#baron helmut zemo x reader

[therenlover]

Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic

"And when I imagine life when it's mine / I can try to picture faceless folk to love a thousand times / But always for a second, and usually at the start / You're in the image posing with a cradled beating heart" - Katie Gregson MacLeod, i'm worried it will always be you

Synopsis: Leaving Helmut for good had been the biggest, most final choice you'd ever had to make. Two years later, he's in your living room again. This time, though, things are different.

Tags: Explicit Smut (+18), Exes, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Switch!Zemo, Oral (Fem Receiving), Service Top!Zemo, Aftercare, Bucky is Mentioned Too Much

Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 8,600~

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“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”

The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin? 

Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,” 

“Apologies,” 

He didn’t mean it. 

“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”

His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.

For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that. 

They would see lovers.

The thought left a lump in my throat. 

Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though. 

Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.

I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed. 

“Bad?” I asked.

He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”

A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,” 

“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,” 

As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated. 

Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit. 

Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,” 

“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges. 

“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,” 

I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,” 

Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with. 

I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap. 

There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then. 

The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.

“I saw your concert,” 

I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“ 

“James mentioned it,” 

“You still talk to Bucky?” 

“Here and there,” 

The conversation lapsed into silence. 

He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand. 

The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…

“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?” 

Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.” 

I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down. 

“Cain misses you,” He continued. 

I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought. 

“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,” 

“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,” 

“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,” 

“And what of Brutus?”

“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”

“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”

I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?” 

“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words. 

I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?” 

It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place. 

I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to. 

How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me? 

And that was why I had to leave. 

Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms. 

No. I couldn’t let it happen. 

Not again. 

“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,” 

Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,” 

“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached. 

“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”

I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again. 

Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.

Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed? 

How had I not noticed his docility until now?

The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…

I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance. 

Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork. 

With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten. 

“Lost your appetite?” 

He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb. 

Finally, it came. 

“I’m sorry,” 

I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction. 

More, I would not give him hope.

“Come home, schatz,”  

There it was. 

I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would. 

“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,” 

He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”

“I know,” The words were a whisper. 

So this was closure? 

The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end. 

“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,” 

I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“

“I want to,”

His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.

“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,” 

“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar. 

“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”

I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”

“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?” 

We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.” 

“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,” 

“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it. 

“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,” 

We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me. 

By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.

Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t. 

I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street. 

“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet. 

Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” 

“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm. 

I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off. 

The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps. 

We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met. 

It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…

He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.

I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line. 

My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”

His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?” 

“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,” 

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building. 

It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late. 

We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air. 

“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us. 

Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,” 

“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,” 

“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered. 

“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.  

He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,” 

My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out. 

“Goodbye, Helmut,” 

“Sleep well, schatz,” 

I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look. 

My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by. 

I had done the right thing. 

I had to have done the right thing. 

Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he? 

All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right. 

Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked. 

We didn’t need words then. 

No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified. 

He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed. 

At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart. 

It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did. 

This time I didn’t want to. 

Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?” 

I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,” 

“Please, stop trying,”

With that, he caught me in another kiss. 

“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home  I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses. 

The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.

Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip. 

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,” 

Ah. So that’s what this is. 

“Helmut, of course I do-“ 

“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,” 

The rest went unsaid. 

(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)

I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,” 

Like a shot, we were off to the races again. 

It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately. 

His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise. 

I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become. 

Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch. 

He shuddered at my attentions. 

“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely? 

I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,” 

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees. 

“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip. 

I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move. 

How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly. 

I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,” 

There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt. 

It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good. 

Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound. 

He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.

By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess. 

He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.

“How was that, my love,” 

I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,” 

Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,” 

“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent. 

He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,” 

It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”

His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly. 

“Again,” 

“Helmut,” 

“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,” 

I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,” 

“Where are your condoms?” 

“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,” 

He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case. 

It felt odd to have him be the one using them. 

There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew. 

I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…

He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?” 

“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.

Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared. 

So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat. 

It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete. 

Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it. 

There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion. 

As always, Helmut followed me down. 

His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.

We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.

Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me. 

The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck. 

I broke the peace between us. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,” 

He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,” 

“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”

“Schatz, please,” 

“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“ 

Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder. 

“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,” 

“Sorry,” 

“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,” 

A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear. 

“Thank you,” 

“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,” 

“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.” 

“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,” 

For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.

---------

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!

[vervainariadne]

Yep. That's right guys. I wish i was sam.

WE WISH WE WERE SAM.

[kortsitron]

Dancing in the rain

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo × Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: once is kinda sexual tension, but besides that it's pure fluff

Summary: You wanted to go for a walk after a mission. And who would have known that some of your dreams might come true under the rain?

Author’s Note: I got the idea after watching Crimson Peak (dancing scene to be specific) and the fact that it was raining while I was watching a said movie. Originally I thought about Bucky for this one shot, then Loki and I noticed I have no fics for Zemo so I gotta fix that. Hope you're gonna enjoy this one shot!

my ao3

"Are you sure you don't want me to call Oeznik to get us? It looks like it's going to rain." Zemo commented, watching you walk in front of him.

You turned to him, walking backwards, with a soft smile. "I am sure, Zemo. I haven't had a chance for a walk like this in a while, so let me take my time." He shook his head and chuckled at your eagerness. He found it quite cute. "You don't care if it's about to rain?" He raised his eyebrow at you, before looking at the sky.

"Nope. I'm gonna enjoy myself, no matter if it's gonna rain or not." You turned back to him, hearing a chuckle escaping him, before he was at your side, offering you his arm to hold if you wanted. Without a second thought you gladly took it, slowing down to enjoy yourself even more.

As much as Madripoor was dangerous, even more at night - somehow you found it beautiful. The alley you were walking down with Helmut, was quite quiet, it seemed like only you two were walking down it. The lamps lights shining on the street, being the only source of light on that very street, but you couldn't mind. You liked the calming atmosphere it had and you thought you could ask for more at that very moment.

