#i did all this just so murai could wear that hat

[sebbyisland]

888 fishing trip.png

[derailedfiction]

The Most Wanted | Baron Zemo | The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairings: Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader | Sam Wilson & Fem!Reader |  James Barnes & Fem!Reader

Word count: 6764

Warnigns: smut, a bit of swearing

Summary: After John Walker's outburst, Reader.and the boys ™️ follow a promising lead of a certain doctor.

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE :D enjoy <3 

tag list: @sea-murai you’re my smut queen 

What a mess, you thought replaying in your head over, and over again how the poor man was decapitated. You returned to the empty apartment and made yourself a drink, which you drank at the spot and immediately you refilled empty glass. You looked at the amber liquid pensive. It was not the first time you saw somebody getting killed but the brutality of the act itself and the direct publicity it had from the very start, made you feel sick.

With heavy sight, you sat down on the sofa and closed your eyes. It was not the only haunting thought that was in your mind. The kiss. You suspected he did it to play with you, but you could not stop feeling his lips upon yours. How gentle and soft they were and Zemo’s gloved hand lightly caressing your chin as you succumbed to his actions.

What a nonsense, you thought and took away your own fingers that tried to trace his touch on your lips. But it was a pleasant nonsense, and you did not really want to let it go.

“Still here?” you heard Sam as he walked in. “Your great prize just escaped; you’re not following him?”

“Kein Problem, Sam. Ich verfolge ihm, [Not a problem, Sam. I’m tracking him,]” you answered him opening your eyes.

They both looked like they have been through hell. Weary, bruised up with some cuts on faces, but somehow victorious as you spotted the shield in Sam’s hands, still wearing some marks of blood on its surface.

“We must think what to do with Walker, he clearly snapped,” Bucky said as he was taking off his gear. “It’s hard to deal with what he’s done to the shield.”

That sounded way more accusatory than it supposed to be, and you saw Sam slightly tensing his jawline, listening to Bucky. It was something that you were used to, as James would from time to time throw such punchlines toward Sam, and how he has treated the shield.

You got up and went for the first aid kit, which still was in bathroom after Zemo helped you with taking out the bullet. You heard them heatedly arguing back in the room, so you grabbed the kit and went back.

“Sitz [Sit,]” you ordered James showing him the chair, and surprisingly he obliged. You then took a swab with sanitizer and tried to clean his face cuts, but he retreated catching your hand. “Komm jetzt, es wird nur für einen Moment kneifen [Come now, it’ll pinch only for a moment,]“

He let your hand go, rather unconvinced and allowed you to continue with the procedure.

“Sie mussen ihm neutraliziren. [You have to neutralize him.]” you referred to what they were arguing about, whilst cleaning James’ nose cut. “Er kann nicht ein Super-Soldat sein. Das ist zu gefährlich. [He can’t be a super soldier. It’s too dangerous.]”

“Well, that’s out of the question,” James answered with sigh.

“Yeah, but how do you want to take down a bloody murderer? It’s not like we can burst into his house and handcuff him, man,” Sam stood looking at the two of you, with crossed arms. “He’s a straight up killer, a super killer. He won’t go easy, especially as something broke in him.”

“I have told you something was not alright about him,” with nod you agreed to what Bucky has said.

“Warum hat er diesen Mann getötet? Was ist passiert? [Why did he kill that man? What has happened?]” you asked.

“Lemar, his partner died in action. It was actually Karli that pushed him into the wall, but Walker set his mind on that man,” you stood silent for a longer while, thinking intensively about something. In the meantime you let James to go, as you finished with cleaning of his cuts and invited Sam to take his place.

“Ich kenne eine Frau, sie ist eine Wissenschaftlerin und sie hatte an dem Super-Soldat Serum und einer Art Gegenmittel gearbeitet. [I know a woman. She’s a scientist and she worked on the super soldier serum and some kind of antidote.]”

“Really? – Nicht bewegen, [Don’t move,]” Sam looked at you as Bucky explained him what you have said. You found it utterly irritating and hard to tend his head cut as he moved all the time.

“Nun, ich kenne sie nicht persönlich, aber ich weiß, dass es diesen Wissenschaftler gibt, der versucht, die Wirkung des Serums umzukehren. [Well, I don't know her personally, but I do know that there is this scientist who is trying to reverse the effects of the serum,]” you took your time washing the wounds and bruised lip.

Only when you finished, you cleaned up and put the rest of the things back into the first aid kit. Then you took out your laptop and started looking for some useful information.

“Don’t you think is worth a shot?” Bucky asked Sam, who wasn’t that convinced to your idea. He didn’t trust you and you could not blame him for that. Especially, as you let Zemo escape their custody.

“Do we have other option? We should try this, it’ll be easier to do something with him, when he’s not a super soldier,” you felt Sam’s glances as he has spoken with James. “But still, I don’t trust her that much to do as she proposes.”

“For a bit we’re stuck with her,” they both stopped talking to look at you, working on the computer. You paused and looked back at them.

“Was? [What?]” you tilted your head and returned to your work.

“Anyway, we try to find this scientist and then we go back to States. I’m done with Europe for a while.”

