#zemo mcu

[gremlin-girly]

Day 8: Sparkling Snow

Pairing: Zemo x f!reader (MCU)

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF, established (secret) relationship, suggestive themes, just lovey-doveyness, pet names (Vrajiatore), Zemo is a gentleman

Summary: You tell your friends that you're headed to Germany for the holidays as a treat to yourself. Little do they know that you're off to see your favourite Sokovian Baron.

word count: 1.8k

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied or reposted or put through an AI machine.

A/N: This is a direct follow on from Flufftober 17 🥰 I kinda love these two... maybe we need another part? 👀 There is a second part that will be linked in an author's note under the cut. Sorry this is late, some unexpected plans popped up yesterday so I couldn't finish editing all of the fics - Love, Grem x

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

Translations: Vrajiatore (meaning witch/enchantress)

Prev | Next | Flufftober 2024 | Masterlist @fluff-cember

When anyone asked your plans for the holidays, inviting you to after-work drinks or their holiday meals in December you had politely declined, saying you had booked yourself a holiday to Germany to see the sights and Christmas Markets.

Everyone seemed pleased with this answer, although you felt guilty for feeding them half truths. They wouldn't really get it and, in fact, may even try and stop you. But then again, when does ' I'm visiting my ex-terrorist, rich Sokovian boyfriend' ever really roll off the tongue?

Zemo had been the one to organise your trip. With the dust finally settled and him in one location, he desperately wanted to see you again; which of course meant sending your one-way first-class ticket to Germany to you via post attached to one of his letters.

At first, you wanted to say no. The trouble it would cause if Sam and Bucky found out. Finding the time to take off work and come up with a suitable lie for your friends and family as to why you wouldn't be around for the holidays making anxiety bubble in your stomach. But the moment you held the tickets between your fingers, you knew you had to see him again.

The tickets were for an open return; Zemo had said in his letter he didn't want you to feel like he was keeping you hostage and that, should you choose to come there was a bed waiting for you, and the moment you wanted to head home you could.

With the only firm date being the outbound flight, you realised that you would have plenty of time to explore and plenty of time to spend with the Baron and you weren't sure which made your heart skip more.

You confirmed your flight before writing back.

It shouldn't have surprised you that you flew first class. Or that Zemo had pre-ordered champagne for your flight. What was surprising, however, was being greeted by a chauffeur.

"Madam L/N," The old man had grinned at you on your approach, setting aside a very pristine piece of A4 paper with your name scrawled on. "The baron sends his regards. He unfortunately cannot enter because -"

You hold up a hand with a soft smile. "No need to explain. I know."

The old man continued to smile as he took your bags, despite arguing you could carry your own, and led you to the car. On the drive to Zemo's family home, you find out the man's name is Oeznik and he has served the Zemo family all his life, having helped raise Helmut (your Zemo) as a baby. You hoped it had been the jet lag when you felt your head swim; first-class and chauffers were already leagues from your day-to-day living but butlers?

The air was crisp when the car finally pulled into a long drive way, the peak of a mansion barely visible over the trees. You scooted forward on the leather car seat, awe-struck at the giant home before you.

"This manor has been in the family for generations," Oeznik says, sounding as awe-struck as you felt, as if he were seeing the house for the first time too. "Helmut grew up here, though it has just been myself and Ms. Anstrom - the head maid - who have been living here until recently."

"Riiiiight." You say quietly, your breath condensing against the window. As soon as you begin to think that this was a terrible idea, that Bucky and Sam should rightly drag you back home for, you see him.

The car is all but parked when your door is flung open and Helmut Zemo stands before you. The excitement radiating from him is palpable and infectious; you're already unbuckling your seatbelt and beaming up at him.

"Vrăjitore," Zemo greeted politely, trying to contain his excitement behind a soft smile. Even though it had been months since you last saw him in person, he hadn't changed much. Clean shaven, soft chestnut hair that was only a little bit longer and those ridiculously enchanting brown eyes that still glimmered when he looked at you. The scent of his cologne travelled to gently caress your nostrils and you felt like a cartoon character floating after the smell of a pie placed precariously on a windowsill.

He offers you a hand, helping you out of the car as Oeznik goes to grab your suitcase and travel bag from the trunk. Zemo raises your hands to lips and placed sweet whispers of kisses against your knuckles that made your heart swoon.

"I trust you had a good flight, yes?"

Your answer was to pull him in close into a tight hug, relishing the scent of him, relishing him entirely. Letters didn't come close to having the real thing before you.

"Yes," you say into his coat, grinning when you felt his arms encase you to him. "I can't believe you had champagne served to me on the flight."

"The least I could do." He chuckles lightly. "You can't fly first class without it."

"I've not been here a day and you're already spoiling me." You peek up from where you're hidden against his chest and grin. "You're setting and awfully dangerous precedent."

Helmut cups your cheeks and places a quick kiss to your lips, opting not to answer your tease. "I'll show you around the house first so you can get acquainted with your surroundings. Then we can eat if you're hungry?"

Nodding your head, you follow Zemo up the stone steps and through the large oak doors, waving a quick goodbye to Oeznik.

