the apartment Thor pays for? The police wouldn’t take you seriously. And Thor... Thor would find out.

Maybe that’s what Zemo wants. Have Thor find your corpse. Your stomach twists tighter at the thought.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice deceptively gentle, but you can’t find the strength to answer. Can’t even look at him. The air is getting thinner and your throat feels like it wants to close.

Hot tears spill over when you he touches you, it's almost tender, but you barely feel it through the haze of dread that clouds your mind.

"It seems I have a knack for making you cry," he tuts, a note of amusement in his voice. "I shall leave you to collect yourself."

You don’t stop sobbing as he bends down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, nor as his footsteps fade down the hallway. The door clicks shut behind him, but the sobs wracking your chest don’t stop, not even then.

[madameaug]

Promise Me || Bucky x Black Reader

Synopsis: This occurs maybe about a year after the events of Captain America: Civil War. The reader is a black woman and should be imagined as such :) Bucky is 37, and the reader is ideally 32/33.

Very angsty (reader and bucky are getting a divorce). Not edited at the moment. First non-BTS imagine/fic so I'm super nervous. I love Marvel too <3

I didn't think forever for us would end so soon. Four years seemingly going down the drain. Two years of dating, eight months of engagement, and barely a year of marriage. I felt like I was giving up. Quitting. Like I wasn't honoring my vows.

Til death do us part.

But when I took those vows I believed I was giving them to James Buchanan Barnes. Who I lovingly refer to as Bucky. A man a slightly older than me, but didn't look a day over thirty. He was the man that I envisioned as a little girl marrying.

A man who was tall, easy on the eyes, with a look of danger, but a heart of gold. Bucky had the perfect mix of both. A veteran turned firefighter. He risked his life daily, saving those in a life-or-death situation. He was second chances, personified for these people. He was a light of hope in the darkness of succumbing to a burning fate. He was a hero.

A hero.

A hero more in the literal sense than what I could have possibly imagined.

Bucky Barnes wasn't a thirty-seven-year-old man who was technologically challenged. Not a man who liked listening to music artist from the 1930s. He was sophisticated and romantic.

Doll was his favorite name to call me. Initially, I thought he was just trying to hard not to use generic pet names like 'baby' or 'bae'. Or that maybe his fascination with the olden days carried into his pet names for his girlfriends. But now I wish the truth was that easy and simple to understand. It didn't involve decades of high-profile assassinations and the bringing down of governments.

One man could bring down an entire government regime.

And that man, is my husband?

My James?

My Bucky?

The man sitting across from me in this stuffy monochrome conference room. Well the conference room was quite large. It's just the tension was sucking out any air circulation.

When I took my vows to James Barnes, I hadn't realized I said them to this 'Winter Soldier' to. A man wanted by hundreds of countries for international crimes that date back to the Kennedy administration. A man hunted down by the Black Panther for killing the king of the most powerful nation.

No, surely there was a mistake.

But I would be foolish to argue with evidence. Pictures of his stalky figure I curled up to several times at night. Blue eyes were the portals to his true thoughts. Shoulder-length hair I raked my fingers through mindlessly when listening to him recount his twelve-hour shift at the station. His wardrobe wasn't anything special, which explains why he could slip under the radar for so long.

That was him. He was responsible but not at the same time. Fourteen hours after being interrogated by Maria Hill, I better understood the double life Bucky The Winter Soldier had been living. Believed to be dead by the Allies, he was held hostage by Karpov, who brainwashed him and tortured him until he became the Winter Soldier. Breaking his mind, and piecing him back together to become he perfect killing machine in human form.

Helmut Zemo managed to get his hands on the book containing the words that activate the Winter Solider. He awakened the monster and manipulated him into the bombings that killed King T'Chaka. He used the Winter Solider to effectively divide and dissolve the Avengers. Zemo was responsible for taking away the Bucky that I knew. The hero.

"I'm glad you and your client could be civil and agree to our demands." Your lawyer, Jennifer Walters, spoke. You and Bucky's lawyer had been talking for twenty minutes, but you couldn't focus on their legal jargon. You were tuned out, tracing your steps on how you and Bucky were sitting in this office. On the opposite end of the table, staring at each other as if we'd become opponents. No longer players on the same team.

Bucky's eyes dragged across to scan Jennifer's face. In his heart he held no misplaced hatred for the woman. She was a professional doing her job, representing the interest of her client. He didn't spend long reading the lists of things that you wanted from the marriage.

The house was yours, he wouldn't dare try to live in that house if you weren't there. It wasn't good for him to stay in open spaces, for too long it freaked him out.

Most of your demands were reasonable and he put up no fight. He didn't want to fight with you. When he finally got his head on straight, he wanted to explain his disappearance. He wanted to be the first person to tell you about the Soviets and the Winter Soldier Program. He wanted to tell you about the bad things that he's done, but his memory was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. He wasn't sure if you would believe him, until he had all the pieces. When he did come across a piece, he was scared that it would show more harm than he did.

Confirming his belifs that he wasn't worthy of a second chance. That he could find happiness living a solo mundane life. Even with his slow aging, he could blend in his environment and live a good life. He would keep intact what little of his humanity he had left. But after Zemo got his hands on him again that little sliver of his humanity was gone. He was a tool designed for slaughter and destruction. Becoming a firefighter saving people wouldn't undo all the lives he took. Marrying you, the love of his life, wouldn't give him the normalcy he sought. He was reminded of that every time he looked down and saw the metal arm. The brute strength granted him the ability to kill with ease. The same metal arm that would now be a reminder of everything he was getting ready to lose with his wife.

The lawyers summarized the documents, and everything signed up to this point. The deed to the house, papers to change your last name, insurance paperwork, everything was discussed. Bucky even took it upon himself to hand you his 401k from firefighting.

Never had the lawyers seen a divorce proceeding go so smoothly. Usually, they have to clear out the rest of their calendars for divorce calendars. Would today be the day that they get out before the late lunch rush? Oh, let it be true.

Jennifer was smart in her word choice. Avoiding the emotional minefields that the couple has. The room was somber, as you shared your emotional hardships. Dealing with the sudden disappearance of your husband. Preparing for a funeral without a body, dreading adopting the label as a widower. Becoming behind on the mortgage and personal family issues flaring up.

Even though it was emotionally heavy, it was easy to formulate the words. You thought long and hard about what you wanted to say. However, you didn't truly have the words for the physical hardship, which was much more challenging to hide. Your right wrist in a sling. A fracture of the ulna and three smaller bones. The one place Bucky has been fighting with himself not to look.

From an instance of right place, wrong time. It would be your first time revealing the details of your broken wrist out loud. Even when Jennifer asked, you were short with your explanation. But looking at Bucky for probably the last time, you were moved by emotion. Emotions of hurt, frustration, and sorrow.

"I see that you haven't signed the restraining order." You gathered your tone to sound as unemotional and far removed as possible.

"Why?"

"I'm not signing it."

The tension in the room deepens as this is the first time you have directly spoken to Bucky. Your lawyers were doing a lot of the communicating for you.

He didn't want to word vomit his emotions and potentially mispeak. Widening the divide between the two. So he opted to sit in silence, letting his heartbreak in silence. Divorce from the only woman he ever loved was going to take a lifetime to heal. On top of that, a restraining order would send him to an early grave.

"What? I thought you agreed to all of our terms."

"That's why I wanted to talk in person. I cant get myself to agree to this. I can't."

Bucky sat across from you with a plea in his eyes. He didn't want to let go of the connection he spent four years building with you. His heart and mind fought each other for days when he got the divorce paperwork. His heart wanted to fight for the marriage. Fight for the sacred union yall made in front of your friends and family. Fight for the love he knew deep down that you still had for him. But his mind hit him with the harsh truth. You weren't safe around him. Having all these enhanced abilities, having this metal arm could protect you. That it wasn't a curse, but a blessing in disguise.

But that wasn't true. And his brain reminded him of that fact with a mental image of your arm in the sling.

It was before Steve managed to track down Bucky's coordinates to that apartment building. When he was still hiding in plain sight. You just happened to be there. Browsing different vendors, as it was the city was hosting a market.

Bucky was right beside you, you knew his scent from anywhere. And the fact that his head slightly turned in your direction, upon calling him confirmed it.

"Buck is that you?"

You raised a hand to touch his face. "It's me. Remember?" His metal hand gripped yours tightly. His hand clapped down on your wrist, leaving you at the mercy of his strength.

You attempted to snatch your hand back. Eyes swelled with tears, as the pain was escalating. Buck remained silent, as he twisted your wrist, to an almost 180 point.

"STOP IT! JAMES STOP!" Your shriek brought unnecessary attention to him. In a frustrated grunt, he huffed before completing the snap. He walked off into the crowd without looking back at you. Those eyes that were the portals to reading his mind was closed. There was nothing behind those eyes. Even in the presence of his wife, his eyes didn't change. I was a stranger. A stranger that he could very easily hurt with little provocation.

Holding onto your broken wrist you were soon comforted by a stand manager. He got you up on your feet and walked you in the direction of the nearest medical aid.

"Please, Bucky. Let this be a clean break. It's for the best."

"The best for who?" His voice a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "I've been through a lot. We've been through a lot. I want to fight for us. This restraining order snuffs out any chance of us rekindling this."

"We've changed Bucky. The world has changed. I need a fresh start, and I think you need one too."

"You are my fresh start. Don't you see!?" Bucky couldn't go into much detail. His lawyer was unaware of his assassin's past. He was more skeptical than ever about what details he shared about his personal life. Lawyer, doctor, psychiatrist or not. There could be more Zemo's looking to play puppet master with his mind.

"Think about your safety."

The lawyers attempt to mediate. They could sense that something was being left out of the conversation. Something that was connected to your arm in the sling. You were standing firm in your position to sever any ties to Bucky. This was the best decision for the both of you.

Bucky didn't have to worry about his superhero work trickling into his personal life. Not having to worry if some vengeful villain would come searching for you, and harm you to even out the score with Bucky. It was just another concern that didn't have to cloud his mind.

While you wouldn't have to worry about Bucky not coming back home. Getting the news from SHIELD agents that Bucky had died protecting the world from some global threat. The heartache would be too much.

"This is getting us nowhere. Did you and your client really come here to waste our time?"

"Mr. Barnes is just as entitled to getting all of his demands met.

The lawyers started bickering. The couple with actual grounds of argue sitting in silence. You spoke up first, your raised voice silencing the room.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are. I know you've been through a lot. And it is a lot." You reached your hand out to grasp his. You wanted to convey that your heart was full of love for Bucky. You could see a broken and scared man in front of you. A man with more skeletons in his closet than you would like to imagine. But you loved him. And with that love, you had to make the tough choices for both of you.

"You need space and time to collect yourself. Fight those battles in your mind. Get better and heal."

A singular tear runs down your cheek and hits the wooden table as you continue spilling your heart out.

"I love you. I love all of you, and I forgive you. You were unwell and need true help. As much as I want to remove that pain from you, I know that I can't. My love isn't enough. Sometimes love requires letting go. Let me go. Please."

"Even when I was sick, I still had dreams of you. I couldn't make out your face, but I found myself reliving our dates. The time I took you to the drive-thru movies. You said I made you feel like you were in high school again. Or the time I accidentally used all your leave in conditioner on wash day.

Then I started dreaming of a family with you. Raising mini versions of ourselves away from the chaos my life brought. The woods were our backyard, and we were happy. With you I was happy. I still want to make that dream a reality. I'm willing to give up anything to ensure our future."

You listened to his plea. You could tell he was genuine. He would if he could give up his enhanced abilities to be with you. No doubt about it. However, you knew that Bucky was meant for something greater. When he was a soldier who fought the good fight. He was destined to be a hero. A would-be alongside Captain America, fighting threats the world doesn't know about. Ensuring that we live in a world, where us regular people wouldn't have to.

"I can't be the reason you give that up, Buck." You said gently. "It's a part of who you are. Even when you've made mistakes, I've seen you try to right your wrongs. That's the Bucky I know, the hero."

The room was silent again filled with emotion. Bucky had to come to terms that yall were on different paths. Two paths diverged into a left and right. That even under the premise of love, you were right. Bucky was too vulnerable. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. The Winter Soldier was an ugly part of him that he had to live with. He has to make room for that identity instead of pretending it never existed.

He would be working with Steve and Sam Wilson on hunting down any of the remaining Winter Soldiers. He was thrusting himself into danger. Danger that he didn't want you to be apart of, danger that he felt responsible to end.

You leaned over to whisper in Jennifer's ears. Maybe the restraining order was too much. You were making a rash decision that you may come to regret in the future. Jennifer following the request of her client, placed the restraining order papers in the shredder.

"My client had a change of mind." She stood up packing up all the signed papers in her briefcase.

"Well all the paperwork is signed, our work is done here."

The divorce meeting came to a close and both parties went their separate ways. There you stood discussing the next steps with Jennifer. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky alone. He waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Jennifer took her cue to dismiss herself. With your eyes low, you carefully walked down the courthouse steps to stand before Bucky.

"Promise me we will find a way back to each other."

"I can't promise that Bucky. And you shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"I would keep that promise. I would stake my life on it." He brought your left hand to his chest. Your wedding ring still on your finger. You hadn't thought about when you would take it off.

"Promise me." His lips were a few inches away from yours. Your eyes were conversing in another language of their own. Saying their goodbyes, and final 'I love yous.'

You brought Bucky into your arms. Arms wrapping around his shoulder as you cried silently to yourself. Bucky tightened his arms around you, his warms rubbing circles in your back. A hypnotizing pattern that would put you to sleep. It was settling over the both of you that this could be the last time that you held one another like this.

You let go of the hug first. Your hand on his chiseled face again. This time not worried that he would harm you again.

"I love you." You laid a tender kiss on his lips. Capturing your affection and goodbyes.

"Promise me." Bucky spoke during the kiss. "Promise me Doll."

You placed your thumb over his lip. You looked deep into his eyes. He was hanging onto every word that you said. Bucky's phone rings, breaking the staring contest you had. To no ones surprise, Steve was on the other end. A bitter reminder of the double life that Bucky was apart of.

"I need to hear you say it."

"I promise."

Bucky leaves a passing kiss on your lips before walking away from the courthouse. He picked up the phone, walking with haste. In a few short seconds, a red-headed woman joined him on his side.

My hero.

My Bucky.

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Little less than super, soldier

Part two because I like to split bits up

Previous / Next

Summary: You have to play the part while in Madripoor despite your discomfort with your situation. Zemo finds out a little more about Sam's companion.

Zemo X OC (but written an reader insert in-case you wanna play in the space. backstory linked in part one ✌)

Also forgot to mention but I've been substituting Sokovian for German, translation will be provided.

Warnings: Violence, eye trauma,

scheisse - fuck

Schatz - treasure (a pet name)

First stop was a fancy little boutique outside the city an old friend of Zemo's owned. If this was going to work you'd all have to dress the part. The dark wood and smokey smell was pleasant but your nerves were still fried from trying to keep peace on the plane.

You'd taken to allowing Zemo to try press you for information once he'd gotten bored of Sam and Bucky.

"So where'd you learn Sokovian?" he'd queried, leaning forward into your space.

"In Sokovia." You replied, narrowing eyes at his closer form.

"And you know Bucky and Sam from...?" He continued forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"The US." You answered, shifting lower in your seat. A bitter rush of anger flooded you again. You slouched even lower, kicking a foot up onto his arm rest. If he was going to invade your space like that you'd just give it right back. He didn't move only staring harder at you with a slight smile.

"Leave them be." Bucky warned, Zemo chuckling tipping back into his chair. You let your foot drop now, returning to your personal space.

"I'm only making conversation Sam" his voice was like velvet, feigning innocence. Out the corner of your eyes you saw his head tilt to you again but you were distracted looking out the window. The man in front briefly forgotten as you peered excitedly at the passing land bellow.

Now you were avoiding his eyes again, poking around the fancy clothing while trying to avoid Bucky too. After he'd stepped out in the soldier gear you'd had to take a turn about the room. It was distressing even with his new haircut. Too much like old memories.

"Okay so he's all set but what about us huh?" Sam questioned, eyebrow quirking at Zemo in his fancy coat.

"Ah well I have someone in mind for you, as for your charming companion..." His eyes drifted back to you. "They might have a little harder time passing as anyone."

"Y/n." You said finally willing yourself to speak more than a couple words to the guy. "And I'm not exactly new to this." You leaned round gowns, hoping that your forced confidence would work.

Sam disappeared behind the curtain with the shop keep, returning shortly after. He sulked out of a changing room in an amazing suit. You forgot yourself a moment hands hiding a wide grin stretching across your face.

"Don't Y/n... I look like a pimp." Sam frowned at you making you bark out a laugh. He shot Bucky a warning glance, as he just smiled at his friend.

"Only an American would assume a fashion forward black man looks like a pimp." Zemo rolled his eyes, glancing back to yourself. You dropped your smile, crossing the room to Sam.

You weren't keen on letting Zemo be alone with either of them in this city. So you'd have to go too. Which meant crowds and someone touching you. Steeling yourself mentally you slipped an arm in Sam's.

"So if I'm hard to place, surely I can be someones date?" You queried. Sam straightened, he'd have to work on that if you would pass as a couple.

"Ah unfortunately not Smiling Tiger here." He stepped between you both causing you to shift away to avoid him. "He's pretty known for his devotion to his partner." Zemo smirked down at you, a hand on Sam's shoulder.

You sensed a challenge in the air, forcing a smile back to your face. "And I suppose it's too much to expect your soldier to have one." You purred stepping in closer to him, letting a hand rest on his chest. It almost sickened you how quickly you could slip into the act.

You caught the way he froze a second, must not have expected that from you. Still he caught himself quickly, looking unimpressed. Your anger flared at him. He was belittling you? Maybe it was better he underestimated you but your pride was wounded.

"Y/n." Sam spoke softly. You let your gaze shift to him but remained in proximity to Zemo. Sam stared at you for a second till he confirmed your resolve. He rolled his eyes, sighing.

"You got something for them to wear then?" He asked, rubbing his brow.

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

Zemo mind kept getting stuck on Sam and Bucky's companion. He'd had Oeznik look into you but he'd come up with nothing so far, though he'd be in contact with any news. Still there was a niggling feeling in his mind. Some kind of recognition he couldn't place.

You weren't Sokovian, your accent proved that much but you'd spent time there? Enough to have strong feelings on the matter. Maybe enough to share some sympathy? Get you more to his side, drive a wedge between you and them.

Then there was the way you tensed when James had stepped out in his winter soldier clothing. It wasn't subtle the way you practically jumped away to stare at a blank wall. So there was a history there? To think of it you'd stepped up when Barnes had threatened him too.

You didn't entirely trust him. So you were the weakest link in this team. If he wanted break the chain I'd be easiest to play you against Barnes.

Still your willingness to come here for Sam could pose some problems. Though even in that relationship you seemed closed off? Maybe a softer touch with you could work and a wedge to block Sam out. For now that's all he could use on you.

Helmut sat with these thoughts while he waited for the shop keep to finish with you. If he played this smart he could even get an ally in you. After all you'd come to his defense once before and it'd been amusing watching your reactions to him. How hard could it be to make you distrust James some more. He missed the curtain pulling only realizing you'd finished when he heard Sam.

"Wow Y/n you look...." Sam had began.

"Ridiculous, yes?" You quipped. Helmut heard heels clack as you approached, lifting his gaze to appraise the change. His jaw dropped, you were stunning. Sure he'd noticed your pleasant features before but you'd had a sort of disheveled look to you. Only sparkling in the little moments of wonder he'd witnessed on the plane. Now you shone, filling out the tight clothing just right.

"So this work?" You cocked a brow at him. Zemo tore his eyes from the maroon fabric matching his jumper. You looked like incredible and you looked like his, Selby might actually buy this.

"If you can act the part." He hummed, tilting his head. He slipped out of his chair and circled you. Your shoulders only tensed subtly when he took your hand, placing a bracelet around your wrist.

"Oh I can act the part, can you?" You challenged, jaw clenching and sliding in beside him. You linked an arm in his, resting a cheek against his bicep. He stifled a reaction to your sudden closeness. Cursing himself at loosing the upper hand again. You merely looked up at him through lashes and suddenly his nerves were alive.

"Don't think that'll be a problem." He smirked down at you. Your eyes widened slightly before your gaze shifted to Sam. Zemo preened at the flush rising to your cheeks. It was amusing watching you squirm but he really should try being kinder if he wanted your trust.

"Yeah maybe just don't talk." Sam grumbled though Zemo was miles away again.

All the way from the shop, to the escorted car, then to the club you kept up your part. Body pressing against his arm so close he could feel your heat through his coat. It'd been so long since he'd had someone close like this and he didn't realize how much he'd been missing it. Or any contact really.

He tried not to dwell on the exposed skin or the softer look you'd given him when he'd offered you a hand out the car. Nor the way the way he found himself wanting to pull you closer. To hide you away from the prying eyes around them.

Part of him wished he'd worn a thinner coat or skipped the gloves. To have been able to enjoy this moment unfettered. Though he couldn't allow his guard down now. He had a plan and you were a nuisance at best.

Zemo he relayed the plan to Sam, Barnes and yourself, keeping up an indifferent attitude. It was a simple plan but it should get him and Sam in front of Selby. Honestly if you entered the club alone looking like this, you'd probably get a private meeting with her in seconds. Though he doubted Sam would let that plan go ahead.

The Brass Monkey Saloon was busy this night, though they got in alright with the expensive look about the group. Even the leather he had James wear was designer.

Zemo led the group to the bar, dropping the title of winter soldier as they passed by groups. He kept a hand on your lower back as he led you through the crowd. With the low cut of the garment he could feel a slight shiver even through his gloves.

It was certainly a lot warmer inside. You were nervous. You showed no other sign of it but with that realization your actions were making more sense. You weren't just playing the part, you were clinging to him! Zemo pulled a seat out allowing you to sit as he stood close to your side. He kept his arm securely around your waist as he shot a look to a patron beside you.

He started talking business, enjoying the way Sam paled at the snake guts shot before a gruff looking guy appeared over your shoulder. He placed a hand on you and Zemo held back venom.

"Word from on high, your not welcome here. They can stay." The man commanded, his hand moving from your shoulder down your arm as his eyes traced your form. Zemo caught your eye for just a moment, the discomfort only flickered a second before he was giving the order.

James was on the man in a flash, wrenching him off you in a swift motion. You flinched back slightly into Zemo, your back remaining against his chest as Bucky beat the man down. Helmut tried to convince himself it was part of the act but truthfully he didn't like seeing you distressed like that. It wasn't like the way you flustered before. There was real fear behind your eyes and he couldn't stand it.

Another man approached from your side and Zemo pulled you closer to him, shoving the man back towards his soldier. He could feel your hand against his abdomen shake as your fear grew at the sight of James in action. He was right, you were afraid of the man. Why was a question for later, for now this was working in his favour.

Zemo quipped a comment about him to Sam too for good measure before guns were drawn. You seemed to snap out of your state, standing more firmly away from him and closer to Sam. He snaked his arm around your shoulders, before telling Bucky to stand down. It was strange to watch what frightened you. It would seemed you couldn't care less about the guns. Your wide eyes were still caught on Barnes.

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

You could still feel the quake in your fingers. Some last trace of adrenaline coursing there. Still you strutted by Zemo's side, a cold leather clad hand on your exposed back.

It shouldn't feel as comforting as it did but you couldn't think about that now. You were deeper in the lions den now and you had to stay focused. There would be time to wallow in your pathetic thoughts later.

Selby wasn't quite what you'd expected, still she had that sense of power that came with territory. She was just chipper in a way that felt like she was talking down to everyone. Zemo made his way to sit in front of her, leading you closer to danger.

It was a ploy you soon realized as you watched her speak to him whilst her eyes traced up your legs. It disgusted you to use old tricks again but you couldn't hate their effect. Anything to keep the eyes off Sam for now. You sat on Zemo's armrest, his hand reaching to touch your thigh where Selby's eyes were.