“Mags du die offiziele Treffen? [Do you like official meetings?]”, you closed laptop and approached men. “[I know you have enough of Europe, but we’ll be here for a bit longer. In two days, there’s an annual meeting of scientist. What very little people know that it is also an annual convention of all sorts of medical freaks.]”

“Where is it?”

“Come sta il tuo gentiluomo italiano? Andiamo a Venezia. [How is your Italian? We are going to Venice],” you asked them with disarming smile as you saw confusion on their faces.

“How many languages do you know, woman?” Sam was highly shocked considering your ability to change languages so easily.

“A lot,” you smiled cheekily answering him in the purest English, much to his dismay.

***

“Do we have to go through the plan again?” you growled under your nose, hesitantly getting up from the bed you sat on.

You arrived in Venice in the early morning, when the whole city was still asleep. The three of you took that opportunity to do a short reconnaissance in front of the opera where later that day, the event was to be held. A square in front of it was rather small but provided enough space to set an observation station. You really hoped for a moment free to go and visit a bit more of the city you haven’t seen for a long time. Unfortunately, during the day you were seated in the nearby café as Sam and James went inside.

“Bucky and I go inside, and we try to find this doctor of yours. You Y/N, will be a watch-out in the nearby,” James looked at you for a moment, thinking about something.

“Can you tell me again, why you can’t go inside with us?”

“Wie ich Ihnen bereits sagte, wünschen mir einige Leute dort den Tod, [As I told you, some of the people there wish me dead,]“ you shook your head lightly. “So, denke ich, das ist keine gute Idee für mich in zu gehen. Jeder würde wissen, dass etwas lost ist. [So, I think it’s not a good idea for me to go in. Everybody would know something is going on.]”

James was visibly tormented by the idea of you doing things on your own.

“Es ist in Ordnung, ich verstehe dich und dass du mir nicht vertraust, James. [That’s alright, I understand you and that you don’t trust me, James,]” you gently put your hand on his arm. “Aber wir haben keine anderen Lösungen [But we don’t have any other options,]“ he sighed as he knew there was no other idea and that was your best shot so far.

“Right, but how do we get in there? We don’t even have clothes or anything?”

You smiled broadly as you were waiting for this question. You went to the phone and dialed a number, “Sie werden hinreißend aussehen, [You’ll look ravishing,]” you winked at them and started talking on the phone.

Within an hour, you were gaily sitting in a comfortable chair, slowly drinking your second mimosa and simply enjoying the view. Sam and James were trying on their tuxedos for the evening, which was truly captivating activity as you could look at two well-built men in smart clothes.

“Is it me or Y/N enjoys this a bit too much?” Sam turned around to see himself in the mirror.

“Ja, ich genieße die Aussicht, [Yes, I do enjoy the view,]” you smiled and raised your glass to toast and finished off the drink, which was immediately refilled.

Bucky stood silently in his dark-blue velvet jacket and you could have sworn he was mumbling something about you acting like Zemo.

“Komm schon Jungs, du muss anständig aussehen, um in die Oper zu gehen, [Come on boys, you have to look decent to go to the opera,]” the tailor took the last measurements from Sam and invited Bucky to stand on a low step.

“Ah, James, du siehst absolut schneidig aus [James, you look absolutely dashing],” you complimented the man as the dark shade of blue looked absolutely mesmerizing on him. “Du auch siehst absolut schneidig aus, Sam,” what was more to say, you simply took pleasure in both, observing them in those fancy clothes and how miserable they were at the same time.

“Aren’t you getting ready?” Sam asked, looking at himself in the mirror one more time. You sensed that he actually liked being dressed like this.

“Ja, aber ich bin schon bereit, schau. [Yes, but I’m already ready, look,]” with your free hand you pointed to a hanger with long, evening dress in your favourite colour, next to which stood high-heels.

As you finished your last drink, you got up from the armchair and spoke to the tailor, who informed you that there, is need only for small changes and outfits would be ready within two hours. You smiled to him and left the room with the dress and shoes to get ready.

It was not your first time to be a watch out but what concerned you the most about this evening, was the fact that you still had the Powerbroker’s men after you. The odds were rather unlikely for them to come but they were not zero. Then again, you did not really owe anything to James or Bucky, to stay and to help them here or to go after Walker and neutralize his super soldier abilities.

You looked at your reflection in a mirror, carefully observing how the fabric of the dress draped over your body. The sleeves were of right length to nicely cover the bandage on your arm. It was a simple, evening dress as many others, but it had something in it that made you checking-out yourself for a longer moment. Was it the cleavage, not revealing yet complementing your breasts? Or maybe a nicely cut waist, hugging your body well-fitted? You did not really know, and it did not bother you. The effect was stunning, and you loved it. It was a perfect camouflage for your position. Being in that dress allowed you to look as one of the guests, who casually went outside to smoke and was about to go back. The only thing that didn’t go well with this outfit was your purple black eye from the other day, but what make-up cannot solve?

It took you a bit longer than you wished but you managed to cover the bruised area with an evening look. As you finished the last touches of your gala outfit you took out two boxes with the equipment you got from a friendly smuggler you knew from the past.

“So, I brought some good stuff,” you said as you returned to the boys and put first small box on the table.