The manor is exactly as you'd imagined it to be. The velvet carpets can't find the fact they are worn in some places, nor the cold air that seeps through the wooden flooring that has that dusty old house smell. The windows are thin and creak at every meager breath of wind and you feel a little idiotic for thinking two older people could easily run the upkeep of the estate. However, there is still a charm to the old house. The parts that were more lived in, like the kitchen and living room were pristine.

No cobwebs excepts for the chandeliers, no dust bunnies buried in the corners, and even the big beast of a portrait of Zemo's great grandfather above the fireplace looked like it had just walked out of a gallery.

When you finally climb the long staircase upstairs, munching the cookie Ms. Anstrom thrust into your hands when you visited the kitchen, you have to pause. Downstairs may have been a little worse for wear but the upstairs... you felt like you had just waltzed onto the set of Bridgerton.

You walk down a never ending hallway, Zemo showing you the gorgeous large bathroom, drawing room and one of several guest rooms before stopping at the final one at the end of the hallway.

"This will be your room." He gestures you in first and like the other guest rooms it's huge. Big bay windows show the frosted Christmas Card-esque grounds outside. Unlike the other rooms, however, your bed has soft, silken fitted sheets that you'd dread to guess the price of. As you walk the floors creak slightly but when you take a quick inhale there's no musty smell; it actually smells like a mixture of lavender and vanilla.

"Wow." You say trying to take it all in, doing a short 360-twirl in the centre of the room. "It's..."

But then, you blink at him. Perhaps it was a bit presumptuous of you to think you'd be sleeping in the same bed together; after all, this was technically the second time you'd seen eachother. You could feel a blush rising as you clear your throat.

"If it's not to your liking then there are several others to choose from as you've seen." Helmut adds, watching you with a smile. "I can ask Ms. Anstrom to move the bed sheets if-"

"No! - no. This is... great." You blurt quickly and give him a sheepish smile. "It's perfect, really."

His gentlemanly behaviour never ceased to amaze (and woo) you. Perhaps it would be better take everything one small step at a time.

"Excellent." Zemo offers you his hand and a kind smile makes his cheeks dimple. "My room is just across the hall so I won't be far. Now, I believe you've been dragged around enough, food should be served shortly."

Dinner came and went; the vibrant, warm chatter between yourself and Helmut was added to by Oeznik and Ms. Anstrom; who very kindly shared stories and pictures of Helmut as a child and a very grumpy teenager. You never thought you'd see Zemo look so embarassed, his dimpled cheeks glowing as his sweet, doe eyes gave you an almost apologetic look.

After yawning a third time, Ms.Anstrom insisted you head to bed and chided both the men for keeping you up so late.

"They're excited to have someone new around." Zemo commented, walking you to your room. "I think they are bored of me."

You chuckle and give him a playful nudge. "They're lovely. And I hope you aren't jealous from the lack of attention."

"Of you? Never."

You snort and shake your head, pushing open your bedroom door slightly and you turn back to him. "I guess this is good night?"

"Goodnight Vrăjitore," he says, leaning forward to give you a gentle kiss. "I'm glad to have you here with me. You know where I am if you need anything."

He moves away slowly, almost resistant to go, and moves across the hall to his room. You watch him go, giving him a small wave as his door closes and you retreat into your room.

You don't know how long you'd be able to resist his gentlemanly charm. Resist him. But as you crawl under your covers you begin to smile to yourself as the memories of the day take root and wonder what the rest of your holiday has in store for you.

The snow glittered along the grounds, coating everything like powdered sugar. Your eyes were alight with childish whimsy but you still shivered as a gust of icy wind howled against the window. You were so lost in your own mesmiration that you didn't hear Zemo behind you, wrapping warm arms around your waist and resting his chin onto your shoulder.

"Vrăjitore," He murmurs to your ear. "Why are you awake so early? Come back to bed."

You rest your head against his, chuckling softly as you watch a dusting of snow blow across the icy plane outside. It was tempting. He was tempting. He was still deliciously warm and toasty, the hair on your arms prickling when his hands brushed down them and he pecked your cheek.

Your eyes catch his in the reflection of the window. Zemo's brown eyes are still heavy with sleep, his hair softly tousled and styled by the silk pillows, but he still manages the effortlessly loving gaze that you are helpless to fight against.

"Fine." You sigh, taking one last look at the sparkling snow before turning your head to him and cupping his warm cheek in your hand. "Let's go back to bed."

[chainuuser]

Sokovians who were fucked over in 2015 and lived to make the world regret it

[mohish-ko]

★"I'm handling the negotiations here. Him? Consider him absent"★

[notafunkiller]

Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

[supercalifragipopculturevomit]

Captain America: Civil War (2016) Daniel Brühl as Helmut Zemo

[at1r1-p4rk3r]

[junocornkiwi]

- They said nothing too fancy.

- That would be awfully out of my "charachter".

- ...True.

postcard sketch with my old boiis? 🥺 ... yeah 😌🥰

[nxtaliaistyping]

Need Baron Zemo to fuck me with the mask on :(

Authors note: omg i'm not really into the mcu anymore, but nothing can stop me thinking about this man I need him so badddddd (and daniel bruhl in general tbh)

18+ nsfw, villain kink, mask kink, fingering, rough sex, brief mention of killing

Thinking about being his girl, his pretty thing that sits in his lap while he drinks the most expensive wine in his expensive penthouse (just because he's on the run, doesn't mean he can't be in style)

You know who he is, the things he's done, but you just don't care. Not when he caresses you so gently, cooing soft words in your ear of how beautiful and enchanting he finds you, how much you fill the empty void left within him after Sokovia fell and everyone he loved was wiped out.