It was before you felt a droplet on your face. And from one small droplet, it slowly started to rain. Your eyes went to Helmut, who was already looking at you. You didn't realize he was staring at you for a while now, so you quickly looked away, a little embarrassed, feeling your cheeks start to burn.

You thought he was going to make a comment regarding that, but instead you heard him say "I hope it's not going to rain too heavily. Otherwise our walk wouldn't be so pleasant." He took a quick glance at the sky again, letting droplets fall on his face as you got a look at him again. "I don't mind the rain, at least not now." The happiness in your tone, made him smile at you.

Again you two kept quiet, letting the rain get you wet. Zemo held you close to him, making sure you would get cold. Then he felt you shiver. "Are you cold? Should I call Oeznik to get us?" Worry in his tone, but you shook your head at him.

"No thank you." Zemo nodded at that, and before he had a change to ask another question, you continued. "The occasion is perfect, don't you think?"

"It depends. Perfect for what?" He raised his eyebrow at you again, a little confused.

"It's like in the movies, you know? If we were in the movie, that would probably be a dancing scene." You couldn't look at him, while you explained what was in your head. It felt a little embarrassing, as much as you thought the dancing in the rain scenario was cute and quite romantic, it seemed a little cliché. You honestly thought Zemo might make fun of you for bringing such an idea up.

Instead you felt him let go of you. You watched as he fixed his hair, took his gloves off and fixed his outfit. "Well then, if you like the idea of dancing in the rain so much, who am I to not let your dream come true?" Your face was burning at that moment and you were sure he could notice.

And you watched him as he bowed a little before you, his hand getting wet as he waited for you to take it. "May I have this dance?" You nodded, deeply flattered by the gesture.

So you took it, setting your other hand on Helmut's shoulder, as his hand went on your hip. "Is that okay if I lead?" He whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You were too stunned to speak, so you let out a quiet sound, confirming that you were okay with his idea.

So it started. Zemo slowly led you through the dance, keeping his eyes on you as you rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, trying to calm down. You could tell that your heart was beating way faster than it should and you had no idea how to stop it. It was all because of the closeness you got with Zemo.

You had a crush on him for a while now. He is always so nice toward you, ever since you met. So nice, kind and so gentle towards you. Caring about you and you didn't think if you ever felt safer with someone. Or happier at that point.

And before you think about your crush more, you felt Zemo letting you go to twirl you. You got so caught off guard by it, you almost fell on him. "Are you alright?" He asked, caughting you in his arms.

"Yes, I just got a little lost in my thoughts, that's all." You explained nervously, standing straight and fixing your posture. You took a look at Zemo, he was looking at you with a soft smile on his face. You felt like your ability to speak was taken away from you. Suddenly you felt so shy, when he was looking at you like that.

"Can I kiss you?" Helmut asked, waiting patiently for your response and reaction. He watched as your eyes locked with his, as you were trying to analyze what was happening before you. It really was starting to become a dream come true.

"Yes please." You finally whisper, after what seemed to be hours for you. You felt his hand go to your face, before his lips pressed against yours. You wrapped your hand around his neck, being so eager so closeness. Being so eager for him. 

Zemo's lips were soft and they felt so good against yours. You imagined how it would feel to kiss him, but you never expected to experience it. Nor did you expect him to be this good. And before you let yourself go completely, he let go of you. 

His hair was messy, but happiness on his face was clearly visible. "I wanted to do that for a while now." He admitted, as his thumb, brushes against your red cheek. "I'm guessing that you feel the same way?"

"Yes, Helmut." You almost moaned his name out. And you couldn't help yourself from hugging him. He chuckled at your reaction. Pleased with how things went.

You quickly let go of him, shivering again. He noticed, and before you could get a chance to stop him, Zemo was taking coat off. "Helmut, yo-you don't have to!" You protested, you were cold, but you didn't want Zemo to get sick.

"Maybe, but I want to make sure you won't get sick. You're soaked up." He replied, as he put his coat on your arms. He brought you to the side, hiding both of you from the rain. "I enjoyed our walk, but let's get you somewhere warm now."

You signed happily. "But we will do something like this again, right?"

He smiled at you. "Of course."

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Two: The Deal and A Meal

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

The Missing Title

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Summary: After rounding up the entourage and getting debriefed on the mission, Madripoor and a woman named Selby await. Despite not knowing much about the place, it seems someone has a plan and it’s made clear what part you’ll have to play.

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Insecurity, Sexism, Dubcon, Threats, Violence, Cursing, Illegal Activities, Guns, Attempted Assassinations

A/N: I intended to originally go through all of the second episode within this chapter, but it turned out to be way too long, so I had to cut it short and split it up into two (possibly three knowing what I plan for the next chapter) parts. It'll be fun though, I know it! (aka the 'meal' part of the title might have been previously in reference to a certain someone.) and thank you again to @imamotherfuckingstar-lord for essentially beta’ing for me ❤️

After a stale biscuit offered by the elderly gentleman you've come to learn is named Oeznick, and a glass of water, you'd fallen asleep. The flight passed fairly quickly, and it wasn't until you were an hour outside the drop-off point that a warm and sturdy hand placed itself upon your shoulder. "wecken," an accented voice meets your ears as you stir from your peaceful nap.

"Rise an' shine," Sam's voice calls from off in the distance. Eyes blinking open you follow the calloused fingers up to its owner, surprised to find that it's the Baron who's woken you.

"When you're ready to change, I've placed your outfit in the lavatory," Zemo explains, hand lifting from your shoulder to gesture where the aircraft's restrooms are. Upon righting yourself, you find Sam running his hands down the lapels of his suit. With your half-awake state you're unable to bite back the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Hey, I didn't pick this, okay? If you wanna thank anyone, thank the maniac over here- better yet, thank Buck since he's the one who got us into this mess in the first place." Sam turns his argument on his counterpart, the mischievously playful twinkle in his eyes landing on the man still sitting in his seat from earlier. Leg crossed over the other, small notebook open in his lap, Bucky raises his gaze to your friend.

"Yeah, like you wouldn't be doing something just as-- if not even more--dangerous if it weren't for my idea," the soldier retorts.