“She speaks,” escaped from Sam’s mouth. And it was not the only sense that was shocked as his eyes were wandering on your figure, as much as James’s. “You look really nice.”

“Yes, I do,” you replied in such way on purpose, so he had to think about it. You opened the box revealing small earplugs. “We’ll communicate through them. It’s so small nobody will notice it,” you handed one for each of them and put one in your ear.

“Why now?” Sam was still inquiring about your magical ability to speak English, all of sudden.

“I thought it would be easier if both of you would understand me, not just James,” you answered him. “And honestly, gentleman you should consider wearing suits more often… They really suit you.” Sam was visibly flattered by your compliment, while James mumbled something again. “Do you want to go over the plan again?”

“I think we’re good. You’re observing, we’re inside looking for your doctor. We get needed information and head out,” Sam summed up shortly, as you took out invitation. “Only one?”

“Yeah, you’re going as a pair. Settle between who is who’s one plus,” you handed him the piece of paper with grin. “You’ll do just fine.”

“I preferred when you spoke German at least I didn’t understand you,” he sighed heavily. You lightly shrugged your arms and turned on a little screen, which was showing halls of the opera house from different angles. You wrinkled your nose lightly observing one of the video.

“What?” you heard Bucky over your shoulder, standing behind.

“Nothing, I just spotted a bar I want to invade before we begin,” you answered him and turned off the device.

“How professional,” Sam snorted.

“Come now, darling,” you smiled blissfully and grabbing their arms as you were leaving the apartment. “What can go wrong?”

***

As you soon found out quite a lot of things could have gone wrong, starting with your high-heels and Venetian pavement that was not co-operating with them to finish with a bottle of not-so-cold champagne you have hoped for.

“How is it going?” you asked through the earplug, observing incoming wave of smart-clothed people.

“So far, so good,” you heard Sam and you saw him with a drink in a hand, “How does our target will look like?”

“Tall, blonde, she’ll be probably with a cane. She had some sorts of accident and can’t walk without it,” you replied smiling to the passing by couple, “She should be easy to spot. Please, don’t scare her.” Sam let a short laugh.

“Well then, let’s get to it,” James was rather tensed, observing guests coming in.

“You should go and take your seats, the play is about to start.”

“What?” they asked simultaneously.

“Oh, I didn’t mention that?” you smiled to yourself, seeing their distressed faces in camera, “As a treat for guests, you’ll be able to see one of the finest version of Don Jovanni. Enjoy gentlemen –”

And you lost sound at that moment, you could have seen they were saying something to you but it was just lost.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

What a piece of shit, you thought taking out the comm and gently hitting it in order to work.

“Hello?”

“Problems in paradise?” a familiar voice, you thought you won’t hear for a time, asked as you turned around to see Zemo standing in the shadows like a common creep.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re doing perfectly well,” you said, observing the entrance. Quite a lot of people were still going in, even though the opera has already started. “I’m surprised to see you here, to be honest.”

“I got a little bit bored, and I decided to come back,” Zemo said, walking up to you slowly.

“Don’t tell me you missed Sam or James’s company?” you scoffed him with a smile just in the corner of your lips.

“I missed your company Y/N, if I may speak freely,” you raised your eyebrow at his words. Zemo stopped next to you and observed the façade of the opera house. “It’s quite a crowd, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is. I never liked those official meetings, really. The only one good thing about such parties is this,” you showed him a bottle of champagne you took earlier from the opera’s kitchen. “Want some? But I warn you, I don’t have any fancy glasses, so we have to drink straight from the bottle,” you drank from it and passed the alcohol to Zemo, which he gladly accepted.

“Are our mutual friend inside?” you nodded. “How did you make them go inside?”

“It wasn’t that hard, really,” he was standing with such close proximity, you had no problem with smelling his cologne nor with feeling his warmth. “Is it your doings that our communication is jammed?”

Zemo smiled innocently and pretended to turn the key against his mouth, “I know nothing of such thing, Y/N. But then again, we wouldn’t have had this opportunity to talk freely.”

“And you came, God knows from where, just to talk with me?” he opened his arms and shrugged them.

“Night is still young, and you don’t have to stand here waiting for them to return. They’re big boys,” he took the liberty to caress your neck skin as he spoke, giving you shivers along the spine.

“What we do here is important, Zemo,” you slowly turned your gaze upon him. “Honestly, I don’t really want to see any more dead bodies caused by this man.” You lazily leaned towards him, occasionally glancing at his lips. So, tempting to try them one more time.

“I can see that, Y/N,” Zemo answered in low whisper, still caressing your neck.

You moved even closer to the man and just inches before his mouth, you paused and said, “Give me back champagne.”

You saw how his face shifted as he gave you a short smirk along the bottle, from which you took another sip.

“So, hypothetically, where would you want to go, Zemo?” you asked, enjoying the sensation of his gloved hand against your skin.

“Hypothetically, there is a little hotel, not that far from here where, hypothetically, I have an apartment – Of course, you have – where we can go and talk,” you rose your eyebrow as he took his hand away and took of his signature coat to put it around your shoulders. “It’s rather chilly.”

“What a chivalry of yours, Zemo,” you stated, even though you accepted it with quite a pleasure, “Shall we go?” As for a true gentleman, hidden under a mask of a terrorist, he offered you his arm, which you gladly took.