And if anything, he's too gentle. Not wanting to frighten you, the poor little lamb that you were, cuddling up to such a dangerous man every night. So he attempts to shield things from you, what he's done and what he's capable of.

But that changes one day, you feel the compulsive need to find out more about your lover, or at least see what he's like when he's the ruthless and strategic criminal that you've been told about. This leads you to following him, not an easy task, but you see how readily he is able to get his hands dirty. Tracking down some old HYDRA agent that has information that is useful to him, and you watch in slight horror and slight awe how he interrogates the man.

Although you have to look away at certain parts, hearing presumably the agent's body hitting the cold ground with a soft thud. While you try and leave quietly, you underestimated how much planning had went into his operation, because on your attempted escape you feel a large hand grab your upper arm, yanking you towards him with force and the start of a threat before he stops.

"dragă? what are you doing here?" he asks, his tone still slightly deeper than usual as you stare into his brown eyes; the only facial features visible while he wears the dark purple mask.

As you stumble over your words, telling him that you wanted to see the real him, he can't help but notice the slight flush of your skin, the way your chest rises and your lips part. In that moment he finally understands.

"Oh...I think I understand now. My little girl likes that i'm so dangerous, hm?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk behind his teasing lilt, his head cocked to one side as you nod, embarassed.

Soon enough, he has you pinned to the wall, hand stuffed between your thighs as he fingers your tight cunt from under your skirt. You whimper and whine at his treatment, and he revels in the fact you're so depraved, so naughty, and all for him.

"Do you like this, hm sreco? I was going to take this mask off, but I have a feeling that isn't what you desire." he rasps against your ear, and you nod breathlessly at how right his assumption was. All you can do is look up at him, clenching and making a mess around his fingers as you whine.

When he pulls his fingers away, he doesn't give you time to recover before you find yourself bent over a wooden crate and his cock is forcing its way in your pussy. He's never treated you as roughly as this before, but something about his girl loving how ruthless he is, wanting him to keep his goddamn mask on, flipped a switch in him as he starts a rough pace. The echoes of his hips slamming into your ass make you flush with embarrassment, gripping the edges of the surface for dear life, pretty nails he paid for digging into the wood.

"So filthy for me, my little girl is nothing but a slut." he groans out, squeezing your ass before giving it a harsh spank. The rhythm of his cock railing you has your eyes nearly crossing, as you try not to think about the fact you're fucking an older man after he's literally just killed someone.

When he cums, he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, feeling the way you tighten around him and squeeze every last drop out. As his breathing returns to normal, so too does his headspace as he rips the mask off quickly, pulling out to shush you gently and hold you in his arms.

"There we are dragă i'm here, i'm right here. I'm sorry for being so rough."

Taking you home, he'd spoil his good girl with a bath and food, but in the back of his mind he's already planning out how he can fuck you like that again.

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

[midnight-wildflowers]

I love this so much.

(credit to the original creator)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Professional Oversight

Masterlist

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, power imbalance, blackmail, and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are noticed for all the wrong reasons. (plus sized reader)

Characters: Helmut Zemo, Brock Rumlow

A note on reader characters:

For clarity,  each reader will have a defined nickname when appearing in any installment not their own. This is Scribble.

Note: real life interrupted me

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Donkey love Waffles. Take care. 💖

You stare across the courtyard as you let the spoon stick out of your mouth. You hoped the spring would make the days seem less blurred, maybe bring some excitement to your dull life. You suck the last of the yogurt from the silver and scrape the side of the cup, scooping up the fruit bottom and cream. You savour the last bite, so overly sweet it makes your cheeks twitch. 

You tap the empty cup so it makes a hollow noise. You crush it in your hand and stand to toss it in the bin just across from the bench. You sit again and wipe the spoon before you tuck it away, folding it in the kleenex to sink to the bottom of your purse. You sigh and watch a long-necked goose honk at an oblivious pedestrian. 

You’re used to it. The sounds, the sights, the latent energy of the university green. You thought it would be better to eat there instead of the stuffy office break room but after a while, it’s just as boring and bleak as the old institutional walls. 

You zip up your purse and checked the slender watch on your wrist. Just a little longer before you have to drag yourself back to your shared desk to answer phones and redirect lost students. You don’t hate your job only that it’s all you have. Your life is as fruitless as the used yogurt cup you just tossed away. 

You wake up, eat, get ready for work, go to work, eat lunch by yourself amidst a sea of indifferent people, go back to your desk, then wait until it’s time for you to go home, and there, nothing. Just you and the evenings filled with lonely restlessness. You want to do something, anything, but you just can’t figure out what. 

You aren’t an interesting person. Plain, at best, with no discernible talent. Friends never flocked to you despite your effort, even as pathetic as those were. You’re always a fleeting thought to other people. You’re kept around so long as you are useful; a study buddy, a wing woman, and occasionally, a shoulder to cry on. But there was rarely any reciprocation in those roles and never anything meaningful enough to call friendship. 