"So I'm hearing that this maniac is actually perhaps saving you some grace?" Zemo chips in, a smug look upon his face.

"Ha, you wish," Sam's voice bites back as you shake your head in amusement, exiting the cabin.

The lavatory is far more immaculate than you'd anticipated, the sleek shedua door leading into a room bordered with, and a sink cabinet made from the same polished material. There are rolls of towels sitting on a shelf beside the sink. Eyes taking in your groggy features reflected in the back-lit mirror, you don't spot the outfit until your eyes see a pop of color. Dangling from a hanger placed on the hooks at the back of the door is a satin cherry red dress.

With gentle fingers, you run them along the soft fabric. It happens to be one of your favorites, even if you're sure many people enjoy the smooth touch of it. Though you may consider whether your undergarments will work with this outfit--let alone if it'll even fit you--there's no better answer than seeing for yourself. After all, Zemo had said that this was for you. There's no other wardrobe in here, so it's not like you can pretend otherwise. It only takes a second to double-check and make sure you'd locked the doors and there are no cameras or an unfortunate happenstance of a double-sided mirror. With everything in the clear, you quickly undress, partially excited by the thought of trying on such a sexy and luxurious dress.

As you tug it up in place, shoulders supporting the straps, you're careful with it, not wanting to mar or maim it in any way. After all, it's not every day you're handling such expensive things. Initially, you'd been concerned about your undergarments, and while your bra straps are showing, it seems that simply tucking them beneath the draped fabric lining your chest doesn't leave behind a visible trace of the economic brand you own. The only issue is what follows next. Upon zipping up the back as high as you can, you find that the dress is snug against your curves. While that's not a style you usually go for and leaves you feeling somewhat exposed, you don't mind the way it looks on you.

Vision set on the mirror again, you find yourself running your hands down your sides as you take it in. The red material definitely contrasts against your skin, making your features pop in a different way than the more plain clothes you'd previously been adorning. Doing a slow spin, you take it all in; that's when you notice the issue... your panty-line is visible. Not to mention, the dress has a pretty high slit that ends just below the middle of one thigh. This realization causes the faint smile that'd appeared on your lips to turn downward.

Nevertheless, you continue. After all, that's only one hangup; there's plenty more to be done. Luckily, you'd brought some makeup with you. At the time you hadn't been sure why, but now the last-minute item you'd thrown in your duffle has clearly come to use. Though there could be debate on what sort of makeup style would look best in not only your picked outfit, but for whatever part you're playing. Escort? Lover? Arm Candy? Prostitute? You decide for yourself. Going for a classic smokey eye, eyeliner, and red lipstick, you make sure you look every point the part you're to play.

It's then that the final pieces come into play. There'd been a black cardboard box lying on the counter. Inside, you'd found a pair of black high stiletto heels which had a diamond encrusted floral-looking pattern attached to the back. Lips parting in a silent "wow," you can't help but enjoy them. The shoes fit perfectly, to your surprise, and while everything is in place, you decide that you're finally ready to return to the men.

"Holy...." Sam draws out the syllables as his mouth hangs open. Bucky's eyebrows raise as his blue gaze rakes over your body, taking in all the details.

"du siehst-" Zemo shakes his head, "wunderschön aus," he comments. Gloved hands tugging on the lapels of his coat, he clears his throat before turning his gaze back upon the men. "Hopefully everything is to your liking." While he doesn't look at you, the comment was in your direction, that much you know. Bucky nods in agreement.

"Never seen you so dressed up before," Sam teases, a playful smile arcing across his lips.

Eyebrows raising in surprise and amusement, you lift a finger to beckon him over. Sam obeys. "Firstly, you've seen me at the annual galas many times- and-" you clear your throat and quietly lean toward him, clearly going to whisper something. Sam recognizes this and lets you have access to his ear. "There might be a slight problem." The hint of concern in your tone is what makes him lean back far enough to gauge your reaction.

"Oh no- what is it?" He asks, not bothering to lower his voice. This comment garners the attention of everyone in the cabin, all the men turning their gaze on you. With a swallow of the anxiety rising to your throat, you try not to crumble under their gaze. Bucky senses your nerves and looks back out the window. Zemo turns his gaze away just enough to let you two remain in his peripheral vision, but make you think otherwise.

A hand gently gripping the bicep of Sam's suit, you lean in again. "You..." you sigh, turning your face away for a moment to gather yourself, "can see my panties. Clearly. I-"

"Okay-" Sam interrupts, instantly retreating from your touch as he puts his hands up. "I don't really need to hear about that, but I'm sure it's fine! It's fine- no one will notice." With a speedy glance toward the problem, his lips purse into a line. The reaction is what causes the men to return their gazes upon you, clearly left out of the loop.

"I don't- I don't know what to do about it," you whisper-yell in Sam's direction. With another look away from the men, your hair concealing the embarrassed look on your face, you gather yourself again. A sigh escapes your lips. "I don't know if I should-"

"What's the issue?" Zemo asks, clearly piqued in interest. While his hands clasp together, you can't be sure if you've offended him by the slight raise of his brow, or if he's simply determined to resolve whatever it is that's bothering you. Lips parting once more, your eyes turn back toward Sam.

"Don't look at me," he reasserts, hands raising in a childish manner. It's as if he's pawning you off to some strange man. You suppose he is, though you know how close he and Bucky are. Is Bucky a better judge though? A better critic of this? "I... think you actually oughta ask Zemo. He'd probably know better- no offense," he turns the latter half on Bucky. Almost as if he'd been on the same trail of thought as you.

"How can I help?" Zemo questions again, taking a step toward you. He tilts his head slightly, clearly trying to deduce the problem as he gives you a once-over. Nose wrinkling up in embarrassment, you let another sigh escape you before letting your head fall for a moment. Clearly, you have to do this. It's fine, though... or at least that's what you keep reminding yourself over and over again in your mind. With a raise of your hand, you summon him over. He obliges, leaving a little space between you as your relationship isn't as close as yours and Sam's. Albeit you'd have thought the man who's more like a brother would be more willing to help and hear out an embarrassing problem than a stranger. Obviously not, it seems.