The two of you went for a relatively short stroll, which raised questions you wanted to ask, how on earth he found out about this event and that you will be there, but you just let it go.

You shook your head for his proposition of a drink as you reached the apartment, you felt a little bit light-headed after the champagne and wanted to make a pause. You nonchalantly slipped the coat on an armchair and sat down on a small sofa.

“Well, you can now tell me why are you back? I mean, you had a clear way of escaping and be free as wind,” you pressed your lips tight, and you crossed your arms, waiting for him to answer you. He poured you two drinks and handed one to you even though you didn’t want any.

Just as soon as he sat down, he started, “It might sound strange, but I wanted to spend some time with a person who will not try to kill me.” You smiled to your whiskey and sipped a little of it, “And as much as I enjoyed co-operating with Sam and James, it was tiring after a while to look over your shoulder.”

You raised your eyebrow in amusement. It was the very Baron Zemo who just said, he must have looked if there was anyone wanting to stab him. You found that hilarious and couldn’t prevent a silent laugh.

“I must say, Zemo, that sounds rather funny, being said by you.”

“Why? Because I know my way out of any situation, even if it demands some stabbing?” he looked at you, gently smiling.

“Precisely,” you narrowed your eyes, observing him. In this dim light and with that smile on his lips he seemed to be quite relaxed and peaceful. A rare view for anyone watching. “You know what, I missed our little talks like that.”

“I’ll drink to that, Y/N.”

You observed him for a moment, urging to ask a burning question that you carried since the beginning of your reunion, “How do you feel?”

He stopped drinking and looked at you surprised, “Ravishing, what do you mean?”

“You perfectly know, what do I mean, Baron,” you slowly took another sip of the drink, “You know, you were severely depressed in the jail, so obviously I’m a little bit concerned how do you feel now. You wanted to kill yourself, Zemo. It doesn’t happen just like that,” you snapped your fingers, looking expectantly at him.

“If that will ease your mind upon this matter, I went through the therapy during my incarnation,” he looked at the peaceful night through the window. “ – and it helped for a certain extend.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Zemo. I really am,” you smiled lightly and finished your drink. “You want a refill?” You stood up from your armchair and took his glass, as you headed for the bar. “Same or you want to change for something else?”

“The usual,” you snorted and poured him whiskey.

“So,” you started, handing Zemo his glass back, “shall we speak about something a bit more cheerful?”

As the two of you engaged into conversation, the time passed by unnoticed. You must have admitted that Zemo was a delightful chat partner as he could talk about literary everything starting from political matters and literature to what knife would be the best for a hand-to-hand combat. It was that kind of dispute which was challenging you and yet allowed you to carry it on effortlessly.

Your engagement in conversation with Zemo, reminded you how the two of you had similar talks when he was in German prison. You were quite proud of yourself when you successfully infiltrated that prison posing as a trauma counsellor. There was no real therapy, but it allowed you to plan and implement the escape. Though, now you could see much more emotions and freedom in his talking and way of acting. You found it enjoyable to observe him a bit more alive than he used to be.

At one moment you were standing and slowly dancing to the music played from a gramophone and it was quite blurry for you to recall who came up with this idea. But it was pleasurable when you felt his arm gently resting around your waist as the other supported your hand, even though both of you had some percentages in blood. You were slowly rocking across the room, trying to avoid sneaky furniture that would appear out of nowhere, to your disapproval.

“Maybe it’s best if we sit for now, we’re not the best dancers after this amount of alcohol,” you led Zemo by his hand to the sofa, on which you sat down.

“You look lovely in this dress, Y/N.”

“I know, thank you,” you gave him a cheeky smile, much to his amusement.

“You know what…”

“Are you going to tell me it would look better on the floor?” you interrupted, and Zemo chuckled in response.

“Only if you want to, Y/N,” you shifted on the sofa to move a bit closer towards him.

“What do you want, then?”

“You,” this simple response made you astonished, uncertain what to say.

“Is this drunken you speaking, or real you?” your fingers started slowly caressing the back of his hand, in anticipation of Zemo’s answer.

“What would you like me to be?” you lightly shook your head.

“Does it really matter?” you asked, not really knowing whether you were asking yourself or Zemo. Before he could answer you in any way, you placed a short, uncertain kiss on the man’s lips, which was followed by much longer and needy one. You wanted to retreat after this, to think about it but Zemo’s hand in your hair prevented it sufficiently and pulled you back for another kiss, heated and passionate.

You felt the zip of your dress going down and as you leaned in the kiss, the material slide off revealing your shoulders. You pushed him gently on the sofa seat and comfortably nested yourself on Zemo. Your fingers were tenderly stroking his hair as your kiss became deeper and sweeter with each passing second.

His lips slipped from yours to your jawline and neck leaving trail of messy kisses, each of it awarded by your soft moan. You felt as if you were melting under every single touch, stroke or nip left on your skin.

“Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?” he asked into your neck, kissing it possessively.

“After you, Helmut,” you placed another peck in the corner of his lips and sat up.

Baron swiftly got up and offered his hand to lead you to the bedroom, where he took his time stripping you out of the dress, along saying how much he admired you and your body. As your apparel hit the floor, it revealed you were wearing no lingerie.