Her gaze flicked back to him as she continued. You took the opportunity to look around the room as she spoke with Zemo and Sam. There were four armed guards around the room, blocking exits and keeping everything in sight.

You didn't like Sam being so far away, if things kicked off it'd be hard to take the hit from your position. Moving wouldn't be an option, you were supposed to be an obedient little ornament right now.

So you stayed seated as Zemo got up to show off his winter soldier, watching as Selby's attention drifted away from you to Bucky. You didn't like the predatory smile she wore looking at him. It'd been better when her focus was on you, at least Bucky hadn't looked so uncomfortable then. Though the act was good, too good. The stillness he'd adopted was still sending your heart thundering against its cage again.

Zemo returned to his seat, hand on your leg again, as you tried to maintain an almost bored smile. You found yourself calming somewhat before, though the realization was distressing in itself. Maybe it was the contact alone? You really hadn't been this near another person in some time. Not for any length of time anyway.

You tried to focus in on the conversation again, letting your eyes rest on Selby. The serum was here but she wasn't just going to tell you where it was, no matter how you rubbed your legs together.

"Your friend isn't distracting enough Baron, the bread crumbs are free but the bakery 'll cost you..." She began before a buzz from Smiling Tiger caught everyone's attention.

You stiffened as Sam was forced to take his call. Zemo's hand shifted on your thigh, squeezing it slightly. You looked down as he gently shook his head. He knew you wanted to go to him but he was right, you had to try maintain the cover.

"Sam?"

Oh shit. Before you could react Selby was shot and on the floor. The next second you were up and in front of Zemo. He grabbed your waist moving you away to attack one of the guards. Bucky and Sam had the other two it seemed. Leaving you the one setting his aim at Sam.

You tackled him, knocking him to the floor. You straddled him briefly before a boot slammed into him head. Zemo held a hand out to you, an incredulous smile on his tilted head. You took his hand, letting him pull you up. Though you let it go the second you stood, straightening your clothes.

Sam and Bucky regrouped, sure that this hit would be blamed on your group. Zemo tossed a gun taken off the guard aside, instructing Sam and Bucky to do the same.

"Follow my lead" Zemo almost whispered over your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine but it didn't feel like fear. As confidently as you could you all walked out of the bar, Zemo's hand in your own. You rubbed a thumb on the smooth leather, trying to relax yourself as you walked into the street. You focused on the imperfections, the seam under your thumb as your breathing eased.

Each quick step matched the hard thump of your heart. Phones went off all around you as the bounty must have been set. A cacophony of tones, buzzes and lights illuminating wicked grins. You kept pace with Zemo's stride praying you'd slip away before anyone made a move.

The prayers were dashed at the first gun shot. In a moment the night was alive with muzzle flash and gunfire. Zemo tugged you sharply along with him as he darted into an alleyway. Your heals splashed as he half dragged you after him.

"Wait! Sam and Bucky went that way." You yelled as you tried not to fall in your fancy shoes. Zemo didn't respond instead leading you through a winding path. He took a sharp corner suddenly spinning you against the wall.

It felt like the air had be knocked out of you as Zemo caged you in His long coat obscured you as you heard more footsteps splash past you both. Legs felt shaky as your heart remained thunderous. You stared up at his pale face, bathed in neons of the city, his dark eyes still watching for a movement. He paused looking back down at your wide eyed expression.

You were so close, his breath hot and fanning over your features. You could smell his expensive cologne, something smokey. The heaving in your breast settled bit by bit as you kept your eyes locked on his deep brown ones. He didn't back off a lazy smirk drifting onto his face.

For a second your eyes darted down to his lips before a pain shot through you. You doubled over, Zemo catching you before you fell. A growing heat blossomed out from the bullet wound you'd failed to register. The red stain seeped out further against the purple fabric.

"Oh, I actually quite liked this outfit." You joked, hand coming away shaky and red. It hadn't shot straight through, embedding somewhere in your gut.

Zemo's hand immediately came to cover the wound, applying pressure as he slung your arm over his shoulders. You let him half carry you out to where Sam and Bucky were, not caring much for whatever they were talking about.

No matter how many times you'd been shot, it never got easier. Without the adrenaline the pain was excruciating, almost blinding in it's intensity. With that and the groggy feeling blood loss gave you, you had no real reaction when Sharon turned up.

The talk was short, but soon you were in a car. Bucky hovered close, your head in Sam's lap as he tried to explain the situation to Sharon.

"Are you joking your friend is going to die!" Zemo protested against your slurred response, staring back from the front seat.

"Relax, she'll be fine let me just..." Bucky started before digging a digit into the wound. You screeched at the sudden rush of pain writhing as more shouting surrounded you. Then you went limp. There was the itching sensation of your skin reforming and silence in the car.

"What the hell..." Zemo began, eyes glued to the sight of your wound stitching itself back up. His eyes shot up to yours, somewhere between disbelief and something else.

"Guess you could say they've an invested reason to want the serum gone." Bucky spoke for you as you groaned sitting up and off of Sam. It was still painful, the internal still reworking itself but in a few minutes even the ache would be gone. You tried not to show how rough you felt. While the wound wasn't huge here was a lot of your blood soaking Sam and yourself.

You said no more until you were back at Sharon's. Still feeling too weak for the first few minutes and then ashamed by Zemo's silence. You showered and redressed in another fancy outfit at Sharon's. She had a party tonight and you'd all need to attend.

She'd almost given you an out when Bucky had said you were fine now. You cringed inside as you felt Zemo's eyes burning into you. Of course he'd hate you now and god knows what that meant for you going forward.

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

Zemo watched you over his whisky. Sam, Bucky and Sharon seemed involved in a conversation he was not invited into. Seeing that he watched you pause, shifting awkwardly by the bar cart. His heart still pounded looking at you. Despite everything you were a vision, another less revealing outfit still accentuating your body.

His curiosity was peaked, far more than any anger at this having been kept a secret from him. Made sense they didn't share that detail with him of all people, still he'd like to know your intentions.

He caught your eye, raising his glass. You seemed to hesitate a moment longer before joining him. The whole walk over took seconds but in those moments Helmut realized where he recognized you from.

Something in the more timid expression brought to mind a photo he'd seen in Hydra's files. He'd have to get it soon, until then he'd keep you close. Figure out where you stood in all this.

You sat across from him, toying with bracelet from your previous outfit. Helmut thought to break the silence before you suddenly looked up.

"I didn't ask for this." You stated, meeting his gaze, brows knit. Zemo kept his face passive.

"Never said you did." He responded, coy smile returning.

"Good." you nodded, leaning back in your chair.

"Good." He stated. There others he'd found out about always had. The HYDRA soldiers, the flagsmashers and even Steve Rogers all chose it. Though you wouldn't be the first to have the choice taken from you. Perhaps that's where Bucky fit in for you.

"Do I have to worry about more of you?" He probed. If they'd experimented with yourself there was no reason they wouldn't have tried to make more.

"No... it's just me now." You continued, eyes casting down. They looked glassy in the low light, he'd struck a nerve there.

"I... it's not like with Steve or even Bucky okay. It's the healing, that's all." Zemo watched you squirm. Clearly you were fighting two needs here, your secrecy and a need to explain yourself to him. He hummed considering you for a moment. That's all? As if what you did wasn't incredible?

It confused him slightly why you were struggling so much to try explain yourself. Sure it could just be self preservation, he was most known for his hatred of the Avengers. Though with friends like Sam why you'd need to ingratiate yourself to him was odd. Unless you weren't with their team.

You'd need a clear out too when this was over and the less anyone had on you the better. So you'd risked yourself to come help Sam deal with this super soldier problem.

"Does that mean you can drink?" He smiled pouring you a glass.

"Yeah I can drink." You answered, taking the glass from his hand and returning his smile. He let his fingers graze against yours and watched for your reaction. There wasn't one he could see, so hopefully you were more comfortable with him now.

He'd gotten a message off moments earlier with the phone still hidden in his jacket. He'd have your file soon enough. Until then he could trust you weren't going to get in the way of his mission and clinked his glass to yours.

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

Zemo couldn't lie to himself, he was enjoying your company greatly. Having cracked your shell a little he managed to get you talking about your time in Sokovia. You were light on details that brought you there but were delighted to reminisce on the city.

After heading out to Sharon's party he found himself glued to your side. Especially after Sam and Bucky left. Though it would seem they'd asked you to keep an eye on him as you followed him even onto the dance floor.

It was clear you hadn't had much opportunity to dance before but he couldn't judge, he was rather rusty himself. It was amusing to watch you twirling in this space. Despite an initial discomfort you were all open smiles and singing to yourself now. Clearly whatever happened before now had deprived you of lives many joys.

You spun and swayed for a time before the crowd in the area seemed to get too close. Zemo ushered you to follow him to another room, using an arm to block others from you.

Sam and Barnes where still no where to be seen. Though he had no plans of escaping until this serum problem was gone. Which meant he was free to enjoy your rather charming company in peace without their interruption.

The genuine dazzle returned to your eyes, the same one that made him pause his questioning on the plane. You stared up at a painting, a classic piece, oil and stretching across the entire wall of this room. Helmut smiled, stepping beside you again to tell you about it. You listened eagerly before turning your attention to the other art expectantly.

Zemo couldn't be sure he had an ally in you yet but it was pleasant none the less. He liked having you enjoy his company like this. Now all he needed to do was drive a wedge between you and the others and that file should help.

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

The morning came and you were off with Sharon to the ship yard. As always your ability to heal didn't seem to extend past poison not killing you. Your head pounded in the morning light.

You'd awoken feeling guilty about last night. Sam had asked you to keep an eye on Zemo and you suppose you did. Only your sure he didn't mean follow him onto the dance floor and drink with him. Still it wasn't like anything happened. You just didn't like the look Sam gave you before heading to bed.

"You should stay with Sharon." Bucky said. "Keep an eye out with her." You nodded a response, following after her. He and Sam both knew how you felt about the serum. You weren't exactly going to be easy on this guy. Probably best you didn't meet him face to face.

You followed after Sharon, her signaling you to go left while you kept a eye out around the containers. It was only a couple of minutes before the samey look got you lost. You cursed, wishing you'd taken note of the numbers on them or something.

There wasn't time to worry about that, gun shots echoed through the containers and you were sprinting towards the source. You rounded the corners at speed, coming to the container you'd split from Karen from. She was worse for wear, bruised but not hurt near a badly as the bodies behind her.

"God you're so cool." You smiled, her returning a pained one before you both rushed to get the boys. The chaos hadn't finished though, as you entered the lab Zemo shot the scientist.

Sam yelled out, him and Sharon rushing to un-arm him but it was done. You peered over the mans body but there was no helping him. Though you don't think you'd have found it in yourself to do so. There was no time to think anymore on the mater, the lab behind you exploded and you were sent hurtling back towards the others.

Your ears rang you could smell smoke billowing around as you tried to regain your bearings. You'd clipped an arm on something as you shot past, the bones bending out at odd angles. Still you struggled painfully to your feet, trying hard to ignore the biting pain as your arm snapped back into place.

You stumbled, crying out and trying to force your eyes to work but sharp pain scratched as you tried to blink. Glass... there was definitely glass in your eyes. God you shouldn't have turned to look at the explosion. You felt a strong hand grab your shoulder, pulling you back down the stairs to the shipyard.

"Sam?" You questioned, light filling your vision but not clearing it yet. You were stumbling after him, still blind but you felt a piece of glass fall to the ground.

"Not quiet." Zemo's voice lilted out before another explosion sounded off. You went to scream, to call out for the others but a gloved hand covered your mouth and you were pulled back against him.

You struggled a moment, thinking of biting his hand to let you go but stilled. With some sight returning you could see dark shapes passing by you. He didn't let go till they were round another corner and you stepped away.

"Let me see..." His hands returned to your face, you pulled away for a moment but relented as his grip remained firm. "scheisse, there's quite a big... should I remove it." You hissed, adrenaline gone and leaving you in a lot more pain than you'd expected.

"Please," you all but whimpered, gritting your teeth when you felt him tug. He was kind at least, one sharp tug and it was out. You bit your cheek, whining as your hand came up to stem the leaking blood.

"Stay back." He commanded, gripping your shoulders a moment before disappearing from your returning sight. God you hated eye stuff, eye stuff was so gross.

You slumped against the metal a moment before hearing Sam and Bucky's voices between gun shots. Without another thought you tried to follow pausing back from an approaching group.

Above them you saw Zemo, calmly he walked atop the containers before firing at a gas pipe. In a fireball the majority of the threat was gone, leaving only a few stragglers shooting blindly.

You watched him leap down, picking off the bounty hunters quickly. You shouldn't have been surprised, you knew his background but still it was impressive to watch.

Bucky and Sam were no where to be seen. You paused uncertain what to do at this point. If they were taking fire somewhere you should be with them. You searched around before you heard a shout.

"Schatz!" Zemo called over the fire, motioning you to follow. You sent a last glace around before you ran after him. Sam and Sharon had to be around here soon and you really should keep an eye on him right?

Zemo paused ahead of you at an open container. You followed, slowing your pace as you neared him. He shot you a grin before stepping inside, slowing you rounded the door to see a very fancy car. Zemo already at the open passengers door. He gave a wave of his arm.

"After you, schatz." He smirked and you rolled your eyes at the pet name. Still couldn't help but laugh as he tore out at speed. The wind was whipping against your face as he sped through the ship yard. You weren't sure you remembered ever sitting up front in a car before. Definitely never one with an open top, it was exhilarating.

He skidded round a corner, stopping sharply in front of Sam and the others. You grinned, feeling a little dazed from the passengers seat. Bucky awkwardly climbed into the back, Sam approaching round the corner with a harsh glare directed at Zemo.

Sheepishly you rose, climbing into the back as Sam took the seat up front. He tore his gaze from Zemo, turning a kinder look to you before shifting to Sharon outside the car.

"Your not coming?" You asked her, turning your face a little to wipe the viscera from it on your sleeve.

"I can't..." She turned to Sam "Just keep that deal alright." Then she was gone and you were speeding off again.

[mlmxreader]

Snow Day | Helmut Zemo x m!reader

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

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

tws: swearing, smoking, mentions of violence

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

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

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

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

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

"Mein Bärchen?"

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

"I can see that."

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

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

"And you want to do it again?"

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

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

"Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look so good today."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anything for you.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's a date."

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

[boop-le-snoot]

welcome to

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⚡ a post with fic author recs for stephen-tony-bruce

⚡ masterlist below spoiler ⚡

⚡ KINKTOBER 2024 ⚡

stories marked with an asterisk* contain adult content

⚡ multichapter fics ⚡

party favours [AO3 link] | tony stark x bruce banner x stephen strange x reader ot4) | explicit | ~120k words | completed

practical alchemy [AO3 link] | witch!reader x established!ironstrange | explicit | in progress (hiatus)

black dog [AO3 link] | badass!reader x negan (twd) | explicit | in progress, 1/3 done

⚡one-shots⚡

tony stark | doll parts | skin starving | butt dial? no, booty call* | degradation* (dubcon) | teasing tony | nerd fishing* | love letter* (dd/lg) | bad day* | trust issues | stitches | sticky sweet* |

helmut zemo | marmalade taffy* |

bruce banner | emotional support nerd* | bondage* | lab delights* | spoiled | blindfolds & edging* | you've seen the butcher* |

stephen strange | dr. feelgood* (as seen on tiktok) | touch me i'm sick* | spellbound* | brat & restraints* | aftercare | mean!dom* (gender neutral reader) | inappropriate use of the eye of agamotto* | selfship drabbles - oral fixation, more horny brainrot | spitfire* | dazed & confused* | year after year | the leg thing* | hand/size kink* |

sam wilson | bad touch* | violent delights* (content warning) |

loki | if life gives you melons* | bondage* (nb reader, they/them) | snow day* (male reader)

natasha romanoff | hot wheels* |

wanda maximoff | caught |

bucky barnes | bother figure (daughter!reader) |

thor | idunn's apples | hired man* (dubcon) | beloved, bejeweled |

otto octavius / doc ock | horny headcanons* | i want to kill you like they do in the movies - part 1 - part 2* - part 3* (fin) |

steve rogers | it drives me wild* |

daryl dixon | cherry - part 1 - part 2* (coming soon) | untitled* | dirt* |

⚡ blurb series ⚡

daddy!ironstrange - daddy lessons* | part one | part two |

rickyl - part one*

[nocapesdahling]

Life Eternal

Helmut Zemo x F! Reader

My Masterlist

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

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

Rating: M (18+, Minors DNI please)

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

Word Count: 9.1k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

While you deliberated, he continued to watch you patiently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasped, “Hel…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

You had taken too long already.

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

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

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

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

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

He was so dramatic and you loved it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And your wife?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And he’s your Captain America?”

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

Sam sighed, “Here we go again.”

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flashback:

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

You closed yours with a snap and placed it down.

“My Hel.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

“Yes.” His voice was giddy with anticipation.

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

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

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

End Flashback

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Masterlist

[marvel-trash-bin]

Taking Risks.

(Not my Gif.)

Summary: Zemo gives you what he thinks you deserve. *Some TFATWS Ep. 3 Spoilers.*

Pairing: Zemo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smut for days baby. Dirty Talking, Possession, marking, Soft!Dom Zemo. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags: @greeneyedblondie44

A/N: Look we all know we're walking dangerous territory, simping for a war criminal. But Sugar Daddy Zemo got me feeling some type of way and also, Daniel Brüle is hot asf. Also, I don't actually know german so pls if it's off just blame google translate, I just have an insatiable language kink and I needed the pet names more than air itself. I thought about making this a chaptered fic, but I barely had the time to write this, never mind chapters of it before he likely fucks over Sam and Bucky next episode. Anyways, enjoy!

Here’s the thing.

You knew he was dangerous. You knew his past, the EKO Scorpion kill squad and everything with the Avengers, manipulating them and breaking them up from the inside. He was smart, unpredictable. You knew there was a very real potential that you could be hurt - or worse - if you went down the road.

And maybe, in a past life that would’ve been enough to stop you. But you weren’t who you used to be. You liked playing with fire now, inviting danger and chaos rather than straying from it. You had lived in - hid in, was more accurate - Madripoor for a handful of years now. You laid low, kept yourself under the radar of the Power Broker and those who worked for him. This way, no one bothered you and you could live fragments of a normal life, Trading and bartering to make a living. But living this way, like forgotten trash on a sidewalk, got old.

Maybe that’s why when you caught his attention, you didn’t shy away from it.

It had happened so fast. You were dancing, just intoxicated enough that the rubbing of strangers' bodies against yours was not just welcomed, but encouraged. So encouraged that when a new body, tall and firm behind you, took the place of another, you didn’t hesitate to back up into the warmth. His hands gripped your hips tightly, not stopping or guiding you, just resting. Turning your head slightly to see what your new dance partner looked like, you startled a little seeing the Baron.

Helmut chuckled, a low sound you felt rather than heard, and ducked his head down to speak into your ear, “You know who I am.”

You let your body relax back into his, feeling reckless enough to bless the menacing man with your flirtations, your head falling back onto his, “I’ve heard a thing or two.”

“And yet you trust me to hold you like this,” his hands flex on your hips, just hard enough to show the strength they hold, “Like a lover.”

You grab one of his hands, leading it down to your upper thigh where your knife holster sits, never once letting his hand leave your body.

“If I didn’t want you touching me, you’d know it, Baron.”

The gust of breath you felt against the side of your neck and the large hand gripping your thigh had shivers rolling pleasantly down your spine.

“You are far too beautiful to reside in these undergrounds,” he spun you around in his grasp, allowing you to get a good look at his face, “A woman like yourself should be treated with the most expensive riches, the finest wines. She should drain a man of his earnings.”

You laughed, not expecting the words that came from his mouth nor how handsome he was, even this close, “Point me to the man who’s willing.”

He smirked at you, but there was a smugness to it. A glimmer in his eye that suggested he had the riches and the desire to give you anything you wanted. You felt like you were drowning in his gaze, lost as you were under the heat of it. He looked somewhere behind you, pulling his eyes from you to nod once at whatever, or whoever, had stolen his attention from you. When they returned to you, the heat and desire were replaced with determination.

“It is with great regret that I must leave you, for now,” He captured your hand, bringing it up to his lips, the softness of them brushing lightly against your knuckles, “I can get you out of Madripoor, give you a life you deserve. If you meet me tomorrow morning, the airstrip.”

The world felt like it froze around you. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you. You couldn’t trust him. You Shouldn’t trust him. But as you stared into his eyes you saw nothing but honesty.

“And if I don’t?” You ask, just to buy yourself some time.

His hand travels up your arm, taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger securely, “I will not pressure you. I’d leave you be, but the ghost of you would haunt me, schatzi.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving you with nothing more than your thoughts, mentally preparing how quickly you could pack your things and leaving Madripoor behind. After all, you’ve always loved taking risks.

~

The next few weeks were a blur. Zemo was laying low, but his form of laying low was still luxury to you. It was private jets and upscale accommodations, not to mention that he was a man of his word. He spoiled you. Within three days of being in his presence, you had acquired a whole new wardrobe. Your suitcases - also new - were filled to the brim with the fanciest and latest fashion. You had rare jewels on nearly every piece of jewelry you owned. Maybe spoiled was an understatement. You’ve only dreamed of owning riches like these.

He had picked something particular for you to wear tonight, both of you making an appearance at some sort of party with some higher-ups. It was all laid out on the king-sized bed, a little black dress of sorts. It was short and sheer in its long sleeves, the sparkles in the fabric ensured that you would shimmer under any lighting. With a simple clutch, matching jewelry and a cropped, white fur jacket to keep you warm until you got to your destination. You looked good. You felt good.

He looked just as good. Sporting an outfit similar to the one you had met him in, instead choosing a dark red turtleneck to create a stunning relation between both your outfits. Nothing had happened between the two of you yet. Aside from lingering glances and innocent touches, he had been a gentleman. The chemistry was there, for sure. You were able to joke and talk with the man, matching his wit and charm every step of the way. And he loved it.

“Best behaviour tonight, schatzi.” He had said, low in your ear as you walked towards the venue.

You had smiled back at him, the perfect picture of innocence, “Always, Baron.”

And at the time, you had fully meant it. But you found yourself craving him. He looked too good, it honestly wasn’t fair. The way that ridiculous fur jacket draped over his shoulders, fostering a powerful ambience. And you knew he was faring no better himself if by the way his eyes were glued to your curves was anything to go by.

So, you decided, maybe you shouldn’t be on your best behaviour tonight. It’s not like you were making a scene or anything that would call too much attention. You were simply letting the alcohol take over your body. Whether that meant a hand on his thigh as you listened to the conversations around you, your fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck or dancing a little too scandalously when you knew he was watching. You felt confident. And when you felt confident, you felt dangerous.

By the end of the night, you were teasing yourself just as much as you were him. You were pushing your luck, hands trailing a little too close to the bulge in his slacks, enjoying the way his facial features changed briefly in shock before settling back into that infuriating unmovable stoic impression. The last straw was you bending in front of him, having ‘dropped’ something from your purse. You only had to bend so much before the dress, as short as it was, had ridden up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your panties.

In an instant, he had you standing upright, thanking whoever he had been talking to for a wonderful night, tugging your dress back down to a respectable length and steering you towards the door by the back of your neck.

“That was not best behaviour,” he growled into your ear.

You giggled, despite the tight grip on your neck, “I was just having fun.”

He had done nothing but stare at you, eyes hard with a warning that had you rethinking your actions. You had forgotten, for a moment, that this man was not just someone to give you all the pretty trinkets you wore. He was a mastermind, a criminal mastermind at that. A man most deemed dangerous enough to be locked away.

“You have been bad tonight, kleine Schlampe.” He said once he had gotten you back to his car, away from the prying eyes and ears of the party guests, “You will spend the trip back thinking of ways to make it up to me.”