With a mindless quick lick of your lips, you step closer to the Baron. Closing the space, you place your hand on the bicep of his coat as you lean in to whisper. "I... might have an obvious panty line problem. I don't know if I should take them off, or... I don't know, I mean- there's the slit, and, what if I-"

The touch of his leather-gloved hand resting on your bare arm makes your words come to a stall. "You don't need to worry, Liebling. If you want to dance or are afraid of exposing yourself, you can have my coat. I would, however, suggest taking them off for the mission, at least. Unfortunately, it would raise questions and look out of place for..."

"For...?" You pressure, wanting to have asked him earlier what part it is, exactly, that you'll be playing.

"For a high-end escort," he answers. "If this makes you uncomfortable, you may see if James and Sam are willing to let you await us at the meeting spot." Removing his hand, he remains in the closeness you'd created, wanting to be available for further conversation. However, you're all well aware of the approaching landing.

A shake of your head reveals your answer. "No, I'll do it. I just wasn't sure if that was the best option, or..." your words trail off and you give him a shrug of your shoulders. He nods in understanding.

"Problem solved?" Sam asks from the seat he'd retreated to during your exchange with Zemo. While his eyes (and Bucky's) never left you two, he had no doubts that you'd be able to come to some sort of compromise. A huff of annoyance leaves your lips at Sam's attitude. You roll your eyes in his direction before turning on your heels and heading back to the lavatory.

The last thing you hear before getting out of earshot is Zemo questioning Sam on why he couldn't have an adult conversation with a woman he's so close to.

________

It looks as if it's just rained, and while it smells somewhat revolting there's nothing you can do besides follow the men. Lagging a few steps behind (considering your heels) you can't take your eyes off the magnificent lights. The architecture something to be admired along with the mountains in the distance surrounding the city. Boats sit anchored all along the bay, and you wonder if they're night-fishing, or perhaps partying since the boys had claimed Madripoor was something of a party city when you'd been briefed earlier this afternoon.

"We have to do something about this, I'm the only one who looks like a pimp," Sam complains. "At least you look, fashionable," he gauges your expression, rolling his eyes upon noticing your amusement.

"It's not that bad," you offer, hoping to make him feel better considering he needs the confidence for this plan to work.

"Only an American would think a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you're supposed to be playing," Zemo states. Your lips part in shock and awe. He's not wrong, however considering who he's responding to, his comment might be a little out of pocket. The generalization of Americans is something you try not to take personally.

Before you can comment on who truly looks like a pimp amongst your group, Zemo continues. "The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger." Tearing your gaze from the water once more, you find that Zemo not only has a phone but is handing it over to Sam.

"He even has a bad nickname," Your friend complains. Tilting the phone so you can see the image, a laugh bursts from your lips. "Hell, he does look like me, though."

"Can't deny that," you add on. If anyone's getting credit, it once again is Zemo. While Sam had criticized Bucky aggressively, you're starting to see why perhaps the Soldier went through with his plan. Continuing down the pavement, heels clacking against the hard material as your eyes roam the expanse of the bridge and city before you, the accompaniment of boots wetly stomping against the ground gives some sort of comfort. You're on your way, this will all be over before you know it.

"You smell this?" Zemo breaks the silence.

"Yeah, what is that? Acid?" Sam questions, indulging the conversation.

"Madripoor," Zemo answers. As a vehicle approaches, the ride Zemo had ordered not long before, he speaks again. "No matter what happens we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There's no margin for error."

If you weren't nervous before, you were now. Although your intrigue about he smells and Zemo's nonanswer have left your mind, you know that anxiety won't help anything. No matter what happens, you have to act believable. Do whatever it takes. There's a reason you joined this mission, and there's a reason Joaquin asked you to help out. The car pulls a U-Turn and stops just a few feet away.

"High Town's that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit," Zemo says, "but Low Town's the other way."

Anger once again infiltrates your system. Not only is Zemo giving out nonanswers and advice, you've walked over halfway down the bridge to High Town for what? Only to go back the way you'd come? As your mind starts to run over the possible reasons, you've been left no time to think as Bucky opens the door to the back of the car.

"And let me guess, we don't have any friends in High Town," Sam states. From your peripheral you see Zemo shake his head. He, of course, takes the passenger's seat. Most important people up front, you assume. While Bucky waits for you to get in, you slide into the middle and buckle up. Once he's in next to you and shuts the door, you're half-minded to thank him, but remember your rules: stay in character. If you were really the Baron's plaything you'd know that the Winter Soldier was nothing but something akin to more of... a doll, of sorts.

As thunder rumbles in the sky, you're glad that you guys had gotten in the car long before it started raining again. After all, your hair and makeup need to be presentable for this to work. The mindless soothing gesture of running your hands along the soft satin material of the red dress the Baron had picked out grounds you. As the ride passes you're simply happy to take in all the new scenery around you, admiring the nice vehicle's interior along with the way your acquaintances are dressed.

You hear the sound of motors before you're able to see them. While you can't exactly see the side mirrors of the car, you know there's more than just one on each side. As Sam looks around, so do you. Something sinks in your chest; whether it's fear or dread, you can't tell, but considering you're unsure who's manning the motorcycles now surrounding your car, it seems warranted.

Perception is a funny thing; everyone has their own, yet they're all vastly different. Self-aware people are hard to come by. In fact, you'd seen reports that only twenty percent of people are self-aware, while the outlying eighty percent goes through life blind. At least, that's how you'd surmise the data. Why is it funny? Well, it's simple. Everyone takes in certain things, and while you've always been once to take in all the fine details, there's another phenomena that sometimes follows secondary. Dissociation.

While the process is usually brought up as a form of coping with trauma, it never truly goes away once it comes up. Coupled with anxiety, time seems to be slipping away like a blur. Soon enough you're following Zemo down a walkway, focused solely on staying close. Upon approaching a series of stairs, you're standing over an enclave of Low Town. The lights, stalls, vendors, people, and activities all at a good viewing point from here.