“Y/N,” Zemo chucked huskily, grabbing you by your waist and turning around to see you, “You’re full of surprises, my dear.”

You rested your forearms on his chest observing how his eyes brightened. Your fingers played with the collar of the man’s shirt before leaning in for another kiss, which he tenderly gave you.

“Why am I the only one undressed?” you softly purred, revelling in his gentle strokes. You moved your hands to ably undo his belt and shoulder holster, which were now laying on the floor.

“Is it my fault you weren’t wearing any underwear?”

“Is it my fault you were so eager to undress me?” you replied with another question, working on his clothes. Zemo chuckled allowing you to do further undressing of him. “You know what…” you paused your doings and took your hands away, looking at him slyly, “You’re a big boy, do it yourself.”

You walked away from him with a cheeky smile and sat down on a bed, resting on your palms with crossed legs. Zemo tilted his head letting a quiet sigh of disbelief as he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, still maintaining eye contact with you. Oddly, you found it quite erogenous, and your breath quicken a bit watching him stripping the rest of clothes.

“Like what you see?”

“Come to me,” you softly lured, feeling deprived of his touch and affection for too long. You climbed higher on the bed making room for Zemo, who was over you within seconds.

“So needy,” he chuckled darkly, leaving lazily trail of kisses starting on your collar just to end right next to your ear. His hand was exploring your hip, gently clenching fingers into your sensitive skin, enjoying each of your soft moans. “So impatient – and so welcoming.”

You deeply inhaled feeling his fingers inside you, already dripping wet.

“Y/N…”  Zemo caught each of your whines with his lips slowly fingering you, “You’re such a beautiful mess.” You laughed in his mouth which quickly turned into loud groan of pleasure as heat inside you was more and more mounting.

“Zemo, I want you,” you said quietly and whimpered as he took his fingers away from you.

“Good Lord, Y/N. You even taste as good as you look,” he smiled devilishly, licking off your juices and suspended any actions, glancing at you somehow distressed.

“What is it?” you looked up, searching for his eyes.

“It’s just been a while since I – ” you shushed him with your finger on his lips.

“Roll over,” you said sternly and surprisingly he was more than happy to oblige and pull you on top, “Good boy, Helmut,” you awarded him with a loving kiss.

You straddled him and helped yourself with your hand to position his member to your entrance, and you slowly lowered down on him. Both of you gasped at the same moment as you froze to feel him better inside you. “You’re quite to take,” you whispered slowly rocking your hips, much to Zemo’s approval. After a moment of his stillness, Zemo started to counter your movements.

“Oh, my – Helmut,” you gasped airlessly feeling his thrusts and trying to keep up with the pace. “Don’t you dare to stop,” you bit your lip, watching what hot mess he became beneath you. It seemed as his hands were all over you, all the time, yet you felt them mostly strongly gripping your hips as he kept thrusting in you.

“You are beautiful, Y/N. I cannot get enough of you,” with each next pound into you, you felt your legs were about to fail you. Zemo saw that as you were faintly allowing your head to fall down with sorrow moans of pleasure.

He unceremoniously flipped you on your back and trapped between the mattress and his body.

“That’s unexpected,” you said pulling him closer, sinking your fingers into his messy hair, “But not unwelcomed.”

“You were barely holding on. I couldn’t allow anything happen to you,” he stated, changing his pace to much slower and mor passionate lovemaking.

“You have well-rested, my dear Bar–ON,” a moan escaped your lips as he suddenly caught your nipple in teeth and bit it.

Zemo hooked your legs around his hips as he started to pound into you mercilessly, catching every single moan and scream of pleasure that escaped your mouth with his indecent kisses. Within a blink of an eye your arms were held by his hand, above your head, much restraining your movement. You tried to squirm your freedom, but he was relentless in overpowering you.

“Don’t move, be a good girl,” his whisper next to your ear made your eyes even darker from lust and you obliged to Helmut’s demand. “Good girl,” he praised you huskily, cupping your breast with the free hand.

“Helmut, I – ” you shivered strongly as your climax was almost there. Your hips were coming ahead his thrust gaining as much friction and stimulation as you could get. “Please, let me go… I want to touch you, to feel you when I come on you,” you pleaded sweetly arching your body toward him even more.

As soon as your arms were free, you clenched them around his upper body, dugging nails into his back. Your breath was becoming more and more frantic as you were on the very edge of your climax. All of your nerves were aching for it to happen, controlling over your body as you softly whimpered into Zemo’s neck nonsense. His brown eyes, now almost black were staring at you as if you were his pray, his victim.

“Don’t you dare stopping n-OW,” you were an absolute mess and him changing pace for the faster one was bringing you over the edge.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” Zemo’s hips were smashing into you with the force you have never suspected him. You nodded sloppily kissing his face wherever you could and then it happened.

You felt overwhelming wave of heat and shivers overpowering your body as your orgasm hit. For a moment you stopped breathing and allowed to be filled with this shake inside you and how your muscles tensed around him. Your arms were holding onto Zemo, whose moves became hastier and erratic, close to his own finale. He rested his head on your shoulder breathing heavily and babbling as with few last thrusts he came in you, with loud moan.