You’re distracted from your existential daze by a shadow above you. You look up at the man as he smiles at you. It’s more akin to a leer. That’s odd. He’s odd. Men don’t smile at you, they barely even see you. And he surely doesn’t belong here. Too old to be a student and his jacket too casual to be a professor. 

“You mind if I sit?” he asks without greeting. His tone is brusque but unconcerned. 

You looked at the empty spot on the bench beside you. You hug your purse and sidle over. You shrug and mumble “sure,” but he's already sitting. 

He sits with his legs wide and pushes his shoulders back. He sighs as he stretches out his broad figure. He glances around nonchalantly and leans back with his elbows over the back of the bench. You look at your watch again. What’s a few minutes early? 

“You work here?” he asks before you can stand. 

You blink and furrow your brow at him then glance around at the green campus. You waver on the bench. You should just walk away but you hate to be rude.  

“Uh, yeah?” you answer awkwardly. 

“Not that you-- you don’t look young enough to be a student, you know? I had a hard time telling, which is why I asked,” he explains as he turned his palm up, “I wasn’t meaning-- heh, well, you look like a very nice lady, is all.” 

You poke your tongue out between your lips and quickly retract it. Your thoughts are racing. You should get back to work and away from this man. He gives you this creepy crawly feeling. 

“Brock,” he holds out his hand as your eyes graze the dark five o’clock shadow along his sharp jawline. 

You force out your own name and nervously shake his hand. You’re polite, perhaps overly so, but your customer service instinct can’t be repressed. His grip is firm and his hand big enough to cover yours entirely. He lets you go reluctantly and you hook your purse over your arm. 

“Sorry, I gotta get back to work--” you stand as the sirens in your head tell you to leave. His grips speckles in your hands, throbbing in the bones, tingling on your skin. 

“That’s too bad,” he says coolly, “maybe I’ll see you around.” 

You nod dumbly and step past him. You trod down the path, on your usual route, then stop as your suspicions tug at your mind. You turn back as he remains on the bench, his gaze stuck to you. 

“You work here too?” you call back. 

He shakes his head and smirks. He doesn’t say anything as you frown. He doesn’t move. He just watches. You turned back to your path and quickly stomp away. You’re unsettled by his presence alone but his assured calmness at being an intruder on campus is even more frightening. Not least of all, his interest in you; always an unexpected trait. 

🖊️

After work, you walk across campus without urgency. You fall into autopilot. Your departure trails over its usual route. There’s nothing special awaiting you at your destination; only your couch and a frozen pizza.  

Students still loiter and hop up the steps of the buildings on the way to evening classes. You envy them just as you had when you were in their shoes. You were never really one of them. You always felt like you were on the outside looking in. You didn’t find your niche, you just floated along untethered, still lost in the breeze. 

The lot you park in is mostly empty. You prefer that one even though it’s a ten minute walk from the building you work in. It’s far from the main row and so you didn’t get caught in a jam on your way out, not until you get to the roundabout near the east entrance. 

You stroll along behind the few other cars parked before yours and check your phone for the time. You don’t hear the footsteps as they approach and the dimming sky disguises his shadow. You don't notice any of it until you’re grappled from behind. You’re taken off your feet as a large hand covers your mouth. 

Your phone bounces against the tarmac and your bag is flung from your arm. You kick out and flail, whining into the calloused palm as your eyes prickle. You grasp at the thick arms as you’re spun around to face the open trunk. You kicked at the man’s feet as he bends you and shoves you headfirst into the trunk. You try to push yourself out but he’s too strong. 

The lid shuts and you roll over to beat on it as you holler. Your heart pounds in your ears and your lungs burned as your voice turns to horrible gasps. Panic drowns you as the engine turns over and the car backs out smoothly.

Oh no, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

The suddenness of it all has you dizzy. The man’s scent clings in your nose. You've smelled that before. Your eyes round in the darkness as the tires roll without stopping. No, no, no. That man! The same one on the bench. 

You didn’t forget him. You couldn’t. The abnormality, the absurdity of his introduction, was enough to stick in your head. It’s only that you didn’t let yourself believe it was anything but a strange encounter. You know who you are, you know you’re nothing special. Unlike him, you’re not interesting enough to remember. 

Or so you thought. 

You thump on the lid of the trunk, then the back, screaming. The car doesn’t stop. The man only muffles your voice with the radio. As you continue your assault on the walls of the trunk, he slams on the brakes so that you roll violently into the siding. He does the same several times until you’re quiet and stunned. 

Your adrenaline fades to fear as you can only lay in the dark and dread what comes next. The worst scenarios race through your mind but every now and then, your heartbeat spikes again. You have to get out.

Bang, bang, bang, ‘let me out!’ 

You’re shaken and exhausted but utterly and painfully awake. Whatever comes next, you can’t just put your head down and ignore it. Not like everything else in your life. This is the one thing you have to face, whether you like it or not. You can’t just brush it off, you can’t just forget. 

You wanted desperately for something to happen in your dull life but could never conjure a nightmare as real as this. 

🖊️

When the engine slows and the axle lurches to a stop, you’re not ready. How could you be ready for any of this? You don’t understand why this is happening to you. 