Unaware of the fact that you'd stopped until Smiling Tiger bumps into your shoulder, you're shaken out of your stupor. He wasn't the only one to notice, however, as the next thing you know Zemo's taken ahold of your hand and is escorting you down the steps.

"Stay with me," he instructs, determined dark eyes searching your face. At the bottom of the stairs he tugs you by your hand in the direction you suppose the location.

He doesn't seem unfazed, yet the task of mentally processing your surroundings and staying in character almost feels like too much. Maybe this is why you were better off behind the scenes on most projects. It's the sight of guns, within view, at access, in foreign and unfamiliar territory that's doing this, you're sure. Though the thought that Bucky and Sam are there is somewhat comforting.

Following Zemo under a blue and purple neon sign in the shape of a screaming monkey, you can't help but smile. It's uncalled for, surely, but with all the conflicting emotions going on within your gut, you aren't too focused on your reactions.

Zemo says something, and you're sure it's Russian, however it's only the last word you can makeout as something that sounds like "Soldier" that lets you know he isn't talking to you. Walking through the crowded bar, Zemo releases your hand, only to wrap his plush-coated arm around you, keeping you close.

Though you're aware of the eyes falling upon your group, you don't entertain them, nor the whispers you start to hear filter up into a murmuring. It seems as though Zemo has a plan as he marches right up to the bar with you.

"Hello, gentlemen, and lady. Wasn't expecting you, Smiling Tiger." The Bartender greets, putting down the glass he was cleaning.

"His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby," Zemo states. Eyes drifting up to his face, you offer him a coquette smile before turning it onto the Bartender in hopes of enticing him just slightly. After all, your mother always said that honey works better at trapping flies than vinegar.

"The usual?" The Bartender asks, suspicious eyes turning on Sam. Luckily, the man instantly plays along and nods. Taking in the blue lights that shine down from the truss they hang upon, your eyes scan the walls which you now only realize are made from something other than simply art. With inspection, you come to see they're the skulls of what you can only guess are monkeys. Which makes sense, considering the sign you'd seen outside. Zemo orders you both a round of shots, clearly focused on business.

Hand finding the Baron's gloved hand which still lies on your waist, you unravel yourself from his hold as you turn in his grip to lean against the bar to face him, hand still attached to his. With a moment to breathe, you join his hand with your other, both hands playing with the glove, one hand's fingers running along the length of his arm.

As Zemo turns back to look at you, he's distracted by the sight of what the Bartender is making. A split-second look of stun turns into a smirk as the man releases an amused "Ah." With curiosity, you'd followed the Baron's gaze, only to be equally, if not more stunned. "Smiling Tiger, your favorite." Noticing you, Zemo can't help but let out a laugh.

Met with a gutted snake, you can't help as your eyes widen and lips part. It only takes a second to follow suit as you turn to Smiling Tiger and offer a slightly amused and tight-lipped smile. "I just never get used to it," you comment, playing along.

As the Bartender slides over the shots Zemo had requested, the Baron picks them up, offering one to you. Faces turning to Sam, you both take stock of his reaction. One of you is seemingly challenging him, while the other is offering as much support as they can through their guise.

"I love these," Smiling Tiger states with confidence. Zemo raises his shot to your friend, you following suit before clinking glasses with your fake lover.

"Cheers, Conrad," Zemo announces. Downing the shots, you both return your gaze to him.

"Mmm," Smiling Tiger hums in anticipation, lifting the shot for a moment before he grimaces and hesitates. Just when you're about to encourage him, the man downs it in one go and doesn't make a face. Another faint hum of what you assume is truly disgust, but comes across as an unsettled stomach or perhaps going down the wrong way emanates from the man. With a thumbs up toward the Bartender, the man looks skeptical for a moment before turning and helping another customer.

Eyes still on Sam, it isn't until someone approaches your left, practically invading your personal space that you right yourself. Zemo's hand shoots past you to push you behind him as he squares off against the man. "I got word from on High. You ain't welcome here," the man states.

The Baron makes a noise of intrigue and thought before clicking his tongue against his teeth. "I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me..." a slap of his gloved hand against the bar brings everyone's attention to his gesture toward the Winter Soldier.

"New haircut?" The man asks, turning his attention on the Winter Soldier, who stares him dead in the eye, unflinching.

"Or bring Selby for a chat," Zemo threatens the man. Hands moving to rest on Zemo's back, you pretend to comfort him, offering your physical touch as some sort of grounding, or at least a reminder that you're there. He looks between the Winter Soldier and the Baron for a moment before leaving. Zemo shakes his head, to which you retract your hands, unsure if he's bothered, annoyed, or something else entirely.

"A power broker. Really?" Bucky asks, annoyance obvious in his voice.

"Every kingdom needs its king," Zemo explains, resting against the bar, himself, "Let's just pray we stay under his radar."

"Or hers," you challenge, joining him in leaning against the bar, even if you're really gauging the other side of the room and its crowd.

"Do you know him?" Smiling Tiger asks as he turns to be the lookout this time. "Or her?" He adds for your benefit, as you share a knowing look.

"Only by reputation," Zemo answers, turning to look at Smiling Tiger. "In Madripoor, he is judge, jury, and executioner." Clearly, the Baron seems to disagree with your theory. In earnest, it really is only a theory. People often underestimate others, and while there's a good chance only a man could survive the streets and business from what you've seen of Madripoor so far, you never know.

As you join suit and turn to look at your friend, it's only after Zemo calls for the Winter Soldier that you notice the person approaching from your left. As the Baron engages with Bucky, commanding him in Russian, you watch the man continue toward the former and extend a hand. Grimacing, you shake your head in a tacit form of advice. Of course, he didn't listen.

As soon as the man lands his hand on Zemo the Winter Soldier grabs it and backs him up a few feet. Eyes glued to the scene, you watch as Bucky easily throws the man to the ground and breaks his arm. People begin raising their phones to record the event as the man groans in pain on the floor. Another man runs at the Soldier to come to the groaning man's defense before throwing a punch. With a quick one-two combo, Bucky kicks him into another man who'd been coming to help.