He stopped moving to catch his breath and slowly slipped out of you.

“You are intense, Y/N,” his soft smile was something amazing to observe. You could have sworn there was only affection and nothing more in him, at the moment.

“Well, I got to taste my own medicine, Helmut. I think I might have some bruises,” you looked at him out of breath and satisfied.

Zemo pulled you closer and left few short kisses on your forehead before he spoke to you, “Sleep now, I’ll get you back to boys tomorrow morning.”

As much as you hated the idea of being vulnerable in your sleep, you settled down comfortably next to Zemo, slowly falling asleep. His arm around your shoulder was holding you steadily, yet you could still hear his heart fast beating. Listening to it and how it was getting slower as to the regular hear beat, you found yourself drowsy enough to relax and fall asleep on his chest.

***

Your sleep was abruptly finished by the phone ring.

“Hallo?” you took the phone quickly not to wake up sleeping man next to you.

“Y/N? Care to explain your sudden missing?” you heard James on the other side and stopped breathing for a moment.

You got up and left the bedroom with sleeping Zemo and you replied, “Ich hatte einen Dinge zu machen.[I had some things to do.]”

“Yeah, right. I’m waiting outside,”

“Was? [What?]” a shocked question slipped your lips.

“Das. [That.] I put a tracker on you. I didn’t want another runner like Zemo. Come down or I’ll come for you,” he said and hung up.

FUck, fuck, FUCK, you thought shocked as you started quickly looking for your clothes. Outside the window, you indeed noticed Bucky standing under a street lantern on the opposite side of the hotel’s entrance. As you were gathering your dress and shoes, you noticed some kind of package on a chair, opposite to the bed. You almost omitted it as they were all black and only delicate shimmering in the streetlight, caught your attention.

 I hope these will be more comfortable to pursue me in.

                                                          Z.

 You smiled lightly and put the note in the pocket. How come that he could not speak about his feelings but had no problem with showing them in other ways. You took the pile from the chair and you noticed it was surprisingly heavy, as you walked into the bathroom.

How does that man know so much about me?, you asked yourself putting on clothes he prepared. And of course, they fitted you perfectly, which was quite amazing. You haven’t had a slightest idea what kind of material it was, but it felt so comfortable as if you were wearing a second skin. You slipped your feet into boots and laced them thoroughly.

The last thing from the pile was a black box in which you found lather shoulder holster, quite similar to the one Zemo was wearing himself. You put it on and adjusted to your preference and when it was perfectly laying on you, you inserted a gun into the holster.

Before you went away, you have left a short notice foe Zemo that you must have gone.

“Why did you left your position?” he asked as soon as you saw you leaving the hotel, and narrowed his eyes checking out your outfit closely. “Weren’t you wearing a dress?”

“Und jetzt trage ich das. [And now I wear this,]” you answered shortly, unsure how to feel about this whole situation. “Es ist nicht nett, dass du mir nicht vertraust. Aber ich verstehen es. [It’s not nice that you don’t trust me. But I get it].”

“Well, I was right not to trust you, Y/N. Why did you leave?”

“Ich habe dir gesagt, ich musste mich um einige Dinge kümmern. Es ist nicht so, dass ich an euch beide gebunden bin. [I told you, I had some things to attend to. It’s not like I’m bound to you two],” you snarled back at him. “Wo ist Sam? [Where’s Sam?]”

“Back at our hideout,” James sighed quietly and rubbed his eyes. “Alright, listen… You don’t have to tell me why you left, just –,” he stopped for a second looking at you. “Just leave any kind of note that you’re going…”

“Oh, warst du besorgt? [Oh, you were worried?]” you looked at him surprised as he growled with huff. “Das ist schön, James. [That’s lovely, James.]” you mocked him with light smile.

You never would have thought that any of them, James nor Sam, would display any kind of concern of your person. It was even funnier, considering the fact you just did write a note for Zemo, so he would not be troubled about your whereabouts.

“Just don’t do it again, ok?” he looked miserable as you laughed silently at this revelation. You gently patted his arm and nodded to his ask. “You’re not going back there? To your things?”

“Nein, alles ist gut, James. Wir können zurückgehen und darüber nachdenken, was als nächstes zu tun ist. [No, everything is good, James. We can go back and think what to do next,]” you said and started walking down the quiet road.

“I’m afraid no, she wasn’t even there,” Bucky answered and looked at you.

Sweet Lord, these boots are comfortable, you thought taking each next step.

“Haben sie mit diesem Wissenschaftler Glück gehabt? [Did you get any luck with that doctor?]” you asked after a while.

“Verdammt [Damn it],” you muttered under your nose silently, “You’re sure about that? [Bist du darüber sicher?]”

“Yes, we’ve talked to some other scientist that told us, she went missing like three days ago. Presumably taken by the Power Broker, as she was last seen in Madripoor.”

“Verdammt [Damn it],” you repeated louder, which caught Bucky’s attention.

“Why is she so important to you?”

“Willst du wirklich, dass Walker länger ein Supersoldat ist? [Do you really want Walker to be any longer a super soldier?]” you answered with another question. “Ich denke, wir müssen uns ausruhen und dann überlegen, was wir als nächstes tun sollen, [I think, we should take a rest and the think what to do next.]“

“That’s good idea,” he shortly agreed as you came in the apartment.