The car shuts off and your heart reaches its paramount. It’s beating so fast you can’t think. You can barely breathe. The car door slams shut and shakes the entire vehicle, making clear that you are overpowered. Footsteps tread over the ground towards the trunk and you steel yourself for the horror that awaits you. 

You know his face before you see it. Even as the shadows swallow up his features, you know him. He grabs you by the front of your blazer, hauling you out without a word. He handles you like a stray caught; rough and agitated. You claw helplessly at him and whine. 

“Please--” 

“Scream one more time,” he spins you and curls an arm around your neck, marching you forward with stunted steps, “and I’ll crush your throat.” 

You gurgle and clasp onto hit thick forearm. Your tears well over, though your face is already raw from the waves of terror that poured over in the black of the trunk. Lights wash over you and give some sense to the grounds around you. 

You expect an abandoned warehouse or some faraway cabin. Somewhere remote where you’ll never be found. Somewhere you’d be forgotten. Who is there to forget you? 

Instead, you make your way up a long walkway before a large mansion. At least compared to your box apartment, it seems as such. Your low heels clack shakingly as the man keeps you firmly hooked. He takes you up the front steps, between replicas of famous status, and lets himself in through the double doors, the brass knockers jiggling with his entrance. 

He doesn’t seem the type to live in a place like this. The thought is silly given your circumstance. Your sobs settle to hiccups as your mind wanders to the tedious and unimportant. Is that a genuine Rembrandt on the wall? 

“Can you walk on your own or do I keep the leash on?” He snarls. 

You gulp and try to nod against his burly muscle, “yes...” 

He lets go at the wisp of your agreement. You shudder and pull away from him, not far as you don’t want to instigate him. You cross your arms and look at him, pouting as tears roll to your chin. It is the man from the bench. You knew it but now you’re certain. 

“Up,” he points to the left branch of the double staircase. 

“Sir, please, why are you doing this--”  

“Sir?” He grimaces, “no questions. Just go.” 

You snivel and put your head down. You turn stiffly to the staircase and reach for the curled banister. You climb with dread heavy in your heels. Your shoe slips off and you stumble. He growls and lifts you under your shoulders, dragging you up the last few steps. 

“Left. Second door on your right,” he commands. 

You whimper and hug yourself again. You obey as peruse along the finely decorated walls. The details assure you that whoever’s home this is has a precise eye. There is some familiarity in the style; it reminds you of some of the offices nestled in the heart of the university. 

He reaches around you, crowding you against the door as he turns the handle. His breath scalds down your neck. Is he smelling you? 

He pushes the door open and snaps his fingers. You enter and look around for an answer. Why are you here? Who has brought you here?  

The leather chair behind the desk has its back to you. You can see a man’s dark hair above it. Like some sort of movie, he turns to face you slowly. You unwittingly step back against the other man as you’re struck by the reveal. 

“Ah, I was starting to think you got lost,” Helmut Zemo intones as his latent gaze meets your startled one. 

His soft brown hair with wisp of silver, the keen way his lips naturally curve, and his dark eyes. He's unmistakable. The vaunted dean of linguistics and language studies is the last face you expect to see.

“Dean?” You murmur dumbly and chuff out several shallow breaths. 

“Hello, darling,” he purrs as he sits forward, putting his elbows on his desk, “I trust you had a safe journey.” 

“I-- what?” You gasp. You turn to look at the man prowling behind you. “No, he--” you choke as he snarls at you.  

You face the dean again. It doesn’t make sense. Why are you here at the dean’s home? You only really know him by his likeness, pasted on every literary publication on campus and hung in the halls across his faculty. You’ve met him once at some lunch but it was that fleeting formal introduction you forget before you’ve even left the event. 

“Rumlow, I told you to be gentle with her,” he tuts and shakes his head, “allow me to apologise for my colleagues behaviour. He isn’t the type for sorries.” 

You mop your cheeks with your cuffs and sniffle. Your a shaking mess. The other man paces towards the other side of the room. He uncaps the decanter there and pours himself a glass of dark liquor. 

“Now, it is rude to serve oneself before a lady,” Zemo snips, “please, she would do well for it.” He turns to you after reproaching his associate; the man he calls Rumlow. “Sit, dear, let us speak civilly before things get... less civil.” 

You suck in a quaking breath, “I don’t understand--” 

“Sit and I shall explain,” he insists. 

You cross the large study and claim the seat across from him. The other man approaches and holds a glass of flat scotch under your nose. The roiling alcohol fumes and makes your eyes water anew. You accept it he loudly slurps his own. 

“Thank you, but I...” 

“Drink. I believe you will need it.” 

The dean’s words draw your attention back to him. You make yourself sip and scrunch up your nose at the taste. You don’t drink. It only gives you a headache. 

“Now, I’ve brought you hear because I would like to review your work,” he smirks and goosebumps raise on your skin. Rumlow looms close as Zemo’s tone puts you on edge. “I do enjoy when university staff are so eager to put their work out there.” 

You’re confused. What does he mean? You’re not a PhD, you’re no faculty spending hours writing papers on physics, you’re just a registrar’s assistant. 