It's somewhat shocking, watching the Winter Soldier throw someone onto a table. The table collapses and yet that's not where it's going to end, you can tell by the way Bucky continues stalking toward him. With a quick shift up to meet Zemo's face you're appalled to find him smiling. "You're not going to stop this?" You ask, momentarily forgetting your role. A doll of the Baron's would know what to expect... wouldn't they? Yet the thought hadn't crossed your mind. Hands reaching out toward the Baron's sleeve, there's a quick movement over Zemo's shoulder. Someone attempts to hit him, yet Zemo catches their arm and uses their momentum to push them toward the Winter Soldier.

Making quick work of the attacker, his body goes flying into a criss-cross metal beam before slumping onto the floor.

"Didn't take much for him to fall back into form," Zemo comments toward Smiling Tiger. His tone is almost amused, as if the thought was meant to provoke something from Sam. Taken aback by the quick spiraling of events, you jump as the Winter Soldier slams a man onto the bar and Zemo's hands simultaneously wrap around your waist. "Would you rather get what we came for, or be injured, even dead?" He whispers in your ear, nose nuzzling into your neck for a moment before he releases you, still keeping one hand on your waist.

The sound of guns cocking all around you makes your heart start racing as you force yourself to continue playing the part. Staring at Bucky's metal arm choking this man atop the bar, his hands attempt to scratch and claw for freedom to no use. You wouldn't be afraid of the danger, not if you were his lover. You'd probably get off on it, probably be used to it... something that to your character is entirely false. Stomach beginning to feel as though it's knotting up, you watch as Sam breaks character, hand shooting out to rest on Bucky's shoulder.

"Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us," Zemo murmurs through gritted teeth to Sam before commanding Bucky again in Russian. You think he's congratulating him, commanding the man's release? You aren't sure.

"Selby will see you now," The Bartender announces, eyes set upon your group as the man below Bucky's hand starts wheezing.

"Thank you," Zemo replies, nodding in the Bartender's direction.

In a matter of minutes, you've been led down corridor after corridor of sketchy, colorful doors and graffitied walls. With Zemo by your side, he keeps his hand snug on your hip as his arm snakes around your waist, keeping you close. Now that you're being led behind the scenes of the public fronts, you're able to see that things are much more dangerous than you'd been led to believe. Cages line the walls of one room, different pricey items inhabiting their safe spots. On tables there are guns, drugs, and more money than you've ever seen in one place at one time. Cameras line a row of desks, the security clearly high, and well needed if your parts are the type of crowd they normally get.

"You should know, Baron, people don't just come into my bar and make demands," a white-haired woman speaks from across the room. As the guard with some type of rifle stands aside, it's clear you've come to your stop.

"Not a demand, an offer," Zemo clarifies. As he sits across from her in an armchair, he drags you with him, placing you on his knee. This time you know the part you're playing, and with the physical closeness, you figure it doesn't quite look right. Backing yourself up onto his lap, you turn your upper body toward him, slinging an arm around his neck and bringing your head to rest against it so you can pretend to admire him.

"A lot has changed since you were here last. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?" Selby, the only person you can assume is her, based on how she holds herself, asks. She's testing him, you know that.

From her question, you know now is the time you can play. "We don't talk about that," you bite. Eyeing the velvet, patterned suit she wears, you take in her leopard-print tie and snakeskin couch. In your opinion, it's all so tacky. A two-thousands sort of 'elitism' look. Outdated certainly.

Zemo's gloved hand pats your hip a few times, his brown eyes turning to you, brows furrowing just for a moment. "It's fine, Meine Süße," he responds, voice much quieter and gentler, "I have not seen Selby in a long time! The question is only reasonable," he announces, turning his attention back on her. With a shrug, he answers. "People like us always find a way, don't we? I'm sure you've already figured out what I'm here for."

"Now, who's this?" A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips before she points at Sam, not taking her eyes off you as she gives you a once-over. "You're taller than I'd heard, Smiling Tiger." With a playful motion of cat claws, Selby purrs in his direction before finally turning her attention back on the both of you. "What's the offer?"

"She's none of your concern. Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum," Zemo lifts you onto the arm of the chair before standing and rounding the chair to pat the Winter Soldier's arms. "And I give you him. Along with the code words to control him, of course." Running his gloved hands down Bucky's chin before jiggling it, you're stunned that the man hasn't broken once. "He will do anything you want," Zemo offers.

Selby begins to smile, and you think he's got her. "Now that's the Zemo I remember," she bemuses, to which, he grunts in acknowledgment, "I'm glad I decided not to kill you immediately-" she pauses, "-Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right."

The Baron listens, his face stoic as he walks your way. Plopping back into his seat, you let your hand snake its way up his shoulder and onto his collar as you play with the fluffy speckled fur.

"Now, you know I hate to ask things twice, but how do I know your little tramp won't go running around spreading things on the street?" Selby threatens. Eyes darting from Zemo to her, you can't help the way your eyebrows furrow and anger begins to simmer in your gut.

"Because she's not a tramp." Venom seeps from his voice. In an instant he's dragging you onto his lap again, gloved hand gripping your chin and turning your face to meet his. Without a moment to think he's pressing his lips to yours with a fervor you were entirely unexpecting. Gasping, you retract for a moment, eyes searching his for only a moment before you reconnect your lips. This is your part, this is what you have to do. You should've expected it, but here you are.

With the understanding that this is life or death, you know you have to make this convincing. As soon as he returns the kiss again, you revel in the way his plump and plush lips dance with your own. His hands slide from your waist downward, dangerously low, yet not quite touching your butt. You let yourself moan against his lips. While your dress is long, you're able to move enough to straddle him, even if it's tight. Noses brushing against one another as you both deepen the kiss, it's only once your lips part slightly, each of your breath fanning across the other's cheek in rapid pants that you find yourself grinding against him.

Upon realization you must've stopped, because it seems as though Zemo recognized your hesitation. Parting from the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours for a moment before lifting you again to rearrange you to sit across his lap this time. "I don't need to explain my relations to you, Selby, but I'll say this: if she's going anywhere, it's not without me." There's once again a determination in his eyes that you find yourself unable to tear away from. While you stare at the Baron, taking in every fine detail of his face, he doesn't meet your eye. Instead, his darkened eyes remain set on Selby.