The words sent heat through your core, and you did exactly as he said.

~

By the time he had gotten you up to your accommodations, you had thought of thousands of different scenarios that could earn you forgiveness for your recklessness. You were uncertain if his words earlier had implied sexual favours, or if a simple, genuine apology was all he was looking for. However, once he had turned to you, the room door closing behind him and his eyebrows raised expectantly, you fell to your knees in front of him like it was second nature.

He chuckles darkly at you as he peels his gloves off, tossing them gently onto a side table nearby before letting one hand brush away the hair that had fallen in your face.

“Seems you are meine kleine schlampe indeed,” You had no idea what it meant, but fuck it sounded good coming from him. His eyes were hard and dark as he stared down at you, “If this is the path you’ve chosen to apologize, so be it. But not here, you are meine schlampe not a common whore. Get up. Go to the bedroom.”

You did as he said, quickly pulling yourself up to a standing position and walking to the designated room. The bed, so far, had only been used by you. He hadn’t wanted to push or pressure you into sharing a space with him. He understood that just because you decided to join him, didn’t mean you wanted to be with him. But tonight, you had decided, you wanted to give him your everything. You wanted to show him how grateful you were for all the gifts he’d given you so far. And if you couldn’t give him luxuries, you would give him your desire.

“So,” he began, nodding in approval at the way you resume your position on the floor in front of him, “Let’s begin with the basics.” As he talked, he rolled up his sleeves, doing so with precision, “Tell me, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

He commands every drop of your attention. There’s an aura to him that you had only previously caught a glimpse of. His eyes dark and locked onto yours, never once wavering. Waiting. Calculating.

“For teasing you.”

“And?”

You take a breath, shame flooding your core at the answer that sits on your tongue.

“For embarrassing you.”

There’s a pause. He cocks his head, gaze softening just a tad. He's quiet for several moments, analyzing your words. Your heart starts to beat a little faster at the extended silence, thinking you’ve done something wrong and you can’t keep up the eye contact. You duck your head, averting your gaze to his feet.

“Look at me, schatzi.” His voice is soft, but still with enough edge to make you listen.

Only once your eyes meet his again does he continue.

“That’s very sweet of you, to be concerned about my image. But make no mistake,” He steps closer to you, letting one hand cup your jaw, tilting it upwards. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, “You could never embarrass me,”

You dip your head, nipping softly at his thumb. He smiles softly at you, something glimmering in his eye, “I simply just don’t like to share what’s mine.”

Your breath leaves your body at his words and suddenly the need for him to claim you had you nearly vibrating in your skin. You watch, every muscle in your body clenched tightly, as he walks slowly over to the armchair in the corner, never once taking his eyes off you. He sits, legs parted, one arm draped off the side, the other rested so he could prop his head up.

“Proceed.”

Instantly, you make your way over to him. Once in front of him, you stand up on your knees, placing your hands on his knees and slowly sliding them up his thighs. They continue its upward motion, skimming lighting over the hardness in his pants and reaching to start on his belt. You make quick work of his belt and buttons, eagerly working his pants and briefs down. He chuckles above you.

“Mein Schatz, so eager to apologize.” He purrs, almost mockingly, hand coming down to brush the fallen hair away from your face.

Once you had him free, you took a second to admire him. Your legs clenched at the size of him. Not terribly big, but big enough to anticipate the stretch, the fullness. Your eyes flicked back up, looking up at his through your lashes, leaning in but stopping just before you could actually get your mouth on him. The hand that was previously fixing your hair was now clenched in it, messing it up again and forcing your head back suddenly to look at him properly.

“It would not be wise to tease me more than you have,” he warned.

A smirk spread across your features and you quickly realized how much you liked him like this.

Powerful.

Strict.

However, you knew you were on thin ice already. With that in mind, as soon as his grip loosened you licked a wide stripe up his length, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him fully into your mouth. The tension his body held melted the second your tongue touched him. His mouth dropping on a soft groan. His hand stroked your hair as you sucked, encouraging the bobs of your head, not forcing but guiding. You keep your eyes trained on his face, not wanting to miss a second of experiencing him like this.

He glows in the low lamplight of the room, the shadows playing across his features delicately. You like him like this too. Reduced to a heap of gasps and moans beneath the heat of your mouth. As you suck, your hands wander, up under the fabric of his shirt, nails dragging down his sides. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t tell you to stop.

After a few minutes of your slow torture, he decides he’s had enough. His hand tightens in your hair, his movements becoming less gentle and more demanding.

“That’s a good girl, take it all for me.”

You do as he asks, taking a breath before taking him as deep as you can. He groans at the feeling, hips shifting a few times to test you before beginning to thrust in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, but his eyes are on you and his thumb is tracing your bottom lip that’s stretched wide around his cock and you think for a second that you could spend eternity like this.

It’s not much longer before he pulls you off his cock, hand wrapping around his base tightly, “Apologies, schatzi. I am out of practice, and I fear I'm not quite finished with you yet.”

You laugh softly, voice rough due to your previous activity, “That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You insist, more than happy to let him finish like this. Whatever he wants.

He stops you before you can dip down again, standing up and taking you with him. For the first time, his lips are on yours. He overwhelms all your senses. His breath loud in your ears, his hands on your waist, his scent. His tongue slides against yours as he walks you forward, shedding his lower clothing as he goes. He only parts to give you an order.

“Turn around.”

As you do, he finishes undressing and it kills you that can’t see him. Just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, it’s gone as you feel his hands at the top of your dress. He slides the zipper down, letting the fabric fall off your shoulders. You take the liberty of helping the sleeves the rest of the way down, the fabric falling down around your heels once you’ve done so. He hums behind you.

“Such beauty,” he whispers against your shoulder. His hands begin to wander, around your waist, up underneath the fabric of your bra, down to your thighs and ass. He chuckles, dragging your panties down enough that they too fall, forgotten at your feet, “I can hardly stay mad at you, liebling.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulders as he works your bra off next. You shiver, feeling bare and exposed before him. You want him more than you can express and you let your whole body fall back into his embrace, whimpering at the feeling of him, hard against the swell of your ass.

“Helmut,” you moan, one of your hands finding purchase in his hair as the other rests on one of his forearms.

“Tell me you’re mine, Schatzi. And I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I’m yours,” you say without hesitation, breathless as his hand dips between your legs, finding your clit. He hums, pleased at the arousal he finds there, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

He growls pulling his hand away from, “Lay back on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed. While you wait, you let your mind wander, listening to his rummaging somewhere in another room while your mind runs through everything you want him to do to you. At some point, your eyes must close because when you feel the bed dip, they open to see him crawling between your legs.

He’s done messing around, wasting no time before his face is buried between your thighs, hands maneuvering your legs so that they’re thrown over his shoulders, your heels crossing sweetly behind his head, no doubt scratching at his shoulders. Your breath leaves your body at the feeling of his tongue, warm and wet and fan-fucking-tastic. He alternates between dipping it in and out of your heat and flicking it against your clit. Your hand finds his hair, gripping it between your fingers and guiding his movements ever so slightly. His eyes don’t leave yours, spare for the few times he closes them to moan against you.

One of his hands move, leaving its place at your hip to sink two fingers into you. Your head falls back on a moan, back arching up when he crooks his fingers and finds your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand gripping the pillow behind your head as you feel your orgasm rush towards you, “Fuck- Wait, I-”

You can’t even feel embarrassed about how easily your body has reacted to him. Before you can warn him much more, you're falling over the edge. Your thighs tensing around his head, back arching in pleasure as you ride out your high. In this moment you belong completely to him, unable to think of anything else.

“So sweet for me, liebling.” He comments, hands rubbing up and down your calves as you come down, taking a moment to unfasten your heels, letting the shoes drop to the floor before leaning back in. His lips brush against your inner thigh.

Then a bite.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me.”

And then he’s sucking harshly at the skin there, watching the shudder that rips through your sensitive body at the sensation. He doesn’t pull away until the mark is dark and flush against your skin. He continues this on the other thigh, on your ribs, your breasts and finally your neck, marking you thoroughly.

“Mine.” He growls, hot against your ear, “Mein schatz, will you let me have you?” he asks, and it’s literally all you can think about so you don’t even bother hiding the truth, the confession tumbling from your lips breathlessly.

“I’d let you do anything to me.”

He groans, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he does so. He pulls away to grab the condom that he had put next to him on the bed and leaning back on his haunches to roll it on. You’re so impatient, nails digging into his thighs and arms, whining as you watch his hands work.

“So needy,” He comments, swallowing your moan as he finally, finally, sinks into you.

The stretch as he enters you has your head rolling back on a moan, your legs wrapping around his waist the bring him the rest of the way in. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, growling against the skin there.

“Fuck,” he groans through gritted teeth, his resolve quickly slipping at the feeling of you around his cock. And to his credit, he really tries to wait, to be good. But not seconds later he’s adjusting his grip on your hips and he’s thrusting into you with a force that makes the whole bed shake.

It’s barely been 30 seconds, but the build-up that had occurred throughout the entirety of the night had you right back on the edge, your nails clawing at his shoulders, his back, his thighs. Any purchase you could get on him, you were begging for more. You’d take anything he gave you without so much as batting an eyelash. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but the pain twists into a delicious pleasure that only spurs you on.

You must be speaking, babbling something back to him about how good it feels, how much you love being fucked by him because he’s laughing through a moan against your neck. He pauses for just a second, straightening up and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before continuing to fuck you.

“That’s it Kätzchen.” He purrs, eyes moving down your body to where he enters your body, “Taking my cock so well.”

You mewl at the praise, your body arching in response to his words. Your second orgasm takes you both by surprise, having hit you like a fucking freight train when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting one of your sweet spots. You scramble for purchase on him, mouth dropped open in a near-pornographic moan that you’ll surely be embarrassed about later. But for now, all you know is pleasure.

His hips falter, stuttering as your walls tighten around him. His head falls back on a low moan, fucking you hard and slow through your release.

“Such a sweet cunt,” he gasps, “Mein Gott..”

And then he’s tangling your hands together, holding it high above your head as he pushes your thighs back, flush against your chest. He’s the one babbling now, words from God only knows what language, whispered against your skin as he chases his own release. He gives one last hard thrust and he’s done, his teeth dragging against the skin on your shoulder, moaning against you as he rides out his orgasm.

As you both come down, you stroke the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there, trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he pulls away just enough to kiss you. There’s a lingering heat and it’s a little messy due to your shared exhaustion but it’s good.

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he removes himself from your body, taking the necessary time to deal with the condom. You watch him lazily, unable to do much other than that. You’re so tired. But there’s that ache between your legs that you love so much and you think briefly that you could go another round, if he wanted to.

He must see something in your eyes when he returns because he laughs softly, “I feel I may have my hands full with you, schatzi.” he says as he crawls back into the bed with you, covering the both of you with a blanket, the cold now biting at your skin. You know you have to get up soon enough to sort yourself out before bed, but for a moment you stay with him.

His fingers brush over your face softly, following the slope of your nose and the angle of your cheeks. There’s no real purpose to his movements, just... touching. As if convincing himself that you’re real.

“You are special, schatzi.” he says softly, “I don’t know what your plans are, but I can only hope that you choose to continue to bless me with your presence.”

This man is such an enigma to you. He carries such confidence in every aspect of his life and yet he still doubts your loyalties. There’s anxiety and pain hidden within him, you can see it in his eyes as he continues to look at you. You wonder, how much of his past weighs on his shoulders. How long before he deems himself worthy of your affection? You lean in to kiss him softly, your lips dragging slowly against him. When you pull away you keep him close, brushing your noses together.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Life Of Luxury - Helmut Zemo X Female Reader

Title: Life Of Luxury

Helmut Zemo X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Oeznik (Mentioned)

Requested

WC: 1,053

Warnings: Slight suggestiveness, and it's just too cute

The sun gently shined through the white curtains, hitting your face with its rays. You yawned and stretched, feeling the silk sheets against your skin. Raking your hand on the other side of the king-sized bed, you only meet with the cold sheets. You sighed before you sat up and scooted off the bed. You placed your feet on the fuzzy light pink rug below you, wiggling your toes as you stood. You slipped on a pair of matching pastel blue pajama pants that went down to just above your knees and slipped on your fluffy white robe. The neckline trim was fluffy, while the fabric was slightly see-through and airy.

You made your way to your husband's closet, grazing your hand across the hanging shirts hanging up, you stopped at one. Your favorite shirt of your dear husband's, a black button-up from Gucci. You loved how it looked on him. You grabbed the garment and quickly changed from your nightshirt to the Gucci one, leaving the last two buttons unbuttoned; showing off your clavicle.

You smirked at yourself in the full-length mirror and nodded. "Nice."

You chuckled as you walked out of the room, closing the door behind you softly. You then walked to your closet and headed in. You told your husband that you didn't need a walk-in closet like his, but he insisted that you had one. Passing the many Gucci, Chanel, and Juicy Couture, you went straight to your Pink leggings. Grabbing a pair of leggings that matched the now stolen shirt, you slid them on and threw your dirty clothes in your laundry basket; before hanging up your robe.

Walking out into the vast hallway, you got a running start before you slid across the marble floor on your socks. You laughed, trying to keep your balance, stopping as you entered the floor's living room. You didn't care if it was childish, you were having fun and taking advantage of the situation.

Walking down the elegant stairs, and taking a glance at the crystal chandelier above you, you made your way to the kitchen, where you then found your husband. There he was, cooking something on the stove, wearing a dark gray shirt and black slacks. His hair was still damp and stuck to his forehead; the scent of lavender wafted around him. He looked over at you, giving you a smile before turning back to what he was doing.

"Good morning, my love." You greeted, kissing his cheek.

He turned to you, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you into his side, "Good morning, my dear."

He placed the spatula down, turning off the stove in the process. "I made pancakes."

You smiled and gave him a peck on the lips, "Sounds delish."

Placing his hand on the back of your head as he pulled you closer, kissing you again, "You look lovely this morning. Is that my shirt?"

You giggled, "Maybe... Thank you by the way."

He smirked, took the plate from the counter, and handed it to you. "Here's breakfast."

You took the plate and headed to the table; sitting down in your usual spot, your husband following, sitting beside you.

"So, you left the bed to cook me breakfast?" You asked, pouring tons of syrup on your pancakes.

He shrugged, "I thought it would be a nice surprise."

You snorted a laugh before you popped a bite of pancake into your mouth. It tasted scrumptious.

"Hm," you hummed, chewing the sugary goodness. "Oeznik too busy today?" You asked teasingly.

"You don't like them?" He asked, and you shook your head, laughing lightly.

"Of course I like them. Honestly, they taste better than when Oeznik does make them... But, I did miss you this morning. I wanted to cuddle." You faux pouted, making Helmut chuckle.

"It tastes better because I add something to them." He spoke and you paused before taking your bite to look at him.

"What do you add?" You asked, licking your fork of syrup.

He smiled, "Something extra."

You raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, "And what is this 'extra'?"

He blushed, before placing a hand on his chest. "Love."

You rolled your eyes, sitting back normally in your seat, "Of course... But why is it that every time I eat your food prepared by Oeznik, it tastes just as good? Does Oeznik put love in your food and not in mine?"

He grinned, "Maybe."

Even though he knew you just loved to eat his food more than your own.

You smirked, "No, I think I am right."

He chuckled, "I know you're right."

After finishing your pancakes, and sipping your water, you spoke up again.

"Do you have any plans today?" You asked.

Helmut shook his head, "Not really."

You gave him a questioning look, "Are you sure? You don't have any work to do?"

He frowned, "I don't think so, why?" He asked and you smirked.

Standing up from your chair, you pushed Helmut's chair back before sitting on his lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him.

"Well, I was thinking we could go somewhere together today." You said softly, resting your head on the crook of his neck, "Just the two of us."

He chuckled, "That sounds nice."

You kissed his shoulder. "It does..."

He shook his head and sighed, "Where were you thinking?"

You smiled, kissing his cheek. "I don't know. I just want to spend some time together." You kissed him on the lips, "Alone. No Oeznik."

He smirked, "I'm not one to deny my wife anything."

You laughed, standing up from his lap. He stood with you. "Then let's get going!"

He chuckled. "Alright."

You grabbed your bag and Helmut grabbed his signature jacket, before heading down into the large car garage. Skipping to one of your favorite cars, you pointed at it with a smile.

"Can we take the Alfa Romeo?" You asked.

He nodded, "Sure." He spoke, putting on his maroon leather gloves.

He opened the door for you, before climbing in himself. Once inside, he started the engine, humming to himself as he drove. You sat in the passenger seat, smiling. You watched the city pass by outside the window, listening to music. You and Helmut spent the day just driving around, seeing the sites. 

[queenoftheworldisdead]

C.R.E.A.M.

Chapter 5

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don’t bite!

Summary: Thor crossed the wrong man, now you are caught in middle.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead.

Dark Thor x Reader, Dark Zemo x Reader (Mein Hase), Drug lord AU

Mein Hase: German for my Bunny 🐇

💵

In the back seat of the cab, you tug the neckline higher, but it doesn’t budge, your collarbones exposed in a way that feels uncomfortable. You blow out a frustrated breath and try and pull at the split’s hem—but the fabric remains defiant, offering only an illusion of modesty.

You expected Natasha to choose a dress for tonight, but you’d hoped for something subtle, like last time—something that let you blend into the background.

Your phone’s camera lights up your face, and you grimace at the reflection. This is as good as it gets. Makeup’s never been your strength. Even with the professional Natasha had arranged before, you’d still felt like a painted-over version of yourself.

As the car slows, anxiety builds as the country club comes into view. You remind yourself that you’re here for Natasha and the warehouse. But the thought of mingling with all those powerful people fills you with unease. Zemo’s face surfaces unbidden—a shadowed memory, unresolved and lingering.

You wonder if he’s moved on, found someone who fits more easily into his plans. Or maybe he’s reached some understanding with Thor—though it’s unlikely given what happened.

When you arrive at the entrance, you thank the driver softly, though he only nods in acknowledgment. As the car comes to a stop, a valet opens the door for you. With a steadying breath, you step out, accepting his gloved hand for balance as you adjust to your heels. You force a smile, each step feeling precarious as you enter the estate.

Through the grand entrance, the low hum of voices and laughter filters through, layered with distant music. The crowd is awash in finery, familiar faces drifting past—some from Natasha’s auctions, easier to observe than approach.

💵

Your gaze drifts over the crowd, catching on Natasha's unmistakable figure at Tony’s side, her radiance cutting through the room’s opulence. Her arm is looped through his, posture effortlessly commanding, yet her smile softens as she catches sight of you, a quiet invitation in the midst of the spectacle.

“Wow,” she says, giving you an approving once-over that stirs your self-consciousness. You feel your shoulders tense, the fabric brushing softly against your skin in a way that suddenly feels too noticeable.

“You look incredible. You’re going to have to tell me where you got it.”

You hold your smile, but her words hang heavy, unsettling. When the box arrived, you’d assumed it was from her—but if it wasn’t… then who?

The dress’s sleek cut wasn’t Thor’s taste, at least on you. Zemo’s face flickers to mind again. It was him. It had to be. The realization sends a slow chill through your veins.

Would he do something here? In a room full of strangers, innocent or not, you feel as though you’ve been drawn into his game, caught at the edge of something hidden and quietly dangerous.

“You do fill out that dress very well,” Tony remarks pulling you out of your thoughts, his grin sharp. You fidget under his gaze, which lingers a beat too long. Natasha gives his arm a quick, chastising smack, rolling her eyes as he backs off with a wry smile, turning to scan the room for a drink.

“Ah, here he is! Meet Peter, my protégé.” Tony shouts, gesturing to someone approaching.

A young man with dark hair and a friendly smile steps forward, extending a hand. Unlike Tony, Peter warmth, a gentle far too young to be mixed up with him.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, before taking your hand and kissing it gently. Your eyes grow wide and heat builds in your face as he releases it. “Tony’s told me a bit about your work with the warehouse.”

You try and speak, but your brain is frazzled from the gesture. Natasha smoothly interjects, “Yes, I sold her my rights to the warehouse, she the new owner. It’s about time I retired anyway. Been in the business too long.”

You blink wildly at her. Owner? That wasn’t the plan. You were here to represent the warehouse, nothing more. A ripple of discomfort stirs beneath your practiced smile as Peter grins, oblivious to the shift in your role.

“Well I hope I can get an invitation to your next event?” Peter asks brightly, his words easy, while a quiet unease continues to plague you.

“I’ll add your name to the list. No promises, though.” You manage with a smile, your answer is practiced, but still stiff.

“I’m sure your name will be at the very top of the list,” Natasha adds smoothly.

“Alright, alright, come on, you two. We’ve got more important people to see,” Tony cuts in, his tone sharp and impatient. “Sorry, Tuts,” he adds sarcastically, pulling Natasha closer by the hip. He glances around, already looking bored. “We don’t have all night.”

Natasha gives you a fleeting, knowing look. You can almost hear her unspoken words of encouragement. Now, here you stand, alone in the spectacle, grappling with the uncertainty of your role in a game far larger than you anticipated.

💵

Without Natasha, the weight of your thoughts presses down, anchoring you in the vastness of the room. Laughter and chatter blend into a distant, indistinct hum that echoes around you. As your gaze sweeps across the crowd, you catch unreadable faces and shadowed glances—a sea of people you can’t tell the difference between the politicians and criminals as they mingle seamlessly.

“You look exquisite, mein Hase.”

The words land soft against your ear, his breath tickling your skin as a chill of dread creeps up your spine. It’s him. You don’t need to look to know.

You swallow thickly, keeping your gaze forward, though you’re not focused on anything.

“Or should I say, congratulations?” Zemo intones, his voice low as he steps closer, slowly positioning himself at your side until you’re shoulder to shoulder. “The room is abuzz with talk of the new warehouse owner.”

His words pierce more deeply than they should, each syllable deliberate. The fact that he knew of Natasha’s ruse before you did makes you uneasy. As he offers you a glass, you hesitate, your fingers brushing his briefly before you take it. The coolness grounds you.

“A peace offering,” he says, raising his glass with practiced grace. You take a sip, gathering yourself against the steady thrum of fear.

“You.” Your voice low, nearly swallowed by the noise around you, eyes beginning to well. You know the answer, yet the question claws its way out. “You bought it didn’t you.”

For a second, his expression shifts, the amusement sharpening, a glimmer of something ruthless. But his reply, as ever, is maddeningly calm.

“Stop.” The single word falls between you, almost like an order, and his gaze hardens. “Let's not make a sense with tears. I’d hate to see them spoil this… effort.” His eyes linger on yours, his smile faint but unmistakable. “Now I'm sure you more than anyone knows the cost of not being appreciative.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, the champagne blurring the sharpness of his presence, though the tension lingers, coiled and persistent. You gulp down the drink to ease your nerve.

His gaze dips, then flicks to the gaming tables, his demeanor shifting with unspoken intent.

“Do you play?”

“No,” you manage softly.

Zemo’s hand settles at your wrist, his touch light but deliberate as he guides you through the crowd. You tense instinctively, but he only draws you closer to his side, each step deepening your awareness of his quiet authority.

The hum of conversation fades, his presence consuming your focus, tension coiling tightly with each subtle, lingering touch.

He passes you by the craps tables, roulette, and blackjack and you go without resistance. Whispers trail in his wake, but no one approaches him. Your gaze darts around, searching for Natasha, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

You move as he directs, stopping only when he wills it. His control feels absolute, like you’re a puppet on invisible strings. Zemo slows to a halt at a table shrouded in thick smoke that stings your eyes and nose. Poker, you think, but you won’t ask.

The men around the table drink, smoke, and play the tension between them written on their faces.

You glance over at Zemo, whose attention is fixed on the game, and let your gaze wander across the table. Your eyes land on a man in a white suit, hunched over, a tumbler in hand, drilling holes into his cards before setting them down and waving off the dealer.