“Ahem, let me just...” he pauses and unfolds a tablet on the desk. He props it up in the case and pulls his glasses down to his nose. He taps the screen and begins to read, “'You can hardly believe it’s real. That you’ve put yourself in this position. There’s no going back now. There is no escape from this man...'” he pauses and looks up at you, waiting for a reaction. Your spine tingles, “let me go on to my favourite passage,” he refocuses on the tablet, “’his rough hands grazed her soft skin, making her shiver, making her whine. He smothers her protests and her breath as he drowns her in a hungry kiss”.” 

Again he looks at you. You sink down in chair and turn your attention to the liquor. Oh no. You make yourself drink. You don’t stop until it’s empty. The other man laughs. 

“You have a way with prose,” Zemo praises. 

“Please,” you choke through the burn, “I... its just stories. They’re meant to be private. It’s...” you bite your lower lip. It still doesn’t make sense. “Why am I here?” 

Now both men laugh. You’re the joke. You look between then. Rumlow approaches and you shy away. He takes the empty glass and walks away with it. He clinks it down with his own on the oak bar. 

Zemo watches you intently. You rock in the chair. He could’ve fired you in the office, so what is all this? 

“I like your hypotheses,” he slithers, “I thought we might test them out. As is the academic way.” 

“What?” You pulses thumps in your temples, “what do you--” 

Rumlow startles you as he closes his hands around your neck from behind. He hushes you as he squeezes your yipe into a croak. He drags you up to your feet as you writhe and kick out. One of your shoes falls off in your struggle as he lurches you forward. 

“You know, fantasy can be such a good outlet for... self-discovery,” the dean stands as his chair rolls out behind him, “but it pales in comparison to the real thing.” 

“Please--” you crackle out of your throat as Rumlow squeezes your neck tighter. 

“And reality is a writer’s companion. Their work is always better when they have experience to draw on,” he comes around the desk as Rumlow brings you to face him. You can’t help but press yourself to the other man as the dean closes in. “And a creature like you, you’ve never felt desired. That much is clear. It drips from your words. These stories are a plea for more.” 

He runs his fingers up the lapel of your blazer and urges it down your shoulders and arms. You quiver as you’re trapped between the two men. You can only stare wide-eyed as you reach back weakly to claw at the bigger man’s jacket. He growls and you quickly retract. 

“Now, darling, the fear will only make it all the more... exciting,” he draws out the last word teasingly, “have you not written this one already?” 

You whimper as he unbuttons your blouse. You quake as he bares you plain white bra and you quivering stomach. The other man pushes his crotch to you, grinding with a snarl. 

“Ah, Rumlow, patience,” Zemo warns as he peels your blouse down your arms, “my colleague can be rather... impulsive.” 

Your head swells and spins. This can’t be real. You just can’t believe it. The humiliation of being found out is burned through by the fear coursing in your veins. 

“Please,” you eke out again. 

“Shhh,” he presses a finger to your lips and toys with the bottom one. “Mmm,” he turns his hand to frame your mouth, “how has no one ever noticed these pretty lips?” 

He leans in and kisses you. The other man moves a hand to the back of your neck, pinching so you squirm. Rumlow’s other hand hooks around to cover one side your chest, kneading through the unlined cup as you’re suffocated by Zemo’s mouth. 

Zemo purrs and draws back. He licks his lips and hums again. His fingertips crawl down your sides and across your stomach. You squeak and flinch as Rumlow squeezes your neck harder. 

“Darling, you can be good, can’t you? I fear you’ve been for too long,” Zemo taunts, “but can my associate let you go? Might we trust that you are to struck with lust that you cannot possibly flee?” 

You suck in air and babble. You only want the pain to stop. You nod, “yes...” 

“Yes, Dean,” he corrects and sends a look to Rumlow. 

The vice falls away from your neck, instead tugging at the hook of your bra. Zemo’s gaze falls to your tits and he purrs. He fondles you brazenly, running his thumbs over your nipples as the point through the thin fabric. 

“So plain one must appreciate the simple beauty,” he squeezes and leans in to kiss along your cleavage.  

You bra slackens and he lets go to let it slip down. Rumlow untangle it from your arm as Zemo gropes one side of your chest and seals his lips around your nipple. You moan and the air turns static at the vocal betrayal. 

Rumlow laughs and his hand spreads across the other side of your chest. He rolls your nipple harshly, tweaking as you whine. His hand falls down and he feels along your saft tummy. He growls as he slaps your ass with his other hand. You jolt and Zemo’s mouth pops off your tit. 

“Delectable,” he snarls and gives a nip to your flesh. 

Rumlow yanks down the elastic of your plain slacks. The cheap sort you order online. Your panties slip down halfway as he forces the fabric past your thighs. You reach to brace Zemo’s shoulder without thinking, feeling as if you might tip over. 

He touches your elbow as he bends to once more teethe and tease your tits. He bounces them then crushes his face between them. You stare down in shock, still paralysed in disbelief. 

Rumlow rolls your panties down your ass, your ankles bound up in the gathered wool and cotton. He shifts and lowers himself to his knees. He covers your ass with his large hands and you waver on your feet. He pulls your cheeks apart and snarls again. The man sounds like an animal. 

You yelp as he pushes his face into your ass and his tongue swipes along your tight hole. Oh god! Oh! Your muscles knot and coil and you hug Zemo’s head to keep from tipping between them. You reach one arm back as you arch your back and latch onto the other man’s shoulder. 