"The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Doctor Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank-" Selby concedes, the mentioned named garnering your attention. "Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you're on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but...things didn't go as planned."

"Is Nagel still in Madripoor?" Zemo asks.

"Oh. the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron," Selby taunts. Standing, she starts to cross over to the two of you, "And before you get all cute on me, don't think you can find him without me."

Suddenly there's a buzzing coming from Smiling Tiger's pocket. Everyone freezes. Eyes flitting to Sam, you don't dare break now.

"Answer it," Selby demands, "On speaker." The Winter Soldier crosses the room, now standing behind Selby, while she calls over one of her own guards. The biggest one.

"Hello?" Smiling Tiger greets.

"Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It's been drivin' me nuts," the voice of a female answers.

"What situation exactly are you talkin' about?" He responds.

"Are you high? You know what situation, it's the only situation me and you have," the voice retorts, getting agitated. Eyes on Smiling Tiger, you can still see out of your peripheral vision that Selby begins rounding the Winter Soldier, checking him out, you're sure.

"What situation, Sarah? Say it," Smiling Tiger demands. Sarah? That's... his sister. Shit.

"The damn boat. And watch your tone, okay? I let you slide at the bank," Sarah explains.

Selby begins to approach the armchair, the sound of something dragging across fabric makes you think she's grazing the chair to intimidate you all. Smiling Tiger scoffs. "The bank? Yeah. Laundered so much..." He chuckles as if he were doing his best 'villain impression' and not actually in a life-or-death situation. "Yeah, they'll come around."

"If that was the case, then why'd they dog you out, Big Time?" Sarah questions. This isn't good, this is poking holes in his character. You know this must sound suspicious to Selby. Eyes finally beginning to break, you turn your gaze toward Bucky for a second, his gaze unmoving, so you turn back to meet Zemo's gaze. His hand tightens on your waist.

"Yeah, you damn right I'm Big Time. You'll see when I have that banker killed," Smiling Tiger threatens.

"Cass! What'd I tell you about the Cheerios? I don't have time for this! Sam, I'm sorry- let me call you back." The beep of the call ending fills the room.

"'Sam'? Who's Sam?" Selby asks, eyes gauging you all. "Kill them!" The command comes quick, yet the bullet comes quicker. Glass breaks somewhere behind you and you're jumping in your skin. Sam goes for the man beside him, Zemo throws you off his lap. Bucky grabs the man to your left, knocking him out with his own gun before you're all running to the exit, or rather, the door you'd come in from.

"They're gonna pin this on us," Sam warns, back against the door as he's armed with one of the men's guns. Bucky stands lookout with the gun he'd picked up. Now you're panicking, wondering why the hell you didn't pick up a gun?! Heart thumping wildly in your chest, you run a hand through your hair, anxiety rampant.

Zemo sighs. "We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead," he directs. In an attempt to play nonchalant, you all exit the casino you'd entered and wind through the confusing corridors until you're back in the bar you'd come through originally. Walking out of the bar, you're doing your best to keep up in stride with the men as you're not as tall, and your strides certainly don't match theirs-- even in heels.

It's only once you're out on the street that you hear phones chiming left and right, everyone's eyes falling on your group. Motion from your right garners your attention and you stumble, a woman within a shop's window making a finger gun towards all of you and shooting you repeatedly. "This is not good," Zemo states. Almost at the crossroads just beyond the train tracks, the lights above you go out. Someone ahead of you starts unloading a clip, the banging of metal and clinking of empty casings ring throughout the air.

Everyone ducks, "Shit!" you hear Sam yell, while you'd made a noise that could only resemble someone being punched in the guts. A hand grabs yours and tugs at you. It's Zemo. Running after him, he guides you through the streets of Madripoor into an alleyway and around trash cans, litter, boxes, and through gates.

On the corner at a crossroads of which path to take, you spot quick movement from your peripheral vision on the left. Pushing Zemo into another alley, you hear a metallic boing echo, a telltale sign of ricocheted fire. Someone is clearly still following you both. His dark eyes widen in surprise, and though the moment feels drawn out as you both stare at one another, a nearby bang reignites his fervor. Tugged through the dirty, puddled streets of Madripoor. You're approaching another road when Zemo pushes you behind the wall of a deserted outdoor booth.

A gloved hand covers your mouth as the Baron crams himself between you, the wooden pallets of the vacant vendor stall, and the brick wall of the alleyway. There's a slight light flooding out from one of the apartments on the second story. In this, you see the wild look in his brown eyes. Ignoring the obvious closeness of your chests pressed against one another, and the rapid beating of your hearts thumping, you can't help but realize where your hands are. Having reached out in the heat of the moment for some sort of stabilization, your palms rest against the thick fur coat on either side of his hips.

Before you can question his intentions, the wet pounding of boots echoes down the alleyway. Whoever had been pursuing was running, only for their footsteps to stall. The constant pounding turns into an occasional splash as they step through puddle after puddle. Feet uncomfortable as Zemo's leg had wound up between yours, you slightly shift under his weight. He shakes his head, clearly worried about the person as their footsteps start to sound more and more distant. If either of you make a noise, they'll come back.

Luckily, they don't hear, it seems as the footsteps get more and more quiet, more distant. Though Zemo doesn't move. Another half a minute passes before he finally releases you, letting you exit the hiding spot first. "My apologies," he offers, clearly wanting to make his intentions clear. "I only meant to-"

"-Save us, I got it," you cut him off. "thanks." Not wanting to further discuss or acknowledge what'd just happened, you try to put it out of your mind. Ignore the flickers of desire that had bubbled up upon his proximity.

"Precisely," he adds. While it seems he wanted the last word, it doesn't go over your head how both of you seem to want to move on or change the topic. Refocusing on what's next, you realize finding Sam and Bucky might be hard given you're in unfamiliar territory.

Following Zemo through the streets, it doesn't take long for the nearby sound of Bucky and Sam bickering to alleviate your worries. Hot on their trail, you and Zemo give each other an amused look before running off in the direction of their sound.