It’s Thor. You instinctively lean back, but Zemo’s grip tightens, holding you in place. You look at him, but Zemo doesn’t return your gaze. Instead, you fix your focus somewhere over the horizon.

"House wins," the dealer proclaims, flipping over the cards. A chorus of low curses erupts around the table as the dealer rakes in the winnings.

"Well, I’m out," the gentleman at the end of the table proclaims, pushing back from his seat.

Zemo steps forward, claiming the vacated chair, and you feel every eye turn towards you both. You don’t need to look to sense Thor’s gaze boring into you, the sensation making your body start to tremble.

“You’ll stay by my side, yes?” Zemo’s words are more command than question. He squeeze your wrist and you nod.

“A kiss for good luck?” His voice is a low, his gaze capturing yours. When you move to brush his cheek, he directs your lips to his with deliberate intimacy, the brief connection holding a depth that chills you.

It all feels wrong especially with Thor’s gaze burning into your from across the table. Your trapped as a pawn in a game that you have no choice but to play.

💵

[babyboibucky]

Welcome to Bee’s Sin City!

❣️ I don’t do tag lists but if you would like to be updated, please follow and turn on post notifs for my side blog @babyboibuckywrites​ where I just reblog my new fics. 🥰

❣️ I mainly write for Bucky Barnes, Marc Spector, Steven Grant and Jake Lockley but would occasionally write for other characters as well.

❣️ I do not accept requests but feel free to drop some headcanons or drabbles in my ask! I tend to turn them into full-length fics if the ideas are right up my alley.

❣️ Please DO NOT REPOST, REWRITE, OR TRANSLATE my works on any platform with or without my permission.

❣️ Find my fic-related tagging system HERE. This is to help everyone avoid spoilers about my works, especially when I’m on a roll reblogging reacts and responding to asks.

🔞 I write a lot of smut and I am horny on main so obviously, this is an 18+ blog. MINORS NOT ALLOWED!

CHALLENGES, SLEEPOVERS, etc.

KINKTOBER SLUT FEST

3K AU CHALLENGE

TUMBLRVERSARY ONE-LINERS

FIC RECS

SERIES

Chapters are individually rated

COMPLETE

The Match

[CEO!Bucky x Reader] You come across your boss’ Tinder profile.

Devil’s Mark

[Dark!Rockstar!Bucky x Reader] You accept a temp job as a runner for a rockstar’s concert.

—

ONGOING

Project V

[College!Bucky x Reader] You ask your best friend Bucky a favor of a lifetime.

Breaking Waves

[Surfer!Bucky x Reader] You go on a summer vacation that will change your entire life.

Flutter

[Destroyer!Chris x Reader] Chris liked pushing your buttons to see how an innocent one like you would react.

Don’t Be A Stranger

[Bucky x Reader x Marc Spector] Your rough night takes an interesting turn when you meet an old friend and a stranger.

ONE-SHOTS/MINI-SERIES

Those marked with an asterisk are NSFW

BUCKY BARNES

Obvious

You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

Do It Again*

In which Bucky makes you squirt for the first time.

Elevate Thy Hate

Not a day goes by that you and Bucky don’t argue.

Deserve Better || Undeserving || Deserve The Best

Bucky disappeared and came back only to say goodbye.

Promises, promises

You believed that promises are meant to be broken but Bucky always proved you wrong. Until one day, he proved you right.

Charm || Charming

Bucky checks whether he still has his 1940′s charm

Salt, Sugar and Viruses

You’ve been secretly making coffee for Bucky at the office.

White Noise

Bucky has a new neighbor and she’s even grumpier than him.

All Yours*

Bucky threatens Zemo right in front of you.

Easy Love*

Bucky helps you cope with a terrible day with his love.

Greedy*

Bucky wants to try something new with you.

Featherlight

Bucky is blinded by his insecurities and fails to see how in love you are with him.

Coming Home

Bucky is finally home.

Nasty*

You discover that Bucky, a black shirt and a wrist watch is a dangerous combination.

Kiss Me Goodnight

Your anxiety has nothing against Bucky and his warm embrace.

Angel on Her Knees*

You give Bucky the TLC he deserves.

Our Space

You and Bucky move into your new home.

Birthday Tiara*

You weren’t enjoying your birthday until Bucky comes along.

Like Nicotine

You and Bucky broke up but he keeps on crawling back to you.

Pretty Boy*

You’ve been away for two days and Bucky broke your only rule.

Don’t You Worry (Your Pretty Little Head)

You agree to spend twelve hours with Bucky whom you just met.

Those Days*

You find it hard to love yourself sometimes.

Blue Hour

You don’t care for sunrises or sunsets.

Make or Break

You have a specific set of rules when it comes to your casual relationships.

What Daddy Wants*

You want to swim but Bucky wants to do something else.

Unfair

You experience what it’s like to fall in love with Bucky.

Rum and Coke*

You decide to pay your rival club a visit to see what the hype is all about.

Anger That Loves

You help Bucky understand his anger.

The L Word

You love Bucky but not enough to commit.

At Your Service*

Bucky missed you. A whole lot.

Like This* || Like That*

Bucky shows you how he wants it done.

After All

Bucky used to hate a lot of things.

Lucid* || Grounded

You find it hard to move on from Bucky after the break-up.

Checkmate* || Two Kings and a Queen*

Bucky convinces you that you’ve been serving the wrong king the entire time.

Tomorrow’s Alright

Sometimes all you need is someone to tell you that everything will be okay.

To Be Loved

What is it like to love Bucky Barnes?

—

MARC SPECTOR/STEVEN GRANT/JAKE LOCKLEY

Bad Knight, Good Knight*

Give Marc a certain look and he’ll give you his all. In the condition that you’re gonna be good.

Heartsease

Steven provides you solace in a world full of chaos.

First Time’s A Charm*

Steven’s about to lose his virginity to you.

An Avatar For An Avatar*

You and Marc are both Khonshu’s avatars.

Tag Team*

Marc teaches you a lesson about control with the help of Steven and Jake.

What You Want*

Marc doesn’t like the idea of sharing you. Not even with Steven.

La Douleur Exquise*

The exquisite, heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.

—

LLOYD HANSEN

Collateral*

Lloyd has taken you hostage.

In Heat*

You’re absolutely desperate for Lloyd Hansen.

—

OTHER CHARACTERS

Should’ve Known Better* - Endings Beginnings!Frank

You should have known better than to sleep with a friend.

Kinda Like It When You Lie* - Destroyer!Chris

You discover the reason why Chris has been lying to you about his whereabouts.

Take What You Need* - Frank Castle

You let Frank use you to his advantage.

[lokislastlove]

Treasure (Dark!Zemo x Reader)

Summary: Your boss forces everyone to participate in a Valentines Day themed treasure hunt.

Warnings: Noncon, smut, fingering, bondage.

Notes: I took the leap to attempt a little Zemo thanks to this awesome writing challenge (lovetochallengeyourself)! Thanks for hosting @cockslut-padalecki and @sweeterthanthis !! I loved this whole idea so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️

🌹

“Are you ready for today?” Your coworker, Millie, giggles excitedly as she sits on your desk.

“They don’t really give us a choice,” you purse your lips and lean back, raising a brow at her hot pink mini dress. “The outfit is a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Hey! Don’t be such a Scrooge. Besides, it’s time away from the gallery, what’s not to like?”

“Scrooge doesn’t like Christmas,” you deadpan, “Plenty of people hate Valentines Day. But you’re right, I just wish that the whole party thing was optional. I spend enough of my day fake smiling and pretending to enjoy myself.”

She scoffs with feigned offense, bringing her hand to her chest dramatically, “you don’t enjoy your time with me?”

You crack a smile and roll your eyes, “oh shut up. You know I love you.”

She smiles smugly, “I know.”

You both turn at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and smile politely at the man beaming back at you. His long brown peacoat flutters behind him as he saunters over and tucks his hands in the pockets of his pressed black slacks. He always looks like he just stepped off a runway, not a speck of dirt to be seen or a single hair out of place.

“I came to fetch you. It seems your boss has started without you in the staff lounge,” he announces with a subtle accent and chivalrous bow, gesturing to the hallway he just emerged from.

“What?!” Millie shrieks and rushes off, the sound of her heels fading fast as she disappears from view.

You gawk at her sudden departure and tighten your smile as he stands there watching you. His brown eyes sparkle in the bright gallery lights as you meet his eye and clear your throat.

“Thank you, sir… for thinking of us,” you say as you pack up your things and lock away the office laptop.

“Zemo,” he corrects kindly.

You stand and push in your chair, smiling at his request, knowing there is no way your boss will allow you to be so informal with such an important client. Its well known that the Baron accounts for a large portion of the pieces your company restores, as well as being a close personal friend of your boss.

“Well, I better get going,” you mutter, inching toward the hall. “Oh, are you going to the… um, event?” You inquire curiously as he moves to follow you.

His thin lips curve beneath his well groomed beard and he looks down as he walks beside you.“I’m afraid I will not be relishing in Ellen’s latest… event,” he smirks, “but, I do sincerely hope you enjoy the festivities.”

“Of course, I shouldn’t have assumed – you probably have better things to do than attend some silly Valentine’s Day office party,” you laugh in embarrassment.

“You are not fond of the celebration?” He asks, with a tone that implies he knows the answer.

“Well let’s just say my love life has hardly been something to celebrate,” you laugh.

He hums in thought and nods, “a shame. I’m certain that won’t be the case forever. Perhaps this year will be different.”

He stops as you reach the employee lounge door and you hear your boss’s pitchy voice twitter through the cracks. You offer him a genuine smile, and whisper an obligatory thanks before sneaking in through the door. You doubt his optimism, some people just aren’t that lucky.

“Okay now for the fun part!” Your boss, Ellen, squeals from atop the small kitchenette counter.

Thankfully, it looks like you just miss the long annual lecture about love, specifically about how she met her “beau”. Same nauseating story, different bullshit ‘employee-bonding-event’. Last year it was a rave at a roller rink, and who could have predicted roller skates and excessive amounts of booze would be a bad idea. God only knows what you’ll be subjected to this year.

“Hope you guys brought your thinking caps today, because you’ll be going on a treasure hunt! And I wish you all good luck because I wrote the clues myself. Now, don’t worry, you can’t work together if you want,” she winks at the room full of people. “It’s simple, follow the clues, collect the prizes along the way and the first one to make it to the party with each scavenged item gets a special surprise!” She claps her hands, her Botox features tugged into a sharp expression.

Great. Even worse. Now you have to do more than just show up, no way around this one. You sigh and put on your usual fake smile when Millie bumps your elbow and beams in excitement. Well, best to try to enjoy it as much as you can, Millie is right, at least it’s a day away from the front desk.

“So now that we all know what to do…” Ellen scans the crowd, the anticipation growing along with her grin, “…seek out the office that pays you your dues, it is there you will find the first of your clues.”

There is a pause in the crowd as people process the childish riddle and a mutter rumbles thought the crowd.

“H.R.” you hear before someone yells, “Mary’s office!”

The room erupts as all sixty of the employees cheer and rush for the door in a frenzy. You get pushed against the wall as your zeal fails to surpass theirs. A blur of people squeal excitedly past you and you can’t help but laugh. You find yourself at the back of the pack already, though it hardly bothers you. All this commotion over something that is likely a crappy regift that Ellen doesn’t want to keep in her house. Not even Millie waits for you, though you can’t blame her, you’ve always envied her vivacity.

“Try to remember to have fun,” Ellen calls after you as you follow the crowd out the door. You shoot her a smile and a nod before pattering down the hall to Mary’s office.

As the crowd thins you are left alone to decipher the first clue, “come here to meet me and I’ll give you a boost, your next clue awaits where we all go to get juiced.”

You sigh and turn on your heal, the clue is obviously referring to the juice, tea and coffee cafe around the corner. Nearly every employee is addicted, so much so that Ellen pays extra to supply the break room with coffee and treats that you pick up every morning. Despite her over the top personality, you admit that she makes a good boss, always goes the extra mile to make sure her employees are happy and cared for.

“Hey Joel,” you greet the lanky blond barista as you hold the door open for the last few of your coworkers to scramble out.

“Well, that was fun,” he chuckles, looking a little frazzled.

“Now you know how I feel everyday,” you smirk.

“They are always like that?” He inquires with a glazed look fixed on the door.

You laugh, “well maybe a bit more than usual today, but they are a competitive bunch.” You lean up against the counter, tapping your finger as you scan for what they found that you are clearly missing. “Want to help me out? Got a clue for me or something?”

“Oh shit, yeah. Umm, here,” he pulls over the last to-go cup and slides it to you with a smile.

“Thanks,” you smile and read the hand written note on the paper sleeve. “Do you remember our last dance? I’d do it again if given the Chance,” you quote aloud dryly and scoff. “That isn’t even clever. Chance is literally the name of the club we went to for our company Christmas party.”

You roll your eyes and Joel chuckles, “your boss takes you to a club for Christmas? Where the hell do you work again?”

“It’s a private art gallery, we also do restorations too… or they do. I just work the front desk.”

“That sounds cool,” he nods.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” you return, smile not quite reaching your eyes. “Well, I’ll see ya Monday.”

You step out into the warming afternoon air, not a single coworker in sight as you take the nearby subway to the club a few blocks away. As you get off the train you see a few groups of your coworkers already rushing back down the stairs on their way to the next clue. Your lack of urgency is setting you farther behind, and yet you can’t convince yourself to care.

You climb the stairs and cross the street to the big metal door, thankful you knew it’s location as the darken neon sign above does little to mark it. You find the club owner, another friend of Ellen’s named Lyndon, waiting for you with your next clue.

“Thought you might have gotten lost there, little one,” he chuckles, a half-smoked cigar bouncing between his full lips. “Here you go, sweetheart, keep this on, you’ll need it later. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He waves you forward with his pudgy hand and holds up a wristband. He clasps it together easily and let’s his moist hand linger on your soft skin, causing you to snag your hand away.

“Thank you,” you offer meekly and head back out onto the street.

You unroll the piece of paper neatly wrapped around the thickest part of the wristband and read the inscription to yourself, “to find your next step forward you must first recall the past, look where your boss found a love made to last.”

Another easy one, it’s the story she tells every year on Valentines Day. A blind date with an asshole, saved by a stranger who bought her a big cotton candy and took her ice skating in Central Park. They married a year later, a cute story but hardly worth the twenty minutes of exasperating details.

Another ten minute subway trip has you walking around the stone pathway along the outside of the large ice rink surrounded by the leafless trees of the sunny park. You spot a lone cotton candy cart near the entrance to the rink and make your way over to it. Seems the likely location. The man behind the cart watches you the entire way, adjusting his hat almost nervously as he waits for you to near.

“Hi,” you greet with a polite smile. “Do you by chance have a clue for me? My boss has me on this scavenger hunt.”

His eyes flick down your body, his cheek twitching, “what’s your name, gorgeous?”

You hesitate but give him your first name and he nods with a hum. “Yeah, I got a special little something for you right here.”

You hide your grimace at his suggestive tone as he ducks under the cart and pulls out a small blue cotton candy. He hands it over with a wink and waves away your attempt to tip him, assuring you he’s been paid well for the trouble.

“Thanks,” you mutter as you turn away, eager to get away from his knowing smirk and unnerving gaze.

God you hope this shit is almost over. A small bite of the fluffy spun sugar lifts your spirits as you read the next clue. You tug the small tag off the stick and pause at the short line of print, no rhyme or jaunty riddle this time, just an address. You type it into your phone to discover it’s the location of an expensive boutique within walking distance.

“Jesus, I draw the line at costumes,” you grumble and follow the map on your phone.

The bell dings as the the door opens and you take a tentative step inside the high end dress store. The white floors glow as the sunshine streams through the large windows and mirrors cover every inch of wall space. A rainbow assortment of dresses hang neatly spaced on the metal bars while glass cases house expensive purses and accessories. It’s all very chic, and it makes you uncomfortable. This is well outside of your price range, but if Ellen’s paying, who are you to refuse?

“Hello,” sings a man, his orange ensemble flashing in your periphery. “May I help you?”

“I hope so,” you return as he pulls your attention away from the rack of sequined cocktail dresses. “My company is doing this sort of Valentines Day scavenger hunt and I got this address…”

He smiles and gently taps your hand to stop you, “I know exactly who you are, honey. I have your dress back here waiting for you.”

“Dress?” You inquire as you follow his heeled footsteps down the hall to a round mirrored dressing area. He points you to a door with a red dress hanging from it and ushers you inside to put it on.

“It fits perfectly,” you say in wonder as you exit the stall and turn to look at yourself in the mirrors.

“Well of course, honey. Nothing but the best here,” he laughs and grins as he watches you spin.

“Ok. But now what? Am I supposed to just wear this out of the store? I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go next…” you note.

“It would be a literal crime to NOT wear this dress the rest of the day… well, until you find your special someone to take it off for you,” he winks. “And now I’m supposed to pass you off to Miss Wendy next door.”

“Next door?” You ask puzzled as he escorts you out the front door and points you to the conveniently located shoe store a few paces away. “Oh.”

“Have fun, girl! Don’t forget to thank me when you meet that hottie tonight,” he wiggles his fingers with a playful wink before shutting the door behind him.

“Yeah, right,” you sigh.

You smooth your hands down the intricate detailing of the expensive fabric, the lace hem brushing lightly against your knees. Well at least it isn’t some crazy costume, it’s a tasteful choice, something you wouldn’t expect from someone like Ellen.

The second store goes by quickly. Wendy the sweet older woman who owns the store is just as prepared for your arrival, fitting you with a pair of matching red heels.

“You look beautiful, dear,” her voice shakes slightly as she strains to stand.

She offers you a sweet smile before pointing out the window to the black Sudan parked outside. A man leans against the passenger door and perks up when he spots her waving at him.

“This is your last stop, sweetie. You go and have fun now,” she pats your arm as you step toward the stranger at the door.

“Uh, did everyone get private cars to the party? Seems slightly excessive,” you admit nervously to Wendy as you eye him.

“This is Carl,” Wendy chuckles away your reticence, “he’s going to escort you. Go. Have fun, be young and enjoy yourself.”

Her endearing motherly energy soothes you and you take a deep breath, “thanks Wendy, I’ll try.”

“Good,” she returns with a satisfied smile.

You follow Carl outside and let him open the car door for you. He doesn’t say much, his answers to your questions are short and vague but polite. He smiles quietly the whole way, even as he pulls over near Rockefeller center and gestures you toward the building. He waves over someone to take the car and leads you inside, nodding to security guards who quickly let you both pass. The further you go the more anxious you get. Something feels wrong.

“Carl?” You mutter quietly as you wait outside a small elevator and he hums in acknowledgement. “Are you sure this is where my work party is?”

He hesitates, measuring his words carefully, “I would never take you where you aren’t supposed to be, Miss.”

Your brow pinches as the doors open and you step inside. He presses the button for the seventh floor and you bite your lip as your stomach knots in anticipation.

“I’m not feeling so good,” you mutter shakily as the elevator doors open.

“Follow me miss, the fresh air will help,” Carl pushes open a door and what little breath you have is stolen by the sight before you.

A beautiful green lawn and manicured garden is surrounded by towering walls of city skyscrapers with the gothic St. Patrick’s Cathedral as the crowning jewel. It glows with precisely placed spotlights, offers the most jaw dropping backdrop to the already stunning view. Candles in white tin lanterns litter the grass along with sprinkles of red rose petals, creating a magazine-worthy Valentines Day scene. You get lost in the beauty of it until the door clicks behind you.

Carl is gone and the silence of the rooftop descends upon you like a dark cloud. No loud coworkers, no exuberant boss, just you and a mysterious figure on the other side of the garden with his back turned to you.

You wet your lips and pull your faux-fur coat tightly around you as you follow the pavers across the garden. Soft romantic music plays from hidden speakers and your heart thumps loudly in your ears as you near the stranger.

“Hello?” You call, hesitant to get too close, as though subconsciously giving yourself room to run.

You’re unsure if he hears you until you see his arm raise and he flicks two of his fingers to gesture you closer. You swallow and take a step forward, craning your neck to get a better look at him. You admire his expensive black suit, his dark hair slicked back neatly as he stares over the ledge of the building.

Your heels clack against the stone floor, only a few feet away from him now when he finally speaks, “this view is one of my favorites in the city. Always takes my breath away, no matter how many times I see it,” he praises.

You recognize that faint accent and the scent of his cologne on the breeze. He shakes his head softly, and you notice his neat beard hiding a small smile as he turns to look at you.

“But you, my Beauty. You,” he pauses as he drinks you in and your heart skips a beat, “…outshine it all.”

You stand there in shock, but mostly confusion, “Sir?”

“I know, it’s ok. Take a moment to process, I will wait,” he says calmly, bringing a crystal glass of whiskey to his lips as he watches you.

“Is this a prank or something? Did Ellen put you up to this?” you look around, half expecting to see your coworkers giggling from the bushes at your expense.

“I assure you the only motivation I have for bringing you here is my own,” he smiles reassuringly.

“You brought me here? But what about the office party?” You worry, the last thing you need is for Ellen to think you bailed.

“Don’t worry, I will handle Ellen,” he chuckles. “But tell me, are you truly satisfied with your position? I admit you caught my eye the first time I saw you and I got curious. Though you were always too shy to realize my interest, even after months.”

Your mouth opens but no words come out so he continues, “so imagine my surprise when I go digging and discover Ellen has been hiding her biggest talent behind a front desk,” he tuts his disappointment. “I find it hard to believe this is what you moved out here to do.”

“Well, I…” you stutter, dazed by his intense stare and unnerving insight. “I wanted to be a painter, but Ellen said I needed more experience, that I’d be better talking to people in the art world first.”

He smiles and lets out a short breath through his nose, sensing your reservation to speak your truth, “and you agree?”

“I think I’m lucky to have a job that pays me well, and I get to work in an industry I love. And hopefully one day I will get to use the connections I’ve made here to have the opportunity to share my work.”

“Mmm,” he nods. “Very sensible.”

He turns away to admire the view around you and you take the opportunity to do that same. There is a tension in the air as you wait for him to explain. Is this a test? Is he going to offer you a job or try to get you to leave Ellen to work for him? You bite your lip and study his pensive expression, hoping to guess what he’s thinking.

“I chose this spot because it reminds me of you. It’s unique, understated, and beautiful… but it’s hidden, only to be enjoyed by a privileged few.”

You gulp, trying to control your nervous shifting, hands gripping the collar of your coat tightly as your heart beat quickens. His calm demeanor is ironically unsettling.

“Sir, why did you bring me here?” You mutter nervously.

His serene smile falls and he turns back to you with tight lips, “it’s Valentines Day, and I got you all dressed up to have a private gourmet dinner, on a romantic garden rooftop, in the middle of New York City,” he pauses to let his eyes rove down your body and you shiver. “I would think my intentions are rather obvious.”

Your chest tightens in fear. Fuck. What do you do? How do you politely put him down without insulting him? You know a blunt rejection can possibly lead to losing your job, but you don’t want to mislead him either.

“Sir?” You squeak.

“It’s Zemo, my beauty. No need to play coy any longer,” he reaches over to brush a knuckle along your heated cheek and you flinch.

“Look, I’m very flattered. Honestly. I never imagined a man like you would notice a nobody like me, but… I really think I should go find my coworkers,” you step back to get some distance as it feels like the towering buildings might swallow you whole.

He brings his finger to his lips, pressing against them as he hums thoughtfully. “How about you stay for dinner and if by the end of the meal I have not persuaded you, then I will return you to your little office party.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce after a moment.

“Shall we?” He holds out his arm to the silk tent set with a table for two inside.

You near one of the chairs and he’s there to pull it out for you. You mutter a quiet thanks and sit rigidly on the cool seat as he settles across the small table. The intimacy of the setting is hard to avoid, no matter how you wish to keep it professional. His dark penetrating eyes follow your every move and it puts you on edge.