You drone out a startled but sultry moan. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. You haven’t felt this before. Another’s touch. Another’s hunger. You puff out shallow gasp as you’re caught in the storm of warring sensations. Your fear dissipates as you’re overcome by the slow build of please. 

You close your eyes as you try to pretend it’s just one of your stories. One of the many written fantasies you used to tamp down that need for desire. For this! Even alone, even your own touch, could not ease the longing that needles inside you. 

“Darling,” Zemo growls as he kneels in turn and grips your hips, doting on your stomach. He makes your imperfections feel perfect as he worships you with his mouth. 

Rumlow lets out another growl as he laps and his finger tickles up to meet his tongue. You squeal as he pokes his fingertip inside of you, the scalding intrusion tingling in your thighs. It hurts but in a way that you want more. Without a thought, you lean back, urging him deeper into your ass. 

Zemo traces along your pelvis and over the patch of curly hair. His fingers wander between your legs, nudge them apart and he toys with your clit. You quiver as he rolls over your bud, flicking and swirling as you slicken. You feel the blood swelling at his touch. 

He leans forward on the heel of one hand and tilts his head up, delving into your folds. He trails his hand down your thigh and sucks on your clit as he purrs. Rumlow pulls his finger in and out of your ass as you tighten around him, your walls pulse at their duality. 

Your stomach coils and your insides ripple. A tightness bounds you up as you puff out heavily and spasm through the sudden release of tension. You grip Zemo’s hair, forgetting the man has more than a physical hold over you, your other hand curling on Rumlow’s shoulder. You cum with a warbling yawl as you throw your head back. 

Neither man stops until you’re a shaking mess. Until your legs are so slack that you lean back on the man behind you and your whole body threatens to fold over. Rumlow slides his finger free and Zemo wipes his wet lips up your pelvis before he sits back on his heels. 

The move you as you pant loudly. You have no strength left to resist them. You’re strewn across the leather chaise that sits mirror to the desk at the other end of the room. The men circle you as your head lolls and you lay naked but for one heel still on your foot. 

They undress without a word between them. It’s clear this is planned. That they have every single second of the night calculated. You can only get through it. 

As Zemo reveals his furry chest, your cheeks raze with fire. You’re embarrassed more to see the dean like this than for him to see you. You turn your face away only as Rumlow stands even more bare.  

His chest is covered in coarse black hair that trails down to his pelvis. You gasp at the sight of his rigid length bobbing before him. His thighs are corded with thick muscle and his stomach tightens as he steps closer. 

Your turn your head again and nearly squeal at Zemo. Slighter than the other man he is no less eager to have you. As he nears, you curl into yourself. 

They don’t let you disappear or detach. Rumlow grabs you, lifting you off the leather, and takes your places across the chaise. 

Zemo guides you, something in his hand. You can’t keep up with any of it. He turns you to face the other man, nestling his chin into your shoulder as he holds himself flush with you. He sways you and he presses the shape between the top of your cheeks and squirts coolness down your ass. 

He tosses the bottle onto the chaise and it bounces to rest at the end. He rubs the lube around your hole and dips his fingers in, once, twice, three times. He nuzzles you and moves you closer to the leather bench. 

Rumlow reaches for you. Both men guide you over his prone body. You’re made to straddle him with your back to him. He grips his dick and taps the tip on your ass, sliding between your cheeks as he wets himself with the lube. Zemo grabs it and reaches around you. Another squirt adds to the wetness. 

Rumlow pushes his tip against your ring. You yelp and try to pull away. He grabs your shoulder and holds you in place, stretching you around him slowly. You shake at the deep and fervent agony that radiates up your back. 

Zemo coos at you as he strokes your cheek. He climbs up on the chaise as Rumlow drops his legs over the sides. He sits before you, coaxing you as the other man eases you onto his dick. You grit your teeth and cling to the dean’s wrists as he kisses your forehead. 

“It’s alright, darling, you’re doing good,” he praises and pets your head, “just a little more, mm?” You sink down another inch and whimper, “a little more,” he repeats. When at last you bottom out, tears spring fresh down your face. “Very good, darling.” 

“She’s tight,” Rumlow snarls and starts to rock you, “holy shit, she’s fucking--” 

“Language,” Zemo girds as he continues to stroke your face, “you hear that, darling? You are so good. Hm? He likes you.” 

“Weirdo,” Brock mutters but keeps you moving. 

Zemo runs a hand down your body. A tide rolls through you at the soft graze of flesh, and he once more finds your clit. You’re overly sensitive and so full already. He toys with you as you pout out shallow pants. He slowly lays you back as Rumlow takes you across his torso. 

Zemo dips his fingers into your cunt and out again, smearing around your slickness. As his eyes fixate on your cunt, you close your own, hiding beneath your lids. The other man continues to rock from beneath you, stretching you to your limit. 

As Zemo drags his hand from your cunt, the chaise shifts with his weight. He moves closer, draping your legs around him as he slides his tip along your entrance. He pushes along your folds, wetting himself as you quiver, then aligns himself again. He forces his tip inside, just the head, and lingers. 