You noticed Sam sleeping on the sofa under a blanket. Surely something that was taken care of by James.

“I really enjoyed this opera, you know?” you smiled softly hearing it, “It was nice to do something normal? I guess.”

“Ich bin erfreut, das zu hören, [I’m happy to hear it,]” you lowered your voice not to wake the other man.

You looked at James trying to figure out what was he all about. No doubt, he was a caring and a caring persona and that softened you. It was truly awful what happened to him in the past because he did not deserved it at all.

“Es gab nie eine Schwester, [There was never a sister,]” this sentence sounded louder than you thought after a moment of silence.

“I know, Y/N,” you turned to him with surprised expression, a question painted all over your face. “It wasn’t exactly that hard to figure it out, especially since I found your file in published S.H.I.E.L.D. documents.”

You sighed heavily, “Wie viel weißt du [How much do you know]?”

“Pretty much all of it. That you helped Zemo going after the Avengers,” he took off his jacket and hung it over the chair, then continued, “And I just found out about your ailment, you want to treat so badly, Y/N.”

“Okay, willst du dich ausruhen oder darüber reden [Alright, do you want to rest or to talk about it]?” you rubbed your eyes. It was quite late and you dreamt only about continuing your sleep but you couldn’t leave it just like this.

“Let’s talk. We still have some time.”

“Nimm dann die Flasche und zwei Gläser [Grab the bottle and two glasses, then],” you moved to the bedroom and made him space on the bed. “Es wird einige Zeit in Anspruch nehmen [It will take some time],” you said closing the door.

[caveartfair]

Unpacking Fashion’s Love Affair with Artists

Dusan Reljin, Marina Abramović and Crystal Renn for Vogue Ukraine, 2014, from “Legendary Artists and the Clothes They Wore,” 2019. Courtesy of Harper Collins.

Why do we care what famous artists wear? It might seem silly to look back to the Old Masters to appreciate their outfits, but 20th- and 21st-century artists have often found themselves the muses of major fashion houses—and, more recently, fodder for Pinterest inspiration boards. Artists, after all, are keenly considerate of color and form; how they dress can be a telling sign of their creative innerworkings.

“The job of artists is to critique culture, unload their psyches into their work, and make edifying masterpieces the rest of us can revere,” wrote Terry Newman, author of Legendary Artists and the Clothes They Wore (2019). “What they wear while doing these things is interesting, too.” Newman’s book dissects the fashion choices of major artists and traces how their art and personal style has been appropriated or emulated on runways and in wider visual culture.

Self-Portrait, 1980. Robert Mapplethorpe "Robert Mapplethorpe: The Perfect Medium" at Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles

A model is seen ahead of the Raf Simons fashion show during Pitti 90, Florence, Italy, 2016. Photo by Antonello Trio via Getty Images.

Fashion houses often pay homage to famous artworks and movements—Moschino under Jeremy Scott’s direction heavily references Pop Art—but they’ve also tried to capture that ineffable je ne sais quois of the artists behind the works. Raf Simons did both in his 2017 spring menswear collection, a collaboration with the Robert Mapplethorpe Foundation. The male models wore billowing button-down shirts printed with Mapplethorpe’s black-and-white photographs. They were also styled to look like the late artist, with soft, curly hair and leather muir caps—an ode to Mapplethorpe’s personal and artistic interest in S&M. The looks bring to mind former Interview editor Bob Colacello’s recollection of the photographer when they met in 1971: “He was pretty but tough, androgynous and butch,” Colacello told Vanity Fair in 2016.

The inspiration for the autumn 2014 Céline show was more precise: the muddy, masculine boots of war photographer Lee Miller, from the famous image of her sitting defiantly in Adolf Hitler’s bathtub just hours before his death. Miller’s streamlined, “utility chic” wardrobe, as Newman called it, which she wore while on assignment for Vogue during World War II, has been referenced in fashion multiple times. But designer Phoebe Philo specifically named Miller’s boots as the starting point for the collection. “[Miller was] doing things which were quite radical at the time, like wearing men’s clothes, but which today seem quite normal,” Philo said after the show.

Lee Miller with the essentials of Life, cigarette , wine and petrol , Weimar, by David Sherman, 1945. Lee Miller °CLAIR Galerie

A model walks the runway at the Celine Autumn Winter fashion show during Paris Fashion Week, 2014. Photo by Catwalking/Getty Images.

Artists’ personal style, intentionally or not, often becomes part of their brand. Some artists channel their visual aesthetic into their looks. Jean-Michel Basquiat paired designer suit jackets with worn-in streetwear, Frida Kahlo wore traditional Mexican garb rife with symbolism, and Georgia O’Keeffe opted for minimal silhouettes with Southwestern accessories. Likewise, David Hockney is known to sport vivid, color-blocked outfits. Designer Christopher Bailey, formerly of Burberry, is a self-professed fan: “I love the way Hockney wears color,” he has said, “so that you’re never completely sure how deliberately the look is put together.”