His hand slowly reaches across the table and your eyes widen, until he stops and grips a small silver bell, ringing it lightly. The corner of his lip curls as he watches you relax as he retracts his hand and a waiter rushes over with a tray out of the darkness.

The metal tin covers are removed with a flare and the Baron smiles sweetly at the waiter, “thank you. You may leave the bottle and go enjoy the rest of your evening. I do not think we’ll be here long.”

You relax a bit at his words, grateful that he doesn’t want to drag this out. “Thank you,” you offer to the waiter before he disappears into the shadows and you hear the click of the door across the lawn.

You pick up your fork and poke at the overpriced entrée, your appetite lost as your nerves buzz with quiet impatience. You wish he would just let you leave.

He takes a bite and hums in satisfaction as he watches you, “delicious.”

Your eyes flick up to him as he licks his lip and dabs the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He chuckles when you quickly look away from his lecherous grin.

“I admit, I am not used to demure women. As a youth from a noble family I rarely had to seek attention, women would typically come to me,” his eye twinkles. “And though the military offered little of such comforts, the women I did meet were always experienced, confident beasts. But you…my beauty… you are something else.”

He leans forward, eyes dipping down to drink in your nervous figure, “Sir, thank you for the dinner, but I think I should go.”

“Ellen will never promote you, you know,” he smirks as you look up sharply. “I have known her quite some time and though she may be generous in many aspects, she doesn’t like to share praise.”

You frown, “that’s not –.”

“I can offer you the life you want,” he interrupts. “No more fruitless days spent dealing with haughty customers. Your art deserves to be seen.”

He holds your gaze with his dark eyes, his voice deep and unchallengeable. Your face heats with his flattery but it’s matched with an icy shiver down your spine.

“I – I think I should go,” you stammer.

He sighs, “I am afraid that is not an option.”

“But you said..”

“I am used to getting what I want… and what I want is for us to enjoy this evening together and for you to wake up next to me in the morning with a bright new future ahead of you.”

You gape at him, irritation bubbling into anger as you scoff and push out your chair, but you barely make it to your feet. The click of a safety makes you freeze and your chest tightens as he gently sets a pistol on the table, pointed threateningly in your direction.

“Sit down,” he orders softly and you lower yourself back onto your chair.

He purses his lips as he taps his finger on the handle, thinking. You quake, muscles tense as you try not to move, afraid to set him off.

“Zemo,” you quaver.

He fixes his attention back on you, his pinched brow and tight lips revealing his ire, “take off the coat.”

Your lip trembles and you glance at his finger slowly petting the trigger, with a shaky breath you shimmy out of your coat.

“Mmm. Beautiful, just as I pictured.”

Your eyes close as you fight to keep still, awaiting his next order. If you humor him maybe you’ll get out of here unscathed.

He tilts his head, “open your legs.”

You blanch, biting the inside of your lip as you grip the chair and slowly separate your knees.

“Show me,” he demands, raising his brow in warning when you look up at him in question.

You let out a breath and reach down to lift your dress, exposing your lace panties.

“Take them off.”

“Sir, please. Don’t make…,”

“You refuse my dinner, refuse my galant proposals, are you sure you want to refuse me on this?” He warns, his hand curling around the gun as he raises a brow.

You gulp and stand to wiggle out of your underwear before he has you move the chair around to sit beside him. You sit back down, your bare ass sticking to the hard surface as you resume your instructed position.

He takes another bite, chewing slowly as leans back to watch the show, “don’t be shy. Entertain me.”

“Wha? How?” you tremble, afraid to hear it out loud.

“Pleasure yourself,” he suggests casually, sipping his wine.

You shake your head and bite your lip as you close your eyes, the humiliation heating your cheeks and stinging your eyes. You just can’t get yourself to do it, your fingers clinging to the hem of your dress in resistance.

“You do it… or I will,” he threatens darkly and you swallow the dry lump in your throat.

You pry your hand off your dress and let it fall lazily into your lap, drifting reluctantly between your thighs. Your fingers dance over your sensitive skin, open and exposed to the cool air and his unwavering gaze. You hear his satisfied hums and low groans as he eats and watches you, but you close your eyes, trying to forget he’s there.

You fall into your usual rhythm, relying on muscle memory in place of desire. You rub gentle circles around your clit, trying not to hit anything that could make it look like you are enjoying this. But after several quiet moments the clatter of silverware has your eyes opening to see Zemo as he leans forward to get a closer look.

He tuts and catches your eye, “it is far worse than I thought. Not only do you lack direction, but passion as well.”

Your ministrations halt at his words and a tear finally escapes, rolling down your cheek as your lip trembles, “I just want to go home.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he growls and stands, looming over you.

You flinch at the sudden movement and he grips the back of your neck to keep you from escaping. With his free arm he swipes the table clean, the fine China falling to the ground with a sharp crash. He pulls you to your feet and bends you over the satin tablecloth as you shriek in surprise.

“No!” You cry as you try to push yourself up.

He holds you down with a hand on your back, his hips pinning yours as he uses his other to unclasp his belt buckle. The familiar whizz of leather through a belt loop has you struggling more until he collects your wrists and wraps them tightly together. You cry and plead for him to stop as he flips up your skirt and sighs at the sight of your ass.

“Oh, my beauty,” he groans, as he slowly opens his trousers and lets his hard cock rest between the cleft of your ass.

It’s warm and from the feel of it, much larger than you feared. He hums and lets it slide back and forth, admiring the sight of him framed by your round cheeks as he squeezes them and pushes them around himself.

“Had I known you’d be this perfect, I’d have stolen you away long ago,” he coos as his fingers dip down your slit and poke at your moistening entrance. “Perfect indeed,” he whispers as he pushes two fingers in, making you whimper.

“Please, stop,” you breathe as your eyes threaten to roll.

“I’m going to show you what you truly need,” he says huskily. “What is that expression… the tortured artist?” He jokes as he spreads his fingers, scissoring your walls until you cry out weakly.

Your body betrays you, arousal pooling around his fingers until he pulls them out slowly and uses your slick to coat his leaking tip. Your head drops to the table and you kick out your feet when you feel the smooth hot tip of his cock pushing into your dripping cunt.

“No,” you shake your head as he pushes in completely, stealing away your breath.

“Yes,” he hisses victoriously, savoring the way you clench around him.

You tug at your restraints, your shoulders aching as he begins to thrust in and out. His heavy breaths are punctuated with flowery speeches and praise. The man clearly loves the sound of his own voice, his vigor increasing as your squeaks turn to quiet moans and gasps of delight.

“Zemo,” you moan as he pushes you closer to the edge, intent on getting him to stop, but all it does is make him pound harder.

“Yes, say it again, I’m so close,” he grunts, squeezing your ass, using it to anchor himself to you.

“Zemo!” You squeak, your voice peaking as you reach your high. Waves of pleasure make your body tense until he finally comes with a broken moan and you slump bonelessly against the table.

“I think this may be my new favorite American holiday,” he chuckles as he pulls out and falls back into the chair behind you. He spreads open your cheeks and hums as he watches his seed leak from your swollen cunt, “but this is definitely my new favorite view.”

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen @threeminutesoflife @queenoftheworldisdead @buttercupfangirl @needleandhammer @thiskindahotkindamusic @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @emberenchanted

[chubbybuckydumpling]

Of Riches and Rings

words: 2.9k

pairing: Helmut Zemo x female reader

warnings: smut, fluffy smut, voyeurism, masturbation (m/f), oral (m/f receiving), blowjob, 69, choking, squirting, unprotected sex, porn without plot

A/n: As a celebration for reaching 500 followers, please enjoy this filthy Zemo smut :) Let’s hope the next episode still makes him likeable! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

My Masterlist

The clock is ticking with every passing second. Tik tok. Tik tok. His fingers tap on the crystal glass of expensive bourbon. The plushy armchair gives into his weight, forming nicely around his back. He checks his jeweled watch. It’s been 10 minutes. You’re taking too long. Tik tok. Tik tok.

He turns his head to gaze around the room, searching for a distraction, but he can’t get you off his mind. Inevitably, his gaze falls to his hand where an elegant ring dresses his finger. A soft smile plays on his lips, but it makes him yearn for your presence even more. Taking a deep breath, his eyes drift back to the clock on the wall. Tik tok. The seconds are passing. Tik tok. His patience is wearing thin, this is not what he had planned. An annoyed growl escapes his lips which surprises him. His self control is definitely slipping. Tik tok. Another minute gone by. Tik tok, tik tok.

“Alright, enough”, he grumbles, getting out of his chair. His tight black slacks cling to his legs, the dress shoes rounding out the look. He places his glass on the nearest shelf, the sound of his heels swallowed by the carpet. The dimly lit hallway carries him from door to door until he closes in on the bathroom. It has a kitschy postcard attached to it.

He can’t help but scoff, “Wash away your troubles? Really?” Reaching up, he is about to rip it off when he hears a sound. A low moan, to be particular. He stills completely, doubtful of what he heard just seconds ago. Just when he’s about to write it off as some weird hallucination, it happens again. His eyebrows raise, a smirk working its way on his lips.

Oh.

This is going to be fun. Carefully, he reaches out to turn the door knob until he can safely open it, just a gap, of course. He chuckles to himself, of course you didn’t lock it, little minx. Turning to peek in, he has to bite his lip to stop a groan. There you were, propped on the bathroom counter, panties discarded by your feet, fingers plunging into your pussy.

The squelching sounds mixed with your soft moans and frustrated whimpers makes his trousers tighten. He feels himself twitch, the sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes shut tightly. The amount of want that floods through his body makes him undo his fly, the tight material only falling down a little.

One of his hands wanders down his dark turtleneck and he reaches into his grey briefs to take out his half hard cock. He licks the thumb of his free hand, working his tongue around it to get it nice and wet. Once he is content with his work, he pulls down his foreskin and presses the shiny digit against the head, circling his slit. His hips thrust forwards and he has to grab onto the door frame. Shit.

He feels his cock fatten up, twitching in his hand while he slowly fists himself. His eyes are trained on your fingers, the way your core grabs onto them. He builds up a steady rhythm of squeezing his length and playing with his crown, teasing his sensitive head. It’s hard to quiet his sounds, but he’s used to controlling himself, reducing his urges to achieve his goals.

You, however, feel no need to be quiet. Your fingers don’t reach far enough and frustration, greedy want overcomes your senses. You groan, hips rutting against your palm. The pressure against your clit feels good, but it’s just not enough. Your free hand frees your boobs from the bra cups and you begin to squeeze your nipple, whining at the pleasurable pain.

He speeds up his motions, tightens his grip and lets his body take over. Your breasts are beautiful, the tight nipples hard against the cooler air. He feels his desire overcoming him, carnal want filling his veins. His balls tighten, abdomen contracting irretically. He feels himself twitch in his hand. The silky skin of his hard cock feels nice against his hand and he lets out a growl, little droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. The fabric begins to cling to his back.

“I hope you’re not planning on coming anywhere else but inside me”, your voice sounds strained, eyes trained on his thick length. The delicious view makes you lick your lip. He just grins, not surprised by your actions at all, “Wasn’t planning on it, sweet girl”, he replies, a soft smile on his lips. He collects all of his self control to tuck himself back, before he fully opens the door, moving closer to you.

He closes in on you, arms placed on the counter on either side of you. You pull out your drenched fingers to pull him closer, but he is faster, catching your wrist before you could touch him. Smirking, he draws your hand closer and envelops your coated digits with his mouth. He moans at your taste, tongue licking of every bit of your wetness.

You whimper, the sensation around your fingers with the knowledge of what exactly he is licking off makes your belly tighten. His gaze is still trained on you as he slowly pops your fingers out. His chest is heaving with his deep breath. He looks amazing, delicious even. You can't stop yourself for any longer and dash forward to press your lips against his.

The kiss is hungry, greedy. Your desire mixes with his while your tongues dance together. He licks into you, one hand coming up to clutch the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. A deep growl vibrates in his chest, everything about you is just so good. Your taste, the way your scent seeps into his nose, the feel of your tongue against his.

A feeling of desperation seeps into your body and you let your hands wander to the hem of his shirt. You let yourself explore his upper body, feeling his soft skin against your hands, all while he dominates your mouth. When the oxygen runs low, you part, immediately pulling the dark turtleneck over his head. He helps you remove it and chucks the expensive article behind him.

Instantly, his swollen lips are back against yours, more sensitive this time. He bites into your lower lip, dragging it a little before he lets it snap back. Aroused, he allows his hands to grip your waist with one hand while the other strokes over you, caressing your skin until he finds your breasts. He manages to rid you of your bra, your boobs falling free of the constricting material.

“You are so beautiful, mein Engel”, he whispers. You’re completely exposed in front of him while he is still half covered, what you desire most remaining hidden. Warmth rises to your cheeks, yet you don’t feel embarrassed. He’s shown you time and time again how much he desires you.

“What took you so long?”, the question falls from your lip and you can’t help but smirk mischievously at him. He pulls back a little, eyebrows raised, yet he can’t hide the smile on his lips. Not in front of you, “Well, Mrs. Zemo, I wasn’t expecting your toilet break to turn into this”, he gestures to your lower body, “Not that I’m complaining”

You giggle, grabbing his neck to pull him in for another kiss. He feels so good against you, his tight chest against your own breasts. His warmth seeps into you, blanketing you into a calming sense of comfort. He lets his arms surround you, pulling your body closer to his, directly onto his huge bulge. You gasp into his mouth, a strong tingling sensation running through your core. He groans at the pressure, pushing you right on him again.

“Fuck, Helmut”, you whimper, burying your head into his neck, “Please, I need you” He tightens his grip, growling at your words, “Then hold tight. Can’t just fuck my most precious on a sink now can I Engel”

He picks you up, holding you close. His arms strain a little, but you know he would never drop you. Navigating through the hallway he quickly moves towards your bedroom, opening the door with ease. His display of strength makes you clench and your want for him surges even higher. He lays you down on the king sized better, leaving you with a kiss to your nose.

“Beautiful”, he mumbles after taking a step back to observe you. With quick and precise motions, he strips himself of the rest of his clothing. His fully erect cock jumps up to stand tall and proud. You lick your lips with desire, the sight of your husband just always so arousing. Before you can mention how attractive he is, he drops down to his knees, hands parting your thighs.

“Look at you, so wet for me”, he drawls, eyes switching from focusing on your pussy to searching your face. Slowly, he lowers himself, his hot breath fanning against your exposed core. “You look so delicious”, he groans before he buries himself in your folds. His tongue teases your entrance, pressing against it, but never quite breaching. His nose bumps against your clit, sending a shock of arousal up your spine. You let out a moan when his tongue trails up higher, circling the most sensitive part of yourself.

Suddenly, he begins to suck the bud into his mouth and you gasp, back arching. You bury your hands into his soft hair, tugging slightly with need. He continues teasing your hooded bundle of nerves, but adds his fingers back inside you. With delicate motions, he strokes your velvety walls, reaching for your sensitive g-spot. A sudden cool sensation pushes at you and you realise it's his wedding ring. Clenching, you moan his name, needy; greedy. Your pleasure is ascending, the feeling of his flexible tongue with his talented fingers, you begin to shake, thighs trying to clench around his head.

“Fuck, please, I want to suck you off. Need it, please”, you whimper, tears blurring your vision. At your distress, he immediately perks up to check your face for any sign of discomfort. When he can’t find any, he coos, moving up to cradle your face, “Hey, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay”, he whispers, gently petting your hair, “You just want to have your mouth filled, ain’t that right?” You nod, leaning into the warmth of his palm.

He pushes himself further up the bed, laying on his back. His cock looks delicious, pre cum coating the crown. It has a lovely red colour, a beautiful contrast to his pale tummy. Helmut gestures towards his length, smiling at your sweaty face, “Take it then, mein Engel, but let me make you feel good too” His voice sounds strained, his need for friction obvious.

You crawl up to him, eyes trained on his heavy cock. Sniffling, you position your pussy above his face and lean down to take his hard length into your palm. Squeezing and turning your wrist, you tease him, enjoying the soft, veiny feeling of him. He moans and dives back into your pussy, licking and nibbling you so well. His fingers breach your stretched opening once more, his other hand grabbing onto your bum.

He kneads the soft flesh as you feel the ring that makes him yours again. A sudden flame of desire fills you and you envelope his cock with your mouth. Immediately, you press your tongue against the silky underside, your free hand, clad with your own wedding ring, massaging his full balls. He moans against your pussy, twitching inside of your mouth.

Both of you get lost in the pleasure, tongues licking and sucking greedily, fingers playing over your most sensitive parts. He begins to thrust up, his beautiful head hitting against the back of your throat, making you gag around him. He pulls off of you, breathing heavily, “You good?”, he forces out. You nod, pushing your hips back against his mouth. He chuckles, but goes back to work you over, sucking and tickling your hard clit.

You take a deep breath before you lower your mouth back onto him. You focus on inhaling through our nose as you go deeper and deeper until your nose scratches his trimmed pubic hair. He whimpers, moaning as you swallow around him. The vibrations feel so good against your core and you groan, egging him on even further.

His balls tighten, but he pulls you back swiftly, clamping his base tightly, panting heavily.

“Don’t want to cum just yet”, he groans. You whimper, so drawn to him, an overwhelming sexual tension tingling through your body. Electrified, you turn around, getting on your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him. Hearing him moan, you push your ass out even further wiggling slightly. His hands run up to your shoulders, starting at your cheeks, slowly roaming over your skin. His chest presses against you, cock jutting itself between your cheeks, balls against your wet entrance.

His hands run down your arms and he kisses at your neck, working his way to your pulse point where he begins to suck and nibble. You draw in a shaky breath, goosebumps rising all over your skin. You whimper, once more becoming teary eyed. He lets up bruising your skin, a lovely hickey already starting to form. “I love you, Mrs Zemo”, he whispers against your ear. Smiling softly, you turn your head, “I love you too, Mr Zemo” Your husband grins, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

Drawing back, he teases your slick hole with his wet head, slapping his length over your clit until you’re moaning for him to take you. Finally, he pushes into you, carefully at first, yet slowly bottoming out. Once he’s balls deep inside you, he lets out a loud groan as you feel him twitch. Involuntarily, you clench down on him, the feeling of being filled up just so perfectly satisfying.

He begins to pull out, only to push back in, gradually creating a fulfilling rhythm. His thrusts push against your walls so well, a delicious sensation that makes your eyes roll back into your head. Helmut’s firm hands run down to your breasts, squeezing and toying with them. It feels incredible, being touched and claimed all over.

His hips become faster, thrusts stronger. The sounds of skin slapping together, deep groans and growls as well as your own moans and whimpers fill your room, a beautiful song of pleasure and affection, a sonnet of lovers living out their desire.

He pushes himself up, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. With his weight supported solely by his knees, he pulls you up against his chest, slick bodies pressed against each other. His hand sneaks around your throat, tightening slowly. A shockwave of arousal consumes you when you feel the platinum of his wedding band against your sensitive hickey. “You feel so good around me, taking me so well, such a good wife for me”, he babbles, thrusts becoming more irregular, but harder, more determined.

“I want you to cum on my cock, can you do that, Engel?” You nod once he lets up his hold on your jugular, taking deep breaths. “Need you to say it, need to hear my good little wife” Panting, you gasp, “I will, please please please. I want it so, so bad” Suddenly tears jump into your eyes with desire and love for the man behind you.

Growling, he pushes you down into the mattress, your cheek pressed to the satin sheets. His hips grow even faster, pushing further, filling you up harder. The new angle makes him hit your velvety spot head on every time, pushing you into even higher layers of pleasure, but once he drops his fingers down to your clit, you crumble, desperately sobbing into the bed.

The coil and desire in your lower belly tightens. You begin to clamp around him uncontrollably, your entire body beginning to twitch with the anticipation of your upcoming high. “Shit, I’m gonna cum, ‘m so close, please let me cum”, you beg, convulsing around him. “Let go for me, Engel. Cum on my cock”, he rasps and with a particular hrd thrust, you break, cumming all over his thick length.

Thighs shaking and back arched you let the pleasure take over, all while your husband still fucks into you furiously, tight circles on your clit. With a few last pushes into your tight heat, strong and hard, he spills into you, filling your body up with his white, hot seed. The feeling of being stuffed with his cock, overflowing with the seed of the love of your life and the delicious pressure against your sensitive nub, you feel a new, yet so familiar sensation overflow you.

Screaming his name, your pussy flutters while you gush around his pulsing length, drenching him with a mixture of your and his orgasm. Convulsing one last time, the final gush of cum squirts out of you. Helmut carefully pulls out of you and watches as your core clenches, trying to keep his seed inside you.

Drained and exhausted, you collapse on your side, eyes shut. Your legs twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you’re too fucked out to notice. Warmth and safety consume you when you feel your husband’s arms wrapped around you, his face against your neck, “I’m so proud of you, Engel. You did so well”, his breathing isn’t quite back to normal, the intensity of his orgasm left him a little drained and floaty as well. “Hmm, thank you”, you mumble, cuddling back into him, “I love you” Your heart flutters when you feel him smile against your skin, “I love you too. So much”

My Masterlist

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[wkemeup]

The Offer

summary: Zemo offers to sell the Winter Soldier in exchange for information. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 3k warnings: vaguely implied unwanted sexual contact a/n: this is based around the Madripoor scene in TFATWS ep 3, particularly Zemo’s suggestion of “he will do anything you want.”

“You must maintain your cover,” Zemo’s voice rang in your ear, drowning out the heavy bass of loudspeakers from the club down the hall. “If you break character, they will know... and they will kill us.”

You held your breath; arms folded tight across your chest, nails digging into the exposed skin on your biceps. It did little to ease the strain within your muscle as you watched Bucky standing guard at the edge of the room, his eyes overcast in a cold, emotionless haze. Ready for command. Empty of the needs and desire that made him human. Portraying the shadow from his past he was so desperate to escape.

Slowly, you shifted your weight on heels sharp enough to pierce skin. The clothes Zemo had dressed you in were unforgiving, exposing every dip and curve on your body, though you supposed that was his intention. You were meant assume the role of a wealthy arms dealer known only as Lilith, a woman whose reputation for the bedrooms of Madripoor outweighed even that of the weapons at her disposal. An affinity for the finer things in life, Zemo had snickered to himself. Sex, drugs, and power.

Bucky’s eyes shifted to the floor near your feet. You could tell he was watching you from his peripherals though his expression remained vacant. It was shocking to see him like this again, worse that he seemed to fall back into the role of the Winter Soldier so easily – like he’d never truly believed he could put his past to rest at all.

Zemo paced at the center of the room, discussing terms while Selby lounged on the couch. Her brazen comfort in a room of powerful agents on the dark market told you she had more leverage than any of you anticipated. You felt for the slight weight of the gun strapped at your thigh, keeping careful watch of the guards stationed just outside the door. The four of you were easily outnumbered and outgunned, even with Bucky throwing himself back to the Winter Soldier.

Sam caught your eye across the room, his face stern enough to communicate his uncertainty. He didn’t trust Zemo anymore than you did. The man was responsible for dozens of deaths, including the King of Wakanda, and he’d done the Avengers no favors by planting a seed of war between the most powerful people on the planet. You tried not to follow Sam's gaze when his eyes flickered to Bucky, a softening in his brow to see months of progress virtually erased within seconds.

“What’s the offer?” Selby’s voice broke through the haze. You hadn’t realized how focused you’d been on Bucky until you began to notice the music thumping through the walls and the scent of stale beer lining the floors – a disorienting state amongst precious stole artifacts and original paintings.

Zemo stood from his chair, crossing the room. He picked up a relic from the center table, admiring the shiny copper edges as he tossed it in the air. It nearly slipped from his grip and he shuttered out an apologetic wince at Selby before placing it back on the table. You rolled your eyes.