He raises himself and bends over you as your muscles tug with tension. Rumlow grunts from below as Zemo bends over to kiss you and inches further inside. You nearly cough into his mouth as he gets deeper and deeper. Oh, god, you don’t know if you can take it. 

Rumlow brings his hands around to kneads your tits, his hips tilting as the other bottoms out in your cunt. They both groan as if they can fill your fullness. You throw your arms around Zemo and gnash your teeth, mewling and moaning as you sink your nails into his back. 

He kisses along your chin and cheeks as he starts to thrust. Long, languid, and calm. It has you on fire as the other man matches his tempo. A torturous teasing rhythm that has you writhing and whimpering. 

You’re crushed between them, bodies sweaty and sticking, the friction of hair and skin, of saliva and need. Your head lolls as Zemo nips and sucks as Zemo nips and sucks at your throat, a hand snaking under your ass, basking in the feel of you as nails graze tender flesh. 

A roughness from below as Rumlow bucks his hips harder, plunging deeper, breathing across your scalp as he grunts and growls. His pinches and gropes your chest as your spine curves wantingly. You succumb to your basest desires, to the fantasies you fall asleep to, the very same that you put to paper. It’s horrid but it’s oh so delightful, being used and bruised and tortured until you just can’t think. 

“That’s it, darling, you see how natural it is,” Zemo purrs as he quickens, “how you give yourself over to your purpose. You always knew you would...” he speaks between stolid groans, “those weren’t only stories...” he cradles your head and lifts it, looking deep into your eyes as he ruts into you, the man below you matching his time, “you were begging for this.” 

Your eyes roll back and you cum again. You feel something inside you snap, like a dam breaking with the pressure of a deluge, you gush out around the men, squeezing and twitching until you are hollow. Yet they don’t stop. They keep going. 

Rumlow sits up as Zemo moves with him, bringing you into his lap. The man behind grips your shoulder as his pelvis claps against your ass and the one before you sits back as you shake around him. He holds your head up as it threatens to wobble on your neck. 

You orgasm again. Your lashes flutter, your heart too. Every part of you is pulsing. Their gristling, grinding voices storm in your skull, almost maddening as their bodies sandwich yours. 

“Shittttt,” Rumlow drawls and bends his head forward, biting into your shoulder as he empties himself in you. He quakes as slows and sits back, twitching as he keeps you around him. 

Zemo sighs as you feel his own release. His hips rock subtly as he cums and holds you close, his eyes roving down to watch you tremble. When at last you’re still, the tremors do not fade. He grazes his knuckles down your stomach and you moan. 

“Shall we try that sweet mouth?” Zemo brushes long you lower lips. 

“Fuck yeah,” Rumlow growls, causing the other man’s eyes to glint.  

He might pretend to be proper but dean has proven himself just as sinister as any man; in reality or fiction alike. 

[lexycxndy]

I saw this panel and it reminded me when Loki jumped off when he got corned by the TVA agents and mobius

So I had to make my own of Loki just being a dumbass

[gremlin-girly]

Day 17: Snowed In

Pairing: Zemo x gn!reader

Fandom: MCU

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF

Not beta'd and that's a warning. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, copied or fed into an AI machine.

Summary: Follow on from Day 8. The snow answered you and left you snowed in in the Zemo household.

Word count: tba

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The snow that you had adored had apparently taken your silent prayers that your flight be delayed a little too seriously.

The morning of your flight home, you couldn't see out of the windows, save for the very top two inches where a trickle of sunlight edged it's way in.

You'd stayed with Zemo for two weeks now, and the last few days had been depressing. Helmut had tried putting on a brave face, but he was visibly saddened by your departure.

You didn't want to admit it either but the thought of leaving made you want to dig your heels in or drag him with you.

But now, looking down at the notification on your phone that read flight cancelled you couldn't be happier to be snowed in.

"Looks like I'll be here a little while longer." You smile over at Zemo, who is practically radiating joy.

"What a shame." Zemo says flatly, clearly not bothering to hide the fact he was ecstatic. "Tea?"

You giggle softly, your heart swooning as you join him at his side and peck his cheek. "Please."

[starlightshadowsworld]

You remember that era, where all the fics were the Avengers being best friends living in Avengers Tower.

Thor's obsessed with pop tarts and Hawkeyes in the vents for some reason.

Natasha steals everyone's clothes, Tony and Bruce are Science Bros TM doing all kinds of chaos in the labs.

Steve's sketchbook is beside him and Jarvis is helping him figure out his new phone.

I really want that era for the current MCU.

Just

Kamala and Darcy making lists of all the classics Carol needs to watch.

Yelena winning family game night. Demands Jimmy teachers her his card tricks.

Sam and Shang trying to out dance each other and pulling out the DDR machines.

Kate casually spoiling her friends.

While Bucky and Katy collect bets.

Monica and Wanda watching sitcoms together on rainy nights.

Zemo and Sharon showing up like they aren't both wanted criminals to watch horror movies.

[mohish-ko]

★ not sorry

[whereisthespicymustard]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021) — EPISODE TITLES

[supercalifragipopculturevomit]

Captain America: Civil War (2016) Daniel Brühl as Helmut Zemo

Baron Helmut Zemo — Sokovian nobleman, former Colonel of the Sokovian Armed Forces, commander of EKO Scorpion, and theatrical actor.