Others resist fashion trends, a statement in itself. Today, Marina Abramović outfits herself in haute couture but as a young artist, she carefully crafted her image as “very radical, no make-up, tough, spiritual,” as she told Vogue in 2005. In the 1970s, she explained, being fashionable as an artist could be construed as overcompensating for a lack of talent.

Portrait of Pablo Picasso in a winter coat, scarf, and beret, ca. 1950s. Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

Basquiat 8, 1983. Yutaka Sakano Galerie Patrick Gutknecht

Over time, and with the repetition of a look, some artists have successfully whittled down their personal style into a single icon. Think of Rene Magritte’s bowler hat or Yayoi Kusama’s bright red bob. Although Pablo Picasso was known to wear various types of hats—“Peruvian knitted hats with pom-poms, sun-shielding straw toppers, and stiff, classy homburgs,” Newman noted—it was his beret, frequently featured in his paintings, that stuck. His status as a style influencer was made clear during two of his exhibitions at London’s Institute of Contemporary Art in the 1950s: “Employees found lost berets more than any other personal item,” Newman wrote.

Some artists have influenced contemporary fashion more directly, lending their expertise to fashion houses and retail lines. In 1983, Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood tapped Keith Haring to translate his street art into fluorescent streetwear for the runway. Kusama produced a collection for Bloomingdales in the 1980s and has more recently collaborated with Louis Vuitton and Marc Jacobs. Jeff Koons has also collaborated with Louis Vuitton, as well as H&M and Stella McCartney.

Wax figure of Japanese artist, Yayoi Kusama at the Louis Vuitton and Yayoi Kusama Collaboration Unveiling at Louis Vuitton Maison on Fifth Avenue, New York, 2012. Photo by Rob Kim/FilmMagic.

It’s after artists’ deaths, however, when their style can be merchandised to such an extent that it becomes disconnected from the reality of their lives. Constructivist Alexander Rodchenko, who once designed utilitarian-wear for a utopian Russia, would have balked at Jerry Hall modeling high-end red garments for a 1975 British Vogue editorial inspired by his graphic, Communist-flavored works. Basquiat embraced the fashion world and was loved by designers, but he faced racial bias as a black man shopping for expensive clothes. He modeled for Comme des Garçons and favored Armani and Issey Miyake, but according to his late girlfriend Kelle Inman, he was often tailed in department stores, and once was denied entry to high-end boutique until he returned with Inman. Three decades later, Basquiat’s brand is packaged into lines from Forever 21, Sephora, and Douglas Hannant.

Norman Parkinson, Jerry Hall Rodchenko, from “Legendary Artists and the Clothes They Wore,” 2019. Courtesy of Harper Collins.

The commodification of Kahlo’s style is perhaps the most glaring example. She is revered for her fashion, which is intrinsic to her art—she appeared in her many self-portraits wearing embroidered huipil blouses, Juchiteca headdresses, and full skirts; and accessorized with flowers, gemstones, and plaited hair. Kahlo’s fashion choices were tied directly to her heritage and her disability; she hid her prosthetic leg in a red leather boot adorned with two bells. Art historian Hayden Herrera said when Kahlo “put on the Tehuana costume, she was choosing a new identity, and she did it with all the fervor of a nun taking the veil.”

Kahlo’s wardrobe and accessories, representing the deepest layers of her identity, have been translated again and again: by Christian Lacroix in 2002, Gaultier in 2004, Commes de Garçons in 2012, and even Barbie in 2018. You can find her face on nearly anything: There are Frida pins, Frida T-shirts, Frida nailpolish, Frida bracelets (like the one British Prime Minister Theresa May wore in 2017, sparking endless news analysis). Kahlo’s clothing, which was kept under lock and key for nearly 60 years at her husband Diego Rivera’s request, has now been the subject of blockbuster exhibitions.

Frida Kahlo On White Bench, New York (2nd Edition), , 1939. Nickolas Muray Matthew Liu Fine Arts

A Pakistani model presents a creation by Deepak Perwani on the second day of Fashion Pakistan Week, Karachi, 2013. Photo by Asif Hassan/AFP/Getty Images.

Perhaps fashion is more cyclical than art, or simply runs on a shorter cycle, repeatedly revisiting and retranslating trends. Artists, willingly or not, are pulled into that rotation, as inspiration. In 1967, photographer Cecil Beaton traveled to O’Keeffe’s home in New Mexico to capture her for a story in Vogue. The then 79-year-old artist had spent a lifetime carefully crafting her image, wearing elegant but simple silhouettes accented with turquoise and silver accessories. In 2009, actress Charlize Theron flew to the late artist’s home with photographer Mario Testino to recreate the shoot, marking another turn in the rotation of O’Keeffe’s influence.

Two years later, Abramović made the influence of fashion on art clear when she asked Italian designer Riccardo Tisci to suckle on her breast in another shoot with Testino, this time for Visionaire. The pair, who are friends and collaborators, commented on the images for the issue. “I said to him, this is the situation: Do you admit fashion is inspired by art?” Abramović recalled. “Well, I am the art, you are the fashion, now suck my tits!” The image of the performance artist feeding Tisci like a baby may be an odd—and oddly literal—visual metaphor, but when art nurtures fashion it trickles down to the rest of us, a small piece of an artist’s oeuvre hanging in our own closets.

from Artsy News