Adjusting the fur lined collar of his jacket, Zemo circled the edges of the room. He came to a pause over Bucky’s shoulder, gaze slowly trailing down his frame, tracing over the lines on Bucky's face as if he were studying for imperfections. A sinister smirk curled at his lips before he turned back to Selby.

“Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum,” Zemo bargained, waiting for her interest to peak before he continued. She shifted in her seat; a brow raised. His lips curved in a devious grin enough to make your stomach twist. “And we’ll give you him. Along with the code words to control him, of course.”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, his stare maintaining the same emptiness you saw the day on the bridge when he’d been muzzled by his captors and made to be a weapon. Nothing in his expression gave way to whatever was going through his mind and part of you wondered if he’d allowed himself so far into this role again, that he’d embraced the cold arms of the numbness it carried. It was easier than allowing himself to feel any of the rage that was rapidly boiling under your skin, you supposed.

But then, Zemo’s knuckles grazed at Bucky’s cheek. Lingering over unshaven stubble, a shadow along his jaw. A delicate touch though it seemed to burn as if steam could rise from the contact alone.

Zemo turned, grinning at Selby. “He will do anything you want.”

It was so impossibly subtle, you weren’t sure anyone else had noticed, but Bucky’s jaw clenched. The muscle shifted the shadows on his face, his breathing coming to a stop as his chest no longer carried the steady rise and fall under layers of leather and Kevlar. Zemo’s hand moved along Bucky’s jaw, fingers dangerously close to his lips, and you felt for the outline of the gun strapped to your thigh.

"Anything?" Selby inquired. Her tone was even though her eyes widened just enough, the dark of her pupils expanding as she glanced over Bucky's frame.

"When he is properly activated, the Soldier is incredibly–" Zemo paused, tapping the edge of Bucky's chin, "–eager to please. There's nothing else inside that brain of his except his mission. What that mission is, is entirely up to whoever recites the triggers."

“Fascinating,” Selby grinned as she slowly stood from her perch.

You followed her stride with every agonizing step towards Bucky. Just as she crossed in front of The Smiling Tiger, Sam’s gaze met yours. He narrowed his eyes, the slight shake in his head barely noticeable. He must have seen you reach for your gun – an instinct to protect Bucky from the demons of his past, a tangible weapon you hadn't been able to use against the monsters in his sleep. It took every ounce of your strength to relax away from the comforting metal.

You watched as Selby’s eyes roamed over Bucky – hungry, and like a vulture, she licked her lips. As she began to circle his frame, gaze trailing down from his shoulders, to his thighs, down to his feet, never once daring to meet his eyes, you found yourself inching closer. Bucky’s hand curled into a fist so tight his nails broke skin in his right hand, blood prickling at his palm. And still—his expression remained stoic, unfeeling. A paralyzing thought crossed your mind and you questioned if this dance was a familiar one – the art of being sold to another human being.

Selby paused as she faced him; examining the features on his face as if he were something other than human – a prize to be won, a possession to own, a trophy to show off.

“And he’s still in working condition? After all these years?” she inquired toward Zemo, standing so dangerously close to Bucky. His stare focused straight ahead, far beyond the wall across the room as if he could burn holes into the plaster.

"He's quite impressive," Selby murmured. Slowly, her hand reached towards his face.

Your grip was around her wrist before anyone realized you’d crossed the room. She flinched, startled by the vice-like hold wrapped around her wrist and a pained sort of whine escaped. She flexed her fingers and still, you held your ground.

“Is there a problem, Lilith?” Selby smirked, curiosity glaring as her eyes flickered between you and Bucky. You said nothing and yet, her lips parted in understanding. “Oh, I see. You control him. Don’t you, dear? He belongs to you.”

You tasted bile on your tongue – the very thought of owning Bucky as if his agency was not even in question made you sick to your stomach. Your grip tightened on Selby’s wrist and you would have broken it clean in two if you had the strength for it. But one look at Zemo and the cautious gaze upon his face, and you forced yourself to swallow back the venom in your mouth. You didn’t allow the disgust to touch your features or the shame to burn hot into your neck. Lilith would not be fazed by the selling of a weapon—even if that weapon were a man with heart so heavy, so full and so kind, he could hardly carry its burden on his own.

“Make your deal, Selby,” you hissed in an accident belonging to the weapons dealer you portrayed, “then, you can play with your toy. Until we have our intel, hands off the product.”

You released Selby’s wrist and she stepped back a few paces. She slid her left hand over the red marks forming over her skim, gingerly massaging at the area and still – the grin did not falter from her cheeks. Impressed, intrigued. She seemed inclined to ask you more about your bond to the Winter Soldier when you stepped in front of Bucky, blocking her view as she unabashedly stared down her hopeful new possession. Sam and Zemo exchanged a glance, though their expressions did not carry the weight their eyes did.

Behind you, you could hear Bucky exhale a heavy a breath, could practically feel as his fists released to be out of the woman’s eye line. It was short lived, of course, as all things in Madripoor were. A gunshot pierced through the window and lodged itself into Selby’s head.

***

You woke with a sudden start, the sticky smell of stale beer still on your skin as you jolted up on an unfamiliar bed. The room was vaguely a blur thanks to the pounding ache in the back of your head, but you could see enough to know it was not a place you recognized. To your left, the bed was untouched; sheets perfectly pressed as if they’d never been laid in at all. Glancing down, you saw you were still wearing the dress from the club, makeup smeared over your face and onto the pillows. You brushed at your cheeks to remove the mascara stains.

At the end of the bed, laid a fresh pair of clothes. Blue jeans and a black pullover. You sighed, pressing a hand over the soft fabric and bringing it to your face. It smelled of lavender and vanilla – fresh and inviting compared to the sweaty stale air of the night club.

The night before was mostly a blur. You didn’t remember much after Selby was killed; only Bucky’s hands on your waist, pulling you back towards the door as you tried to locate the shooter. You’d kicked off your heels and sprinted next to him in your bare feet – a man who could challenge the speed of moving vehicles and he was running in line with you and Sam while gunshots reined from every direction. Self-preservation was not a concept in Bucky’s vocabulary.

Your feet were bloodied by the time you caught your breath again and within the impossibly small moment you took to pause, an assailant had knocked you out from behind. Cold darkness. Instantaneously. After that, you could only catch vague memories of Bucky lifting you into his arms and Sharon Carter’s voice. But you hadn’t seen Sharon in years. Not since the aftermath of Vienna. The theory didn’t make much sense.

You felt along the dresser for your gun, only to find it empty. With a tired groan, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, hoping you could find Bucky or Sam before you found trouble. Your feet were wrapped in bandages carrying a slight pink color on the soles – courteous of Zemo’s ridiculous heels you’d left behind the chaos and the mile worth of pavement you’d run barefoot on.

The chill of the hardwood floors was a relief on the undersides of your feet, but you hadn’t accounted for the dizziness from your concussion to take over once you stood. The room went dark and you began to sway, trying to feel for the bed behind you, when suddenly you hard footsteps rushing into the room.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing out of bed?” Bucky’s arms wrapped at your waist, holding you steady. He guided you back to the bed, helping you to sit on the edge as you regained your vision. He sat down beside you, keeping a hand on your arm to help ground you as you focused on the permanence of the room, the sturdiness of solid ground.

“What happened?” you sighed, pressing your palms to your eyes. Your head was still ringing from the blow you took the night before. When you finally allowed yourself to adjust to the sunlight in the room, you turned to face Bucky. He was dressed in a plan black t-shirt and jeans; his Winter Soldier attire hung in the corner of the room.

“Sharon happened,” Bucky chuckled with a short shake of his head. You thought you might be surprised at his answer, and somehow, you weren’t at all. Bucky softened, his fingers brushing at the hem of your dress. “You should change into something more comfortable. Sharon left some clothes for you but um... you were pretty out of it last night and I didn’t want to... um...”

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled at him as you placed your hand on top of his. You squeezed at his fingers, curling under his palm against your thigh. For a moment, you nearly lost yourself in the sunlit reflection of blue within his eyes – the delicate intricacies of a complex man. So impossibly sweet and kind in the daylight; cold as stone in the night under the guise of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky helped you to stand, giving you time to adjust to the sting of healing wounds on the soles of your feet. He turned his back to give you privacy, though he kept close enough that you could grab hold of his shoulder for support. He pushed the clothes down the bed for you to reach easily.

Slowly, ignoring the ache in your body, you slid the zipper down your spine, letting the dress fall to a heap at your feet. You tried not to notice how Bucky’s shoulders tightened at the sound, his stance a little less balanced at the fallen fabric. Gingerly, you dressed yourself in the jeans and pullover Sharon had provided for you, trying to stifle a wince as you shifted on your feet. Bucky’s head tilted at your whimper, his instinct fighting to turn to you, to help you, but he held himself still.

When you were done, you reached for the necklace at your bedside, one you hadn’t worn on the mission but you carried it with you wherever you went – the last token you had of a distant life before the Avengers. Sam had kept it in his pocket in Madripoor.

“Would you mind?” you called softly, tapping a hand against Bucky’s shoulder. He turned cautiously, almost timid in his movements, and you smiled at him as he held his hand out. The delicate gold chain dropped into his palm – a beautiful contrast to the black metal, in mirror to the detailing work along his shoulder.

Before you could turn your back to him, Bucky stepped closer. He held each side of the necklace in his hands and brought them around the back of your neck. This close, you could smell the bar soap he’d used that morning, you could see the lines of scruff along his jaw he hadn’t been able to shave.

When he clasped the chain, he stepped back slowly, but only enough to admire his work. He brushed your hair away from your collar, a ghosted smile on his lips at he touched the pendent at the center. This wonderful, beautiful man who learned to find comfort in touch again, who sought you out when it felt impossible to reclaim that part of him. Memory of the night before etched into your mind and you swallowed back the lump in your throat.

“Bucky?”

He smiled a little wider, focused on tracing his fingers along your jaw, brushing away your hair. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

Bucky paused, his touch upon you skin turning near to stone before he pulled away. The smile he’d worn slowly faded from his lips, the cold rush of reality piercing through the tender moment, and you hated yourself for being the cause of such pain. Bucky sighed, sinking down onto the bed, his hands gripped tight to the edge of the mattress.

“Not sure there’s much to say, doll,” Bucky exhaled.

You sat beside him, close enough for your thigh to brush in line with his. He looked down at the little space between you, his eyes fluttered closed at the contact – the grounding sensation of welcomed touch.

“You're not him anymore, Bucky,” you said softly, setting your hand over his own. “No one is ever going to control you or... or own you again, okay? They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to... not anymore. You’re free. You know that, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded, though it was slow, almost aching. He squeezed at your hand, pushing out a pained smile as he looked at you. “I do.”

You reached towards him with your free hand, cupping the side of his cheek where Zemo had touched him the night before. You traced your thumb over his jaw line, tingling over the short hairs on his skin. So beautiful and lovely after decades suffering under the hands of cruel men.

“You know I’d kill anyone who tried, right?”

Bucky chuckled at that and you were grateful to see the lines by his eyes again, the smile pushing bright into his cheeks. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know that, too.”

He leaned forward a pressed a kiss to your temple. Short and lingering and not nearly long enough. But it was welcomed and warm and enough.

—

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[hansensgirl]

put me in a movie.

summary. | He knows you can’t make it on your own, so he’ll put you in his movie.

warnings. | Dubcon (reader doesn’t know what he’s doing but consents to it), smut, drinking, age gap (reader is legal), virginity loss, choking, spanking, dirty talk, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink, cream pie kink, penetration, teasing, praise, filming, voyeurism, porn (the industry), fluff, yearning, Daddy kink, humiliation, overstimulation, dumbification kink, and more. SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 6.5k.

pairing. | Grey!Pornstar!Helmut Zemo x Innocent!Reader.

a/n. | please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. inspired by wet, written by the talented @thewritingdoll! do not translate or repost my fics at all.

You don’t like the heat, but you love the summer. The way the days are seldom cold and cloudy, with that occasional breeze that your skin gracefully soaks up in the same way your beach towel soaks up the water on your bathing suit. Popsicles of different flavours dripping down your skin and onto the hot sidewalk. The sticky residue makes you cringe, and you’d use the damp side of your towel to wipe it away. It would work for a few seconds, maybe even a minute or two, before the feeling returns.

You hate the heat, but you love to see him. Those swim trunks of his sticking to his wet skin. They’re a blue colour that seems easy to describe at first glance, but you’ll soon realize just how many shades of navy blue there are, and suddenly you don't even know what colour they are. Maybe it’s the colour of the jeans the cameramen wear, or perhaps it’s the colour of the night sky at around six in the evening during the summertime.

They lug heavy equipment, and you just wonder if they’re filming a movie. If your friends and family members got word, they’d probably lose their minds before begging you to get them a part. Vying for fame runs through the family tree branches, and even you would want a small part in it as well. You give them empty promises, forgetting their words after a few minutes until the following text message or phone call.

You don’t spend much time at the beach anymore. Heck, you haven’t been there since June. Your friends have left with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a trip to Bali, and all you have are your family members to keep you company. Your white fence, magazine and lawn chair are all you know of now. You spend your days outdoors, knowing each one will be filled with the same things. The sunlight, bees buzzing, and seagulls having unwarranted ferociousness.

Your parents spend their days at work, and you stay home to hold your small fort down. You don’t water the grass or touch the garden because your father does it better than anyone. You don’t touch the paint meant for the walls or the furniture boxes that are strewn across the floors because your mother knows where to put them and how to paint. You just relax, and you don’t mind it at all.

That was until you saw him.

Curiosity is your closest friend other than the blue raspberry flavoured popsicles that take up more space in your freezer than anything else. So when the empty house next door suddenly filled up with around half a dozen people, you just couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing. So you peer over the fence, standing on the small two-step ladder that your dad stole from his previous job. Women and a few men are laughing, dressed down in both swimsuits and t-shirts. Their bodies are lovely, the pinnacle of beauty that you sometimes envy. Other times, you’d feel as though you’re the prettiest girl in the world, and that’s not far from the truth. They’ve got different brands of alcohol in their hands, White Claw cans littered on the ground, and you cringe at the mess.

They must be mentally younger than you’ll ever be again because no person older than you can act like this. Heavy, black cameras are resting nearby briefcases, and you hope to god that nothing illegal is going on. The last thing you need is the police questioning you at 1 in the morning. Some of the men ogle at the younger ladies, and they bask in the attention. You watch as their eyes rake up and down their shiny, sweaty bodies.

“Oh, please, the least you all can do is wait for me before you start the party,” a man snickers, stepping out of the house. You look over to him, and your breath is taken away. Water drips down his face, cascading down to his neck and onto his slightly hairy chest—a navy bluish-purple robe and those blue swim shorts that peek through underneath the cloth. The colour of the fabric goes oh so well with the blue of his eyes. They all laugh until they’re sighing and already cracking open another bottle of beer.

You admire him from afar, and you can’t help but be mesmerized by the way he moves: such grace, such elusiveness. The glass in his hand isn’t cheap beer or tequila; it’s whiskey that looks rich as fuck, and he swigs it back like it’s water. You remember the first time your father and mother brought whiskey home from the local liquor store. Your father didn’t enjoy it, and neither did your mother. It sat in a random cupboard until a year ago when your mother decided to throw it out.

He lets out an exhale as the amber liquid flows down his throat, and you watch in awe as he handles the burn like a champion. God, you can’t even handle beer if you try hard enough. He gently places the glass onto the table, far away from the men’s feet, as he knows that they can be quite clumsy. There must be a proper name for all feelings; you believe. Like that feeling when it dawns on you that you’ll never experience something like this ever again.

Or maybe the feeling that Helmut has right now. Not the excitement of finishing this film, and not the tiredness that is a result of working too hard. No, the feeling that he knows you’re watching him from over the fence. He sans his hand towards you, and you quickly duck down, letting out a whimper. You nearly fall from the small ladder, but it wouldn’t be so graceful if it did happen. “What’s wrong, Baron?” one of his co-stars teasingly asks.

“Nothing... Must’ve been the whiskey…”

You don’t hate the summer; you just don’t like the boredom. Even relaxation is something you can tire of, believe it or not. You’ve got nothing to do. Your friends are still out of town, and your parents are at work. You’ve cleaned the house not once, not twice, but three times. Your closet is as clean as it’ll ever be, and the pantry is now organized by most used to least used. The plants have been properly watered, even though it wasn’t necessary since the forecast said there’d be light rain.

You love the rain, especially during the summertime. The sky makes the surrounding world have an almost orange tone to it. The after smell––an earthy, oceanic scent that is so unique––is something you’ll forever look forward to. You’re excited for the day it’ll rain, but even meteorologists tend to be wrong, and Mother Nature has a thing for keeping her children on their toes. It’s one of the many reasons why you love her. So with your little red dress on, you spin around in the backyard.

You’re sensible. You know what creepy crawlers lie underneath the dirt, between the fluffy grass. So instead of being barefoot (just like in those Sofia Loren movies) and playing around, you grab that little latter once again. You’ve scrubbed the grooves and cleaned them of their plant stains––sloppily, of course. Your oversized slippers belong to your dad, and they struggle to stay on your feet, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re not going to be moving around much, anyway. You move the latter closer to where you last saw the group of men and women. You truly hope you don’t get caught and get into any trouble; the last thing you want is your parents scolding you and embarrassing you. You step up on the ladder carefully, grasping onto the wooden fence for support. The surface is hot to the touch, and you really want to let go, but you really shouldn’t. You whisper affirmations along the lines of ‘I won’t fall…’ over and over again, under your breath.

And you hope to God they work.

Admittedly, you also hope he’s wearing those blue swim shorts of his again. The look (and he) resides in your heart, amongst other tubes and canals that have learned to make room for friends, family and passions. But he’s not a friend, he’s not family, and he’s most certainly not a passion. ...He’s something else, that’s for sure. An enigma, really. He reminds you of that feeling––the one that has a name, temptation. Someone tells you not to do something you weren’t going to do in the first place, and now you want to do it.

Except the case is different. You shouldn’t be perving on strangers like this––sneaking up on them, spying on them––all because you just can’t help it. Your mind tells you to stop, but it’s just giving you all the more reason to continue doing it. So, until you nearly get caught one more time, you’ll continue to watch him. Desperate to figure out who he is and what he’s doing.

The cameras are no longer on the ground; a smart decision, given that there’s a pool that takes up more space than anything. The blue water of pools has always fooled you. You grew up believing that it was the true colour of water, not even knowing that it was, in fact, the tiles and not the water. There’s no mess there either, clean and tidy. Maybe professionally done, because the concrete has but not one dark spot or crease where grass grows out of it.

Laid perfectly, you know your mother and father would admire it for a few minutes. You squint your eyes and gaze at the glass sliding door. Inside is him. You let out one of those dreamy, love-filled sighs that only main characters do in romance movies. You watch him as he pours himself a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugar, and a dash of what seems to be almond milk.

You wonder if he likes iced coffees, as they can be so nice during the summertime. He wears those lovely blue swim shorts once again, hair slightly damp (with a pretty curliness to a few strands) and a navy bathrobe. It’s that same outfit as the other time you saw him, and you realize that they’re probably filming a movie. He moves around the counter, putting away certain little ingredients and whatnot.

The most mundane actions ever, ones that even you did just this morning. But god, he just makes it all seem so unique. He cards his fingers through his brown, almost dirty blond hair. There are clumps of strands that stick together, wetness that’ll dry probably as soon as he steps outside. He faces the window, staring out towards the fence that has been freshly painted, and sighs.

His head lulls back, and his neck is exposed. He’s probably both an actor and a model, you think to yourself. His chest hair has grown a bit more, and you can’t find yourself complaining. Tingles run through your body and even down to your pussy. You rub your thighs together, trying to make the feeling go away, while still being careful about holding onto the fence. You hope that he doesn’t know you’re watching him because you’ll never be able to live that down.

And it’s just so unfortunate that Helmut is such a clever man. Heightened senses from when he used to camp a lot when he was younger; he just knows practically everything. He knows you’re watching him, squinting your eyes until they’re nearly shut close. The skin around them wrinkles in the most adorable way, just like the way your nose scrunches up out of instinct. God, he could kiss every crevice of your body, even if you don’t know who he is.

“Hey, Helmut, we have a few re-shoots to do. Do you want to start now?” one of the cameramen asks him, holding a microphone in his hand. “No… I’m tired; we’ll do it all tomorrow,” Helmut says, waving his hand. He’s no longer looking outside and instead at the man who he’s addressing. He nods and walks off before Helmut follows him. Common courtesy is to always escort your guests out, and Helmut was raised with manners. With a hand on the man’s lower back, and a smile on his face, Helmut gently pushes him out the door and locks it.

You watch him as he disappears, seemingly leading someone out of his home, and you think all is fine. That is until that little voice in your mind decides to be obnoxious. The slight possibility that you’ve been caught and he’s mad haunts you, and your breath hitches. Your eyeballs are wide open, as big as the eyes of an owl, and your hands shake a bit out of fear. They dampen up a bit, not enough to the point where you’d be disgusted, but they’re clammy nonetheless.

You make a move to jump off the latter, not caring about the possible risk of falling and scraping your pretty legs. Your hands begin to let go of the fence, but they’re stopped by someone grabbing you by your wrists. You let out a squeal of shock as they hold you tightly from over the barrier, and you’re screwed. “I’m sorry!” you quickly yell, squinting your eyes out of fear. You’re not sure what to expect, whether he would yell at you or threaten to call the cops.

“No, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m not mad. Come back,” Helmut tells you, and you calm down. Yet you’re still nervous, scared that he’s a liar and that you’ll be in deep shit with the law. You step back onto the latter and are wary of looking over the wood. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow thickly. “I’m not mad, okay? I think it’s kind of cute. You’re like a curious little bunny,” he smiles, and you giggle.

“Never been called that before, usually just a curious cat,” you share with him, and he laughs. “Well, that’s not wrong,” he adds. A brief silence intrudes, and you just stare at one another. Helmut’s eyes jump from feature to feature on your face, relishing in that unique gorgeousness of yours. Someone like you will never be found amongst models because you’re an absolute angel. You’re like a pretty rose amongst other flowers; all are beautiful in their own ways, but you always manage to stand out.

You wonder if Helmut is the wolf to your bunny. That dark look in his eyes that compliments his features and overall attitude. He carries himself in such a way that old Hollywood actors wish they were so graceful. He’s the polar opposite of you––seemingly. But from the few words you’ve exchanged with each other, he just might be a bunny friend to yours. “I- I saw that there were cameras and I heard people talking… Are you filming a movie?” you ask him.

“...Yes, we are, bunny. I apologize for being so loud. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions with a smile on his face. You nod your head and bite on your bottom lip, watching as his eyes brighten up a bit. “What’s it about? Can I know? Are you the main protagonist? Or the antagonist? What genre is it?” you interrogate, flooding him with questions. “Shh, one at a time, bunny. It’s very, very special and secretive. I can’t tell you much. But I’m the main protagonist, and it’s a bit of a naughty movie, so I don’t think a little girl like you should know much,” he whispers to you.

You nod your head as you listen to him, so intrigued about the work of art being filmed next door. “I’ve always wanted to be in a movie! Especially in one of those old Hollywood ones, they’re so good,” you admit to him shyly, with a coy smirk on your face. “Really? I think you’d be an amazing actress. You’d be even more popular than Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe,” Helmut praises, and you giggle once again.

“T- Thank you so much! ...Can I be in your movie?” you politely request him, but he shakes his head. You frown, your bottom lip jutted out. “You wouldn’t want to be in this movie, bunny. Remember what I said? It’s a naughty movie, and you’re just a little girl,” he reminds you, but you’re still pouting. “Is it a violent movie? One with curse words and lots of scary stuff?” you innocently ask, not sure as to what he means.

Helmut laughs quite loudly. “No,” he stifles a chuckle, “but one day I’ll shoot a movie with you, and I’ll show you how it’s all done.” He promises, and you can just tell he’s honest. You’re elated, hoping that the day he’s talking about will come soon. “What is your name, bunny?” Helmut asks, and you tell him. He nods before repeating it, giving you a smile. He brings both of your hands close to his face. You go on the tip of your toes to properly watch him once more. He presses his lips to the back of your hands, kisses them one by one.

“Go get some rest, bunny, and come by my place tomorrow,” he tells you before letting go of your wrists. He walks off before you do anything else. Sliding the glass door behind him, he disappears somewhere, and you’re left all by yourself. You’re still standing there, sighing dreamily as you replay the moments that will surely turn into a broken record. You hope that he’ll wear those blue swim shorts again, even though he’s already worn them twice.

There’s a skip in your step—nothing new and nothing unusual. Your shoes scratch against the concrete of the sidewalk that connects to Helmut’s front door. The sun only rose an hour and a half ago. The sky is a bright blue, filled with a few clouds that compliment the colour. The sun beats down onto your skin, and you haven’t forgotten to put on sunscreen once you finish twirling around in your little sundress.

You’ve got a miniature backpack that is slung over both of your shoulders. It’s orange, a bright one, in fact. It reminds you of the tangerines you love to peel, and those creamsicle treats that can be quite rare to find at this time of the year. You climb up the two steps that lead to his grey door, and you rap the wood a few times. There’s a doorbell too, one of those high-tech ones that record everything in its view.

Nothing but silence echoes back. No cars driving by, no birds chirping, no insects buzzing. Nothing. You wonder if he’s woken up yet, or if he’s even home. But as the door suddenly swings open––without a squeak, mind you––you’re met with the smiling face that belongs to Helmut. “Good morning, early-bird, is everything alright?” he questions, not one ounce of sleep tainting his look.

“Good morning! Everything is alright… D- Do you remember what you told me yesterday? About coming by?” you ask him, almost thinking to yourself that you’re just insane and that conversation never really happened. “Oh, right! Sorry, I've been a bit forgetful lately. But come in, have you eaten already?” Helmut asks as he moves to the side for you to enter.

Hesitatingly, you step inside his home. You kick off your shoes and look around. It seems sleek and modern at first, quite… different from the familiar feel of your house. Now, there are no wild polygons or geometric shapes that make you feel like you’ve been placed on a spaceship. No, it’s something that even your mind can’t come up with. The walls are a cream colour, engraved with different patterns that make it resemble marble. The chairs and couches have clear plastic legs on them, adding to that newfound era feel.

The floors are a light brown colour; wood in the shape of long, skinny parallelograms fitting against each other perfectly. The lights hang down a bit, high ceilings that you can’t even fathom reaching. You spin around and look up at them as they shine down brightly on you. They stem down from a pretty grey bronze appliqué that is attached to the ceiling. It’s practically art, just like the portraits of half-naked ladies that hang on his walls. There’s a specific piece that is above the fireplace.

It’s a mirror, and your reflection is in it. So is Helmut’s. You’re in front of him, looking at him through the mirror. He’s behind you, staring at your reflection. You both stay like that for a bit before you look away and admire the windows. He has such a lovely view; you can’t help but envy him for it. “Now, bunny, I have to be honest with you. We wrapped the movie up last night, and it was very late. I didn’t call you over because of that, and I’m really sorry about that. Do you forgive me?” Helmut questions.

You nod your head eagerly, just sensing that he’ll lead on with some sort of good news. Your parents have done that far too many times for you not to know better. “But, if you want, I’ll put you in a movie. It’ll be just between you and me because it won’t be too professional, okay?” Helmut grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Oh, yes, please! That sounds amazing. Thank you so much!” you cheer, wrapping your arms around him.

You hug him tightly, and he eventually hugs you back. “Now, I want to finish it as soon as possible. So set your bag right on this couch, and go sit on that one,” Helmut instructs, pointing at the biggest couch in the living room. You nod and do exactly as he tells you. He walks away, possibly to set something up or to get ready, but either way, you still sit on his couch, filled with pure excitement. You cross one leg over the other, your pretty white dress covering the upper half of your thighs.

Lace that is on top of the cotton, both the same colour, and you realize how much you love this dress. Helmut saunters back into the living room, holding a giant tripod in one hand and a small camera in the other. You gasp at the sight, and he chuckles. Setting them up from the other side of the small coffee table, you watch him in awe. “This is going to be… a big girl movie, okay? Just like the one I was in. But I don't think it will be visible to the public eye, might just be between you and I,” Helmut tells you.

You nod in understanding. “Are you fine with that, little bunny?” he asks you just for reassurance. “Mhm, you can do anything you want; I don’t mind!” you reassure him, with a giant smile on your face. He swallows thickly as blood rushes downwards to his cock from your words. You still grin gleefully, such innocence on your features that he almost feels bad for having feelings for you.

He presses the little power button on the camera and waits for a green light to come on. With a smirk, Helmut walks around the table and stands in front of you. You look up at him, waiting for him to do something. He bends down and grabs both sides of your face––gently, of course––and he makes you stand up. He tilts his head and leans forward, slotting his lips against yours.

Now, you’ve kissed someone before. His name started with something along the lines of ‘J’ or ‘L,’ but that doesn’t matter. But that kiss was nothing like Helmut’s kiss. His kiss is soft and passionate, something you struggle to match. His lips stay locked with yours before moving to push his tongue into your mouth. You’re not sure what to do, so you just give up and let him kiss you until you both run out of breath. His tongue runs against the wet skin of your mouth, and you gasp at the feeling.

He eventually pulls away, and he looks at you with his eyes blown out. Helmut sighs and smiles at you. “You gotta trust me, okay?” he tells you once more, and you nod. “Ok…” you trail off, not knowing what to follow up with. “You gotta call me by a nickname, bunny… Hmm, how about Daddy?” he exclaims, his accent becoming more prominent. You love it and how unique it is. “Okay! I like that one a lot, my friend calls her boyfriend that sometimes,” you share with him, and he laughs.

He sits you down on the couch again, and his hand inches up your dress, making you giddy. He smiles at you, and you can see from the corner of your eye how the camera is filming you both. Helmut just knows you’re wet already, but you probably don’t know it. And he’s not wrong. You feel slightly tingly, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your panties slide down your legs, a wet patch on them, and Helmut throws them to the side. He lifts your dress over your head and tosses the fabric away, too.

He takes a step back and admires you. You still have your ankle socks on, but God, you’re so gorgeous he thinks he’s in heaven. “You’re so pretty, bunny. The prettiest bunny I’ve ever seen,” he compliments. You grow shy and smile before whispering a thank you. You smile at the camera, and he begins to undress. The first thing that goes is the robe, and his chest is now exposed.

Helmut hasn’t shaved his chest hair, and you’re glad. It looks nice on him––but to be fair––anything does. All he has on is those swim shorts. God, you love those shorts so much. They’re no longer wet, and yet they still cling to his thighs. He slowly pulls them down––and you feel as though you should look away and give him privacy––but you just can’t. His cock is hard, and it shows through the fabric, but you’re too busy staring at his hands to notice it.

His Adonis belt is slowly exposed, along with his pelvic bone, as he pulls down his boxers as well. There’s a small bush of hair right above his cock, and you find yourself wanting to tangle your fingers between the strands. Helmut’s cock bounces up––hard, red, and leaking––and the tip slaps right below his belly button. You let out a gasp, and he chuckles. His swim shorts lie on the floor, and you’re suddenly being urged to lay back.

Helmut climbs on top of you, caging you beneath his well-built body. Soft abs that are just perfect enough for you, and big hands that hold you so lovingly. He wants to feel his rough palms against your delicate skin, falling into every groove and curve there is. Like an artist admiring their artwork, he runs his hands along your body. From your thighs to your hips, over your stomach, between your breasts, all the way up to your neck. His hard cock is between your legs, nearly touching your sensitive little pussy.

You swallow nervously at the feeling. Helmut’s left hand wraps around your throat, and his right hand moves downwards to your legs. Gripping your calf, he places your right leg on the head of the couch and moves to position your left leg so that it hangs off the edge of the seat. You’re spread wide open for Helmut, not able to hide your naked body or close your legs. Your hands rest above your head, almost as though you’re pathetically shielding your hair from the rain.

Helmut’s hand still rests on your neck, but he doesn’t squeeze your throat or anything like that. You’re not sure if he’s playing the antagonist or not, but you decide to just go along with what he does. “You’re okay, right, bunny? You’re fine, I’m gonna treat you so good,” he promises, and you give him your best superstar smile. You have to admit that you’re nervous, but you trust him completely. Helmut would never do anything wrong to you.

“Has anyone ever touched you down here, bunny? Have you ever touched down here?” he questions you, walking his fingers up to your soaking wet pussy. “Hmm, uh, I touched it once, but I didn’t know what was happening, so I stopped,” you shyly explain to him, and he nods. “That’s okay, bunny. Can I touch you here? I won’t hurt you too badly, I promise,” Helmut assures you, and you nod. His index finger sticks out, and he watches as slick drips from your hole and coats the silky skin around it.

The digit becomes a bit shiny and quite sticky, and he traces your slit lightly. You shiver lightly from his touch, and sensitivity blooms in your core. “Uhm… Daddy?” you call out to him, a bit worried. “What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, bringing his finger up to your clit. It throbs with want, just like the veins on his cock. “It feels very sensitive, almost too sensitive…” you admit to him, even though he continues to touch your clit.

“That’s okay, bunny, that’s how it’s supposed to feel. But if you want to stop, just tell me,” Helmut urges you. “Okay, Daddy.” He rubs your little nub in small, light circles. The muscles in your legs twitch, and you bite down on your bottom lip. He continues to touch your clit, and you begin to writhe from the overwhelming feeling. You let out a few whines, and Helmut watches as your cunt just gets wetter and wetter.

You try to shift his hands away from you in your weird position. It’s just too much at once, and you’re scared of what will happen next. The pornstar’s finger slips off your cunt, and he lets out a small gasp. The sound is mixed with displeasure, and you look him in the eyes with innocence. “Don’t do that again, bunny,” he warns, squeezing your neck a bit just to add to his threat. His index finger returns to your clit, and this time, he rubs your little pearl even harder. You see stars, ones that are dark and would be hidden in the blackness of outer space. Your eyes roll back into your skull, and you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. Helmut’s digit touches the most sensitive part of your clit, and you jerk in response. Your legs try to shut close, but his body stops you from doing so.

When you open your eyes, you’re faced with a displeased superstar. Helmut lets out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself. He knows he shouldn’t get mad at you, but he just doesn’t like it when he doesn’t have his way. His hand leaves your cunt and moves downwards. Suddenly, a harsh slap lands on your ass, making you cry out in pain. The skin stings and prickles, and you can feel slight tears beginning to form in your eyes.

Instead of staring at your pretty little face, Helmut squeezes your neck even tighter and watches as your little hole begins to leak with even more wetness. “Aww, bunny, did you enjoy Daddy hitting you? Hm? I bet you did; that’s you’re so wet,” he chuckles, and you grow shy. He’s not wrong, though. You enjoyed the pain quite a bit, even though you tend to avoid any and all activities that could leave you with a minor injury.

“Such a little slut for pain. But I bet you don’t like it when Daddy gets mean with you, right? Yeah, because you’re just a sensitive little bunny,” he coos, and you smile. You nod to him, and he grins down at you. Helmut’s cock is a furious red, almost purple if you really look closely. Beads of precum run down the sides of his cock, all the way to his thick base. He slaps your ass once more, enjoying the way you flinch and then smile from delight.

“I guess I’ve been a bit mean, just touching your little button without even letting you come…” he sighs before shifting onto his knees. Helmut looks over to the camera, just to make sure it’s still recording. And it is, so he smiles. He towers over you even more now, a few strands on his hair dangling downwards, and you find yourself wanting to play with them. The hand that was on your ass grasps the base of his cock, and he runs the head through your folds.

A quiet squelching sound echoes between the both of you, and you giggle. Your laughter is cut short when he bumps up against your clit, and you let out a moan. The sound is unexpected on your behalf, but Helmut just smirks. Your moans turn into a string of shallow pants, and he curses under his breath at the feeling. Dragging his head away from your clit, he brings himself down to your hole, and you let out an even louder gasp.

“Shh, just let Daddy in, okay? I know it’s your first time, but it’s okay. You’re fine, don’t worry,” Helmut reassures. You nod your head and let out a pained cry as he pushes into you slowly. You feel as though you’re being torn apart, split into two. He grips your throat even tighter, and you wrap your hand around his wrist in a panicked, fleeting moment.

Helmut sheathes himself inside you, with your mouth parted open in a silent scream and his eyebrows knitted together. He eventually bottoms out, and the stretch of his cock goes from a harsh burn to a pleasurable feeling. His swollen balls touch your aching ass, and he bends down to kiss your forehead lightly. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he questions. “Y- Yes, it feels really good, Daddy. Just a li’l uncomfortable, but it feels really good,” you tell him.

Your cunt squeezes him in a tight hug, your silky wet walls welcoming him in hesitantly. He wishes to stay inside you his whole life, and he would if he could convince you. Helmut pulls out until his head is the only thing inside you before roughly thrusting back inside. You cry out, and his hand loosens around your throat. “Such a good girl, letting me use your pussy for my pleasure. You like being recorded while I fuck you, right? Say it,” he demands, fucking into you roughly.

Your tits bounce with each and every movement. Helmut’s cock gets closer and closer to your sweet spot, and you moan loudly. “I- I like being recorded while you fuck me, Daddy,” you repeat to him. Helmut groans loudly, and you clench down on his cock tightly. “You feel so good, bunny, better than anyone else,” he compliments, feeling slick sweat beginning to build upon his back. “Uhm, Daddy? S- Something’s happening,” you whisper to him through your desperate cries of pleasure.

Searing heat grows hotter and hotter in your stomach, right above your pussy. You’ve never felt like this before, other than when Helmut was touching your pussy a few moments ago. “Let it happen, bunny, it’s okay, come all over Daddy’s big cock. I know you can do it, squeeze me, bunny,” Helmut urges, and you listen to him. The powerful feeling grows and grows, and so do your moans. And the elastic cord breaks eventually. It always does.

You cry out ‘Daddy’ as you come undone around his cock for the very first time. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, even though you’re gripping him so tightly. You gush all over him, wetness coating his cock, and it makes him fuck you even quicker. The sound of skin on skin and loud moans fill the room, and Helmut hopes to God that the microphone is picking up on it all. The feeling in your body makes you lose all sense of reality, and you’re babbling like a little baby.

“Daddy- It’s too much,” you sob to him, digging your nails into your palms. “Shh, it’s okay, bunny,” he shushes gently, keeping his hand wrapped lazily around your neck. Helmut’s cock slams into your cunt, pounding into you ruthlessly, yet he’s somehow oh so gentle. Your eyes roll into the back of your head again, and you moan gently as you feel another climax being built up. Back to back, and you’re not sure how your body is going to handle it.

He’s close, too. He’s never had this happen before, and he’s not sure what to think of it.

“Awe, you’re going to come again, bunny? That’s okay, shh, Daddy’s here, bunny. We’ll do it together, and it’ll b- be good,” he tells you, and you nod. Helmut bends down and places his shiny forehead against yours. He stares you into your glassy eyes––they’re hazy––and he can tell you’re gone. You’ve gotten all stupid and dumb for his cock, and he loves the idea so much.

You both pant as he sloppily fucks into your cunt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill up your tight little pussy with my cum. Gonna watch it leak out, and I’m just gonna fill you up over and over again. Make you all mine because you belong to me. Right? Say it,” he growls, fucking you even faster. “I’m all yours, Daddy, I’m all yours,” you say to him, and you’re both pushed off the edge after one specific thrust.

“O- Oh my…” you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut. Helmut curses loudly, saying all kinds of sinful things that a nun would faint if she hears him. His cock twitches as he comes inside you, and your pussy squeezes him as you let go. Streaks of cum shoot out his tip and paint your inner walls, and it all begins to leak out already. Your cum mixes with his, and he can’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight of it.

He presses a kiss on your nose before slowly pulling out. Helmut’s cock is still hard, and he just knows the afternoon won’t end until he says so. You wince loudly at the feeling of emptiness and overwhelming sensitivity. “Sorry, bunny,” he frowns, reaching over for the camera. You watch him through droopy eyelids as he focuses it on your cunt, then to your body, and then to your face.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” you ask him excitedly.

“So good, bunny. You’re going to be sweeping up at the awards next year.”

[babybluebex]

𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖉 | symbiote!zemo x reader smut

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | seven years have passed since the damned thing entered his body, he's hungry, and he has his sights set on you for his final meal. 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 | symbiote!zemo x fem!reader (y/n) 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 6.7k 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON, double penetration, forced creampie, breeding kink, general tentacle porn things, mentions of suicide 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 | happy halloween!! i was writing this BEFORE venom: let there be carnage came out, and then i saw it, and i am so..... i am NOT horny for cleatus im NOT SHUT UP anyway enjoy!

All he heard was the deep growls. All he felt was the heavy rumbling. He couldn’t even hear his own thoughts. His life and his body was hell. All he had left was the insatiable hunger and the growled thoughts of murder and torture.

The hardest thing for him to cope with was that he knew exactly when and where he got this… Thing. It wasn’t an illness or a virus, it was something more, something tangible. And there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Back in Siberia, all those years ago, in pursuit of the super soldiers, he had wrenched the frozen metal door open and stepped into the cold darkness of the cement tunnel that led to the cell where the cryo-soldiers were kept. The hair on the back of his neck had stood up as he entered, and his penlight flickered and died. He was smart, he was former military; he had put fresh batteries in the thing before he left the outpost. “Hello?” he called. He remembered the way his voice bounced off of the frostbitten walls and burrowed back deep into his chest. “Is somebody there?”

Zemo had watched in vague curiosity as a black sludge began to slowly ooze out of the cracks of the cement. Oil? The small blinking light at the door flashed red, then off, then red again; the oil had a purple sheen to it, and almost seemed to be pulsating. Zemo blinked a few times, and mashed his fingers into his eyes. He cursed at himself for not sleeping much the night before. Obviously, he was exhausted and he was seeing things. Oil did not move like that, especially without something acting upon it. Zemo kept his feet planted on the ground, but shuffled slowly closer to the mass of oozing oil. With his gloved hand, he reached out and carefully dipped his fingertips into it, and he brought it up to his face to examine it. It wasn’t oil, he could tell that instantly. It didn’t stink like oil, and it didn’t seep into his gloves. He pressed his fingertips together and watched as the substance latched to both fingers and stretched, like honey. Before he could even whisper to himself, admitting his confusion, the inky purple stuff was slithering down his hand to his wrist. He stumbled backwards and smacked at his arm, and he chewed his tongue as he felt the thing slither up his sleeve and up his stomach and chest under his shirt and coat. He wasn’t sure if he slipped or if the thing tripped him, but he remembered lying prone on the floor, limbs outspread, as the black thing grew in size. It encircled his wrists and ankles, swooped his legs, wrapped around his shoulders and neck. It felt like a jungle vine, thick and heavy and utterly unmovable. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t even do that in his fear. Was this some sort of HYDRA torture device? A long forgotten experiment that was left to rot but became more? HYDRA was the root of his woes, and he couldn’t fathom any other thing that would make this.

Zemo could only watch with wide eyes as the thing slithered evilly over his waist, and one long, cold tentacle sprouted from the mass. It raised itself up his body to look him in the eye— yes, yes, the thing had eyes, its stare was demonic and made his blood run cold— and then small tendrils grew from the tentacle around his neck. They were no bigger than strands of hair, but they grew, chasing their way to his mouth. He began to scream then, trying to kick and fight against the beast, but the small tendrils clamped down over his bottom teeth and lip and forced his mouth open with so much strength that he gave a howl of pain and anguish as he felt the bone of his face crack. And then, the largest tentacle, the one that looked him in the eye, gave a little writhing motion before charging forward, into his waiting mouth.

He was conscious for the entire process, but he wished he had died when the beast had entered his mouth. It ran down his throat, filling his mouth and making him choke on it. He remembered the taste, foul and sour, worse than anything he had ever smelled before. He remembered the feeling of how it had inhabited his body, slithering into his lungs and stomach, filling every nerve inside him, and, when it entered his brain, it was the most glorious feeling he had ever had. He couldn’t believe it. His body was in complete anguish, trying to fight the invader and shutting down at the failure of it, but his head felt normal. Not normal; better than normal. It felt like a thousand of the most intense orgasms rolled into one wave, and his vision went white for just a moment. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the entire thing ended. Every last bit of the dark purple creature escaped upwards, following the path that was left for it, entering his mouth and leaving no trace of itself behind. The floor wasn’t stained, his clothes didn’t look touched (except for the wet stain inside his pants, and he couldn’t discern if the wetness was urine or semen). By all accounts, nothing had happened. And yet…

The fuzziness in his head persisted. He was confused. Every thought in his head was a growled voice, his own, but lower and angrier. It spoke just a second before he did; he would hear his words gravelled inside his head, and then, a second later, they’d escape his mouth. The only time that the creature wasn’t raging against its cranial jail was when things around him were quiet. On that snowy hill, the cold gun in his hand, his phone to his ear. He listened to Heike’s last message, heard his son playing in the background of the phone call. The creature was quiet until Zemo deleted the voicemail, and then spoke in an articulate, if hissing, voice: “You have me now. You do not need them.”

“My family?” Zemo mumbled. “Or the Avengers?”

“Both.”

He raised the gun to his chin and, without a second thought, squeezed the trigger. Death was better than living with this thing inside him. His blood felt like fire in his veins, bordering on pain with every pump of his heart. Death was better. But death didn’t come. The gun went off and Zemo was thrown backwards into the embankment of snow behind him, and his eyes flashed open to show one long tentacle, sprouting from his back, curled in front of his face. The bullet was lodged in the slithering oil, and it dropped it into his lap. “I’ll never let you get hurt,” the thing told Zemo, its voice filling his head once more. “We’ll be best friends, together forever.”

You had been briefed on this prisoner, and you felt a sinking guilt and awfulness when you thought about the day ahead. You knew very little about Baron Helmut Zemo other than what you had learned from the news, that he was charged with terrorism, murder, and a laundry list of other crimes, and that, during his trial, he had bargained his way off death row and into several life sentences. However, your job now was to determine if he was being truly reformed and deserving of parole, or if he was still the man that the jury knew. You could remember seven years ago, watching the trial on TV, how the Baron seemed fidgety and uneasy, moving his lips and speaking to himself. He looked perpetually ill, too; pale, sallow skin, bloodshot eyes, his lips chewed red and sore, his hair limp. At the time, a court psychiatrist had diagnosed him with a form of schizophrenia and said that it contributed to his crimes, but seven years of therapy and medication had passed. Now, you had to reevaluate him.

The room was cold and metallic, and you heard the shuffling of your papers against the walls. He was due in any minute, and you swallowed thickly at the anticipation. You wondered if you had time to run to the restroom and splash your face with water, but the heavy iron door gave a thundering thud as it was unlocked. You sat up straight, partly in professionalism and partly in fear, and you watched the door open. There were two German-speaking guards flanking the man they led in, and you gave him a good look.

Those brown eyes were the same ones you remembered from the television, but everything else looked different. His skin had more color to it, his cheeks rosy with health; he had a thick, dark beard on his chin, and his caramel-colored hair was fluffy atop his head. He wore an easy navy uniform, the canvas pants and shirt along with a zippered hoodie and shuffling slippers. Chains around his ankles and wrists clanked as he walked, and you saw his hands clasped formally in front of his waist. “Thank you, gentlemen,” you said, and one nodded before he left. The remaining guard palmed you a small plastic container, like a film container, and he mumbled, “If you need it, there’s a key. Try not to need it.”

You nodded in understanding, and pushed the plastic container into your pocket as Zemo sat down in his metal chair. You waited until the door closed firmly to take a breath, and you said, “If you don’t mind me conducting this interview in English…”

“As you wish,” Zemo replied. His voice was deep and rumbling, with that Sokovian accent that was so rare nowadays. You were a native Sokovian; you recognized it. But you had moved from Sokovia when you were young and had been able to train the accent away, as well as any memory of your life there. Maybe, though, that was for the best.

“I’ve exhausted all of my German,” you chuckled lightly. “And I don’t remember a lick of Sokovian. Again, if you don’t mind, I would also like to record this interview; for later use, if need be.”

Zemo nodded, and you tugged out your palm-sized recorder. You set it easily on the table, where he could see it at all times, and you paused to start the recording before you spoke again. “For my records, could you state your full name, please?” you asked.

Zemo sighed through clenched teeth, and he gestured his entwined hands towards the papers in front of you. “Do you not have my full name there?”

“It’s just a formality,” you replied easily; you were used to that question and, while it was frustrating, it was a daily occurance. “Full name, please.”

“What title would you prefer?” he asked. “Baron or Colonel?”

“Whichever pleases you most,” you told him. You remembered reading in his file that he used to be the leader of EKO Skorpion, a kill-squad whose ledger dripped red, but you wondered if he chose to associate with that part of him. He had retired from the military shortly after his son was born, and you had assumed that he might have tried to move away from that part of his life. It was a natural reaction, for sure, and you wondered if he ever regretted his decision to leave.

“My name,” he began. “Is Baron Helmut Zemo.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “So, Baron, we can start pretty easy. How have you been?”

Zemo scoffed. “I have been in prison for seven years,” he replied. “Not great.”

You nodded a bit in understanding. That much was to be expected. “How would you rate your daily mood?” you asked, taking up your pen and jotting down notes. Hostile; obviously does not want to be here. “On a scale of one to ten, one being awful, ten being amazing.”

“Two or three,” Zemo replied. “Depends if there’s cake with dinner.”

You chuckled a bit, and raised your eyes to him. “You like cake?” you asked, and Zemo nodded with no hint of humor or amusement. “What’s your favorite?”

“Chocolate,” Zemo said simply.

“Cool, that’s good,” you said. Likes chocolate cake; reward system? “So, on a daily basis, you’re not doing too great. You’ve been taking your medication?”

“I have no choice,” Zemo said sharply. “They watch me, and check under my tongue.”

“I take it you don’t particularly like your medication,” you said softly. “Why is that?”

“They make me tired,” Zemo said, and he clenched his jaw as his fingers began to drum on the metal table. “And they make me…”

Tired and… “And what else?” you asked. “If it’s something embarrassing, I understand, but please don’t feel ashamed. I’m a psychiatrist, Baron, I promise I’ve heard it before.”

“I’m afraid it’s crass,” Zemo said, lowering his eyes away from your face for the first time since he entered the room. “But… They tend to make me aroused.”

Increased libido. “Alright,” you said quickly. “That’s normal, especially with the amount of medication you’re on. I can see if I can adjust your dosage to lessen that, if you’d like? If that’s getting in the way of daily activities and things, it’s certainly not a problem.”

Zemo shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “I just masturbate a lot.”

You shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that,” you said, and you briefly checked the previous appointment notes. You hadn’t taken them, but he had complained about these things before, and you couldn’t find a record of changes ever actually being made. Poor guy was suffering for no reason.. “So, other than being tired and aroused, are there any other issues with your medication? Digestion issues or things like that? Or other issues, period?”

“No,” Zemo replied, and he took a deep breath. “The meds make me hungry, though.”

You nodded quickly and wrote that down. “I’m sure I could get you bigger meal portions,” you said. “Or a snack in between meals. Whatever you’d like.”

“I don’t need more food,” Zemo laughed bitterly. “I’ve already gotten fat.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t think so. Weight gain on mediation is normal, and I assume that you’re leading a generally healthier lifestyle now: regular meals, halfway-decent sleep, and mental stimulation. This is all normal, but, if it bothers you—”

“You’re American,” Zemo said, interrupting you, as if he hadn’t been listening to you at all. “Where did you study?”

“I’m not American by birth,” you replied. “I studied at Harvard, though.”

“Not American,” he repeated. “Can I guess?”

“I’m Sokovian,” you told him gently. “I was born in Novi Grad and moved to New York when I was young. I don’t remember anything about Sokovia, but it might be for the best…”

Zemo nodded slowly, and he mumbled, “Sokovia was a good country. I was proud to serve it, even if I hated every second of it… And Harvard. Smart girl. I didn’t go to university; I didn’t want to do anything when I was 18.”

“What led you to enlist in the military?” you asked.

“My father,” Zemo said. “Heinrich was a mean son of a bitch and told me I was going to do something with my life, or he would disown me, so I did the first thing I thought of.”

“And you said you enjoyed your military service?”

“Who does?” Zemo asked. “I hated it. I’m… Haunted by it. You never forget the way a man looks when he’s begging for his life. I was proud to represent my country, but I hated what I had to do to serve it.”

You nodded softly, not quite sure how to respond. You felt sorry for him; he was obviously very troubled, not that it excused what he had done to end up in prison. “How have you been spending your free time?” you asked; you wanted to steer the conversation away from his military service, as it seemed he was becoming agitated by talking about it.

Zemo shrugged. “Reading,” he said. “I lead a very boring life, draga, much more dull than I wish my life to be.”

“What’re you reading?” you asked, not even bothering to react to the nickname. Many of the inmates called you little pet names— you were a youthful and pretty woman, you were bound to be the angel of the prison. Zemo was no different than any other man you assessed. “Anything good?”

“Machiavelli,” he replied.

“Do you like Machiavelli?” you asked. That was a little concerning, considering how angry Machiavelli could tend to be in his writings, and you jotted down a quick note about that.

“Can I admit something to you?” Zemo asked, lurching forward in his seat. You moved backwards in shock, your chair creaking with the movement, and Zemo’s lips curled into a smile. “Oh. Did I scare you, draga?”

“Not scared,” you said, even though you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. “Just… Startled. I wasn’t prepared for you to move so quickly.”

“I might be old and fat, but I can still move,” Zemo said. “Can I admit something to you?”

“Yes, of course,” you told him. “You can tell me anything; if the admission makes me concerned for your safety or the safety of others, though, I’m required to report it.”

“Of course,” Zemo said with a quick nod. “But I’ve been on this medication for… Seven years? And I don’t think I’m getting better.”

“No?” you asked, tilting your head. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I can still hear that voice,” Zemo told you, his brown eyes wide. “You people told me I would get better and stop hearing the voice.”

“I didn’t…” you began. “I didn’t realize you still could hear it.” Auditory hallucination has returned; recommend med change. “Do you think you’d like to change medication?”

“That won’t fix it,” Zemo said. “He’s never going away. No medication can make him leave.”

“Him?” you asked, and flipped through your papers, looking for any notation that indicated that Zemo had previously personified his hallucination. “What’s his name, Zemo?”

“Azazel,” Zemo told you. “My very own bringer of war. It’s poetic.”

“It’s Biblical,” you replied.

“Sokovia was a Catholic country,” Zemo said easily. “You knew this, you’re as traumatized by it as I am.”

“So, you say that Azazel is still talking to you,” you said softly, shaking off the jab. “Is he speaking now?”

Zemo paused, his eyes focused on the table in front of him, and he nodded. “He says he wants…” Zemo began. “No. No. You can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what?” you asked, and Zemo turned away from you as best as he could while still shackled in his chair.

“I don’t care!” he hissed. “You can’t… No! You can’t do that either!”

“Are you speaking to Azazel right now?” you asked, and Zemo shushed you harshly.

“Listen, I finally pay attention to you and you treat me like this?” Zemo said. “I oughta stop eating that cake, that’ll shut you up.”

You started to speak, to admonish him for trying to punish himself, but a third voice entered the space. It was deeper and burrowed hard into your chest, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. It curled mysteriously around your ears, tendrils pushing to your brain. “If you stop the chocolate,” the voice said. “I’ll eat your brain!”

“Like hell you would,” Zemo scoffed.

“Why won’t I?” the thundering voice asked.

“Because you haven’t yet,” Zemo replied.

“Who is this?” you asked. Your hands had started to quiver, and you put your pen down shakily. There was nobody else in the room, nobody else to speak. “Is-Is the intercom on?”

“You’re an awful host,” the voice said again, and Zemo rolled his eyes.

“You’re an awful parasite,” Zemo replied.

“Baron, do you know who’s speaking?” you asked quickly. You reached out for the recorder, set to turn it off and pack up your shit and leave, but something happened. As you reached out and your dress sleeve tugged up to expose your wrist, something grabbed your arm. It took you a second to understand what you saw, because what you were seeing was ridiculous: a shining, black tentacle was wrapped tight around your wrist. It slithered and writhed like a snake, and you shrieked and tried to tug your arm away.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the deep godlike voice told you, and your vision clouded with frightened tears. “Are you scared of us?”

“Let me go!” you cried, trying to yank your arm away. The tentacle was stronger than you, though, and he jerked you forward. Your stomach collided with the edge of the table and you groaned in pain, and your gaze went to Zemo.

He looked… Nonplussed. His forehead was wrinkled, but he was still sitting, still shackled. “Baron!” you whimpered. “What is this?”

“It’s my voice,” he said. “The thing that you people tried to get rid of.”

“You people?” you repeated. You remembered him saying that earlier, but you hadn’t brought attention to it. Who were your people? Doctors? People who worked for the prison?

“Normal people,” Zemo said, sensing your confusion. “I-I didn’t want Azazel to come out, I’m sorry, he’s really disobedient—”

“Let go of me!” you shrieked and tried to tug at your wrist again, but a second tentacle wrapped tight around your ankle. “Zemo! Stop this, please!”

“— But you’re disobedient too,” Zemo said. His gaze turned hard, his brown eyes nearly black, and he said, “You lied to me. You told me this was a check-up, but you’re not my normal psychiatrist. You’re trying to assess if I’m well enough to be put back on death row, aren’t you?”

“No!” you told him, and you kicked out at the tentacle around your ankle. It only tightened, pinching your skin, and you felt your sinews shifting with the force of it. “Th-That’s not it, Zemo! Please, make him stop!”

“You deserve to be punished,” Zemo said. “Just as I deserved to be punished, but my punishment is… Him.”

You felt a third tentacle wrap around your leg, and it slithered upwards, towards your waist. Fear flashed hot in your body, and you lashed out against it. “Make him stop,” you sobbed. “Please! What’s he doing?”

“He’s punishing you,” Zemo replied simply. He didn’t seem upset by the fact that his “parasite”, as he called it, this monster inside of him, was restraining you and brutalizing you. “I can’t stop him. It’s been seven years since he had a proper meal, and he’s been raging ever since you walked in.”

“Don’t do this,” you whimpered. “Please don’t do this, please, you’ll regret it—”

“Why?” Zemo asked. “Because I’ll be put to death? I deserve it. I deserved to have been killed seven years ago, but that doctor back then, he got me off easy, he said I was sick, but I’m not. Azazel didn’t come to me until after my crimes. Everything I did was me.”

“And I deserve this?” you asked. The third tentacle was tight around your hips now, and the wriggling tip was playing with the bottom of your dress, almost as if it were a teasing lover. “Please, please, I’ll do anything.”

“The time for begging has passed, girl,” the deep voice said, now fully rebounding in your skull; Azazel, the parasite, the symbiote. You remembered years ago, when you were just a girl, when you had just moved to New York City, aliens invaded. You remembered being sent home and cowering with your parents in the apartment, your mother praying and your father watching the news as these slithering creatures destroyed whole blocks and killed countless people. You could recall the sight of the Avengers, newly formed, fighting the creatures called the Chitauri, and you remembered how your father had thrown up when they were seated. But they left several things behind. A high schooler in New York had come into contact with the materials they left a few years ago, but you could recall rumors that the aliens had left babies and eggs on the earth. It was a horror story, one that guys told in order to make their girlfriends clutch their arms at bonfires, a slimy octopus monster that would eat human brains in order to stay alive. But it was always just a myth to you. There was nothing real about it. It was ridiculous to even consider the thing to be real, but it was real, here, and you were his victim.

“He’s going to eat me, isn’t he?” you gasped, your tears rolling down your cheeks. Your entire body shook, and you sniffled as Zemo nodded in your peripheral vision. You couldn’t look up from the table; you would see him, you would see the tentacles.

“Eventually,” Zemo told you. “But first he’s gonna have some fun. We both need it.”

You couldn’t even muster up the courage to make a sound as the tentacle pushed up your thigh, and you finally lifted your head to Zemo. The tentacles were sprouting from his back as he still sat in the chair, and his eyes were black. The simple sight of it made your body run stiff and cold, and you completely forgot about fighting back. But, as the tip of the tentacle pushed your panties aside, an involuntary scream ripped itself from your throat. “Make him stop!” you yelped, but a fourth tentacle shot from Zemo’s back and shoved itself past your lips with no hesitation. You choked on the limb, tasting like sour and rotten garbage, and the monster took the moment in which you were distracted to shove itself up into your cunt.

Your body instantly protested the shock of the intrusion, and you screamed around the tentacle in your mouth. The sound of the thing inside you was awful, slithering around with wet slurps, exploring your channel and kissing your cervix, and you screamed at the pain. The stretch of its thick base threatened to split you in two, and the tip wriggled fiercling against your cervix. It toed that border of pain and pleasure, and it only tipped to pain because of how fucking terrified you were. Zemo was watching you scream and cry, his eyes fixed on your face, and the monster gave a thundering groan that made your knees weak with fear. “Feels good,” the monster purred. The tentacle inside your mouth pushed further in, becoming thicker and thicker and forcing your mouth wider, and you began to choke and gag on it. You almost thought the pain of it would kill you. You almost wished it would.

And then, awfully, the tentacle that had penetrated your cunt began to pull out before it rocked back in. It wasn’t just going to claim you and frighten you and humiliate you; it was going to fuck you. The monster, this unexplainable thing, was going to fuck you and eat your brain. It sounded absurd, and perhaps it was, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to cry anymore. You lifted your hand from the table and scrambled to grab Zemo’s hand, and he took no time to fill your fingers with his. His hands were still shackled and, even though there didn’t seem to be much behind the darkness of his eyes, his eyebrows were drawn in displeasure.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” Zemo sighed as the monster fucked you harder. The table shifted underneath you with the force of it and you yelped around the thing in your mouth, and Zemo frowned. “I said, stop it. I won’t let you eat her if you don’t stop.”

“You wouldn’t!” Azazel thundered. His voice rattled up his limb and into your body, and your knees buckled. No. No, there was no way that you were deriving even a little pleasure from this thing. “You promised!”

“But she’s frightened,” Zemo said. “And I want a turn with her before you flip her inside out.”

“Fine!” Azazel huffed like an insolent child, and he fully retracted from inside you. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as his tentacle fell from your mouth, and you gagged and spit on the table. Your saliva was tinted black from him, the oil and grime that was on his limb, and you whimpered when he tugged himself from your cunt.

“Draga,” Zemo began softly. His warm hand touched your cheek, angling your head up to look at him, and you cowered away; Azazel still held your waist tightly, and you wanted to crawl out of your skin to escape him. You sniffled and whimpered, and Zemo’s face fell. “The key that the guard gave you. Which pocket did you put it in?”

You sniffled, and your bottom lip wobbled so hard that you couldn’t even form words. Zemo sighed, and one of Azazel’s free tentacles slithered back your leg. You began to cry again, utterly terrified and hoping that he wouldn’t violate you a second time, but Zemo’s big paw slapped over your mouth. He shushed you gently, and the tentacle went into a pocket on your dress. It curled around the small container that held the key and flung it up towards Zemo, and it landed on the table so loudly that you jolted. You sniffled again and your hands shook as you grabbed at the container, and you held Zemo’s wrist in a steel grip as you struggled to unlock his handcuffs. Your dexterity was already awful before you even came in the room, and now your whole body was vibrating with shock and fear. You hoped, for your own sake, that you wouldn’t remember any of this.

Finally, you managed to free Zemo, and his gentle hand brushed your tears and smudged makeup away. “Good girl,” he whispered. “You’re gonna let me have my fun now, right?”

“Th-They’ll see you,” you stammered. “Th-There’s c-cameras… They’ll see this.”

“They won’t see him,” Zemo told you. “Azazel only shows himself to people he wants to. On the cameras, they’ll watch you cry and get weak in the knees for no reason, and then they’ll see me fuck you.”

“I-I’ll tell them the truth,” you said. “My rec-corder, they’ll hear him.”

“No, they won’t,” Zemo said. “Nobody else will see anything or hear anything. For all intents and purposes, we’re alone.”

You struggled for a different threat. “I’ll say you raped me,” you told him. “Y-You forced yourself on me.”

“Well, I’m about to do that, aren’t I?” Zemo asked. “And there will be hard evidence, your precious cameras and recordings. Trial won’t last a day, and I’ll be on death row again. I’ll be roasted like a fucking pig and I deserve it, but thank God I get to have some pussy before I go out.”

“You’re evil,” you hissed, and you spat at him. Zemo didn’t even flinch as your black-tinted spit hit his cheek, and he only grabbed the key from your trembling fingers and went about unlocking his ankles. The black oily tentacles were still sprouting from his back, and you saw the rips and holes in his shirt and jacket as he leaned over. They were a part of him. He truly was a host to an alien parasite.

The restraints fell to the floor with a loud slam, and Zemo walked freely to your side of the table. He took a moment to grab your recorder and place it on the floor, away from both of you, and he swept a soft hand on your neck, pushing your hair aside. “I haven’t touched a woman in eight years,” he whispered, touching his nose to your hair. “Fuck, I could cum just from the smell of you… You’ll let me do whatever I want, right?”

“Go to hell,” you whimpered.

“In due time, draga,” Zemo said. “But first you’re going to grant a dying man’s wish. Open your legs.”

You drew in a quivering breath, and his hand fell to your back, just between your shoulder blades. He pushed you forward, further and further until your chest collided with the table, and he pushed your legs further apart with his foot. He flipped up your skirt and shoved your panties down your thighs, and he gave a deep groan at the sight of your cunt. “God, that’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen…” he mumbled, and he touched his fingertips to your swollen lips. You jumped at the contact, and he gave a little laugh. “Sensitive, are we? Fuck, this is gonna be so good.”

Your legs trembled as you heard the shuffling of his clothing, and you hated the way that the head of his cock almost felt good against your cunt. He was warm, unlike the monster. You could smell his body, feel his pulse, hear his breathing. You were almost comforted by his humanity. It had been a long time since you had had sex and, under normal circumstances, you would have welcomed Zemo into your body. But, failing that, you had to bite your lip and claw at the table as he pushed the thick head of his cock into you. The pain burned, less that Azazel had, but it was still enough to make you whimper a little.

Zemo shushed you, his hand stroking down the side of your body, and he softly kissed your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Take it, draga, I know you can. You took Azazel, I know you can take me.” Your channel throbbed with the pain, and Zemo gave a strangled groan at the sudden restriction on his cock. How long had it been for him? Eight years, he had said earlier, since he touched a woman. The poor man was starving for it.

He didn’t hesitate to grab your hips and anchor his body on yours, and he began to rock his hips into you. The way his cock split you with each thrust left you breathless, and he was quick to reach around to your throat and grab you. He squeezed the sides of your neck, hard enough for your vision to go a little grey, and he chuckled. He said nothing, though, still pistoning himself inside you. His thrusts were long and punishing, almost as if you had done something wrong and he was teaching you a lesson. Maybe he was teaching you a lesson. Maybe he was teaching you what happened to people who angered him.

Your legs were weak as Zemo fucked you, and his arm went tight around your waist to keep you upright. He huffed a little with exertion each time he fucked into you, but your pained moans seemed to be the fuel he needed. His free hand pushed up your dress and groped at your tits, and he chuckled when he found your nipples stiff. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he laughed. “You wanna cum on my cock so badly, don’t you? Say it, little girl, tell me how badly you wanna make a mess on my cock.”

You sobbed. Not because you were scared anymore; no, now it was a sob of pleasure. Zemo angeled himself inside you, and the thick head of his cock kissed at that sweet spot inside you, and your whole body writhed in his strong grip. “Wanna…” you whimpered, gulping down air. “Wanna cum. Let me cum, please.”

“Oh, saying please,” Zemo laughed, squeezing your tit hard enough to make you gasp. “How polite. How can I refuse that?” His hand went further up your body, his hand snaking out of the collar of your dress to grasp your throat once more, and his strong fingers grasped your chin and tugged your head to the side. Quickly, his lips sealed to yours in a messy kiss, spit coating your lips and connecting you fully to him, and his tongue claimed your small mouth as he fucked you harder, one more time. “Cum, baby,” he sighed into your open mouth, and he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Cum for me, draga, please cum.”

The desperation in his pleading was not lost on you, but you didn’t have time to ponder it. Your body was reacting to Zemo with a hot intensity, and a fire devoured your skin as you felt yourself gushing cum around his thick cock. Your hips jerked forward, your sensitive skin trying to escape Zemo’s throbbing cock, and you whimpered and sobbed into his mouth. “Zemo,” you whined. His hands moved from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist, and he held you as your body finished. It was a tender embrace, almost like one of experienced lovers, and he kissed your cheek and face as you heaved out steadying breaths. “Good girl, good girl,” he whispered gently. “Oh, fuck, you’re so tight… I’m gonna cum inside you.”

“No!” you cried. “No, please don’t—”

“Shh, draga,” Zemo whispered. “I can’t pass him off to you like this. You won’t get anything from me… Maybe a baby, if it takes. Would you like to have my baby? I’ll be executed for this, you’ll be having a dead man’s child.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed. “Fuck you, let me go.”

“I’m not done yet,” Zemo said. He held you tightly, and you felt his steady heartbeat against your back as he began to fuck you once more, harder and faster than before. You were still painfully sensitive, and you yelped and cried with the pain of the overstimulation that he was putting you through, and he only laughed and smiled and called you pathetic.

And then, you felt that cold, slimy tentacle around your leg again. You didn’t have the energy to fight it, and you fell limp in Zemo’s arms as the tentacle pushed back up your body, just as it had done before. How long ago was that? Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter much. Your mouth fell open as you felt the tip prod at your poor cunt once again, and Zemo groaned softly as Azazel pushed himself into you, right up against Zemo’s cock. The stretch was awful, the worst thing you had ever felt, and it took everything inside you to not pass out. You needed to stay conscious, you needed to know what was happening. If you later blocked it out, that was fine; in the moment, though, you needed as much clarity as you could manage.

The two fucked you in unison, Zemo’s grunting growing louder and more unrestrained with each clench that your channel gave. The monster’s awful groaning filled your ears as well, and you chewed your tongue as you cried. “Let me go,” you whispered. “Please, please…”

“We’ll never let you go,” Azazel told you. One of his tentacles ran up your body and circled around your neck, strong and heavy like a snake, and he slowly tightened himself around you. He was going to kill you. He was going to kill you and eat you, and you were entirely at his and his host’s mercy. There was nothing to do to stop him. “You’re ours now. Forever.”

Somewhere in-between Zemo’s moans and Azazel’s threats, you felt Zemo emptying himself deep inside you. It was hot and sticky inside you, filling you to the brim and making you sick, and Zemo gave a hiss as he pulled himself out of you. Azazel followed suit, his slithering limb falling from your body, and the room was quiet enough for you to hear the drops of cum leaking from you and splashing onto the floor. Zemo breathed heavily, trying to recover physically from the exertion, and you watched him come back to the other side of the table as he stuffed himself back into his pants.

“Don’t fret, draga,” Zemo said, lightly touching your cheek. “I’ll be dead by morning.”

“A-And what does that make me?” you panted. Your eyes stung, and you couldn’t even bear to look at him. He deserved it. He deserved death. Living was too good for him. Living with the memory of his pleasure was too much of a service for this man.

“Well,” Zemo began, pushing his hair out of his forehead. “I’d say that makes you… Fucked. Wouldn’t you agree?”