"You seem to have a guardian angel," Zemo states, bewildered, as the both of you round a dumpster and meet up with the rest of your group. Relief fills you as you're more than grateful you'd found them and you're all still seemingly in one piece.

"Well this is too perfect," A feminine voice states from behind you. Upon turning you find that a gun's being held to your group, though more specifically, him. "Drop it, Zemo," she commands. The Baron puts his gun on the ground and you back up, watching as Bucky squints in her direction, while Sam raises his hands in surrender.

"Sharon?" Bucky questions. The name sounds familiar, though you can't place her face or name. The woman still approaches, gun aimed at Zemo.

"You cost me everything." Her tone is low... her eyes dangerous. She's clearly here for one purpose and one purpose only: she's going to kill him.

"Sharon, wait-" Sam begs, and you all find yourselves joining him in raising your hands in surrender. Placing himself between her and the gun, Sam defends him "-Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead," he explains.

"Well, that explains why you guys are here, and Selby's dead." Righting her head from having tilted it while assessing all of you, she continues to eye each one of you.

"So what are you doing here?" Bucky asks, daring to take a step forward. With the way there's still a pit in your stomach, it takes a moment to dawn on you. He's deescalating the situation; he's using a military tactic. Or perhaps a psychological tactic, you're unsure. Either way, he's doing something, which is better than you can say for yourself.

"I stole Steve's shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass-" she points the gun at Sam, then at Bucky, and finally Zemo. "-so that you could save his ass from his ass. Unlike you I didn't have the Avengers to back me up. So I'm off the grid in Madripoor," she explains. Doing mental calculations in your mind you try to place how a woman like this could have access to Steve's shield. That's when it hits you. Sharon Carter, the woman who'd been in a relationship with Steve for a while. You'd heard her mentioned once or twice by Sam and Joaquin, she held a high-ranking position in the CIA until... well, until the whole ordeal happened with the Avengers... with Zemo.

"Hey, don't blow smoke at me. I was on the run, too," Sam argues.

"Was. Is. Big difference. I don't speak to my family anymore. I can't. My own father doesn't know where I am," she clarifies, finally lowering her gun. With everything you've put together, it makes sense why she'd be angry at them. Hell, why she'd even want to kill Zemo, you get.

"Listen, Sharon we need your help," Bucky states, taking another step closer. Sharon chuckles, an incredulous look on her face you recognize all too well. They're asking for her help... again. After she says she's lost everything because of them. "Please," Bucky begs. Sharon sighs, and you finally feel your shoulders droop and relax a little. While you don't know her personally, you feel for her. With all that'd happened in the last few minutes it only comes to realization now how the guys had taken each moment of conversation during their attempts at deescalation to from a blockade in front of you and Zemo.

"This isn't over," Sharon warns, "I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for awhile." With a nod of her head in the direction you'd come, Bucky follows her. You follow him, and looking back momentarily you spot Sam pushing Zemo.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove

[violetmuses]

Detective AU Zemo?! 👀 🔎

[punemy-spotted]

Iris - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie

Pairing: SoftDark!Devil!Helmut Zemo x Sky-Captain!Reader

Warnings: Cosmic Horror; Dubious Consent; Dubious Morality; Estranged Relationship; Zemo and Reader are not in the Good Place; THIS IS A HORROR FIC; Soul Stealing; Incredibly Loose Relationship with Physics; This is a Fallen London x Marvel Crossover Moment; There are Space Bees; And Giant Lovestruck Space Crabs; Violence; Murder; Death; Poison; At Least One Reference to a Garrote; Estranged Relationship; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Sokovia rose, then fell, and then rose again. And now the stars will never be the same.

Notes: Hi, welcome, I really wanted to write an MCU crossover with the Fallen London 'verse so here we are. Imagine House of M except Wanda Maximoff became an actual factual God and it actually wasn't that bad after all. And now imagine all of that is background noise in favor of one unhinged Devil and one overly hinged Epistolarian. An Intrepid Epistolarian.

Oh also Wanda's waging war against Queen Victoria. It's fine.

For those of you who have read my other Zemo fics, finished and unfinished, if you notice similarities between this fic and the other ones... yes. I am Frankenstein trying to raise this fanfiction monster and put scenes, passages, and themes to better use than languishing in my Ao3/Tumblr cupboard. (Also if you've read my other fics, hi, hello, I love you.)

I crave feedback, so tell me what you think!

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The First taught Restraint, and the Second Betrayed. The Third taught us Hunger and the Fourth we Remade. The Fifth will live on in the Heart of the Sun but the Sixth did quickly Fade. The Seventh City will never Fall, never ending the Deal we made.

She kept some of the old names when she took this place, you know. Built onto it, even when her Renewed Empress had to bend the knee to the Scarlet One, sealed away in her undying mausoleum.

The Proclaimers of the Cult of the Sanctified, still seated at the Avid Horizon’s High Gate and whispering Truths to their counterparts on the other side, were right — the Seventh City would never fall; the Bazaar would never be compelled to deliver that fatal missive to that Beacon of Bright Betrayal it loved so much; there would be no opportunity to argue that Seven Cities worth of love is proof enough of Her Worthy Love.

If there is one thing you know about opportunities, it is that they are also opportunities to fail.

The long tradition of the Duchy of Sokovia — that Bulwark which once stood the test of time against even the Tsars of Russia — is not what it once was. There is, in fact, no such thing as Sokovia now, not the way you would think. There are Sokovian people, clinging to an identity lest it be lost in the abyss below, but all that remains of the Earthly land which remembered the Duchy’s history with the joint Empires of Austria and Hungary is now nothing more than a chasm of stone and steel.

A monument to violent delights in want of violent ends.

Cast your eyes not to the ruins of her past but to the gleaming future written in the stars ab—

The sound of a train whistle drowns out what remains of the tinned announcement, an earsplitting shriek you endure for what feels like forever, but is in fact — if the clock before you is accurate — no more than two minutes. Which — as it turns out — is plenty of time to interrupt the announcement’s conclusion and leave ringing silence in its wake.

Good. You were rather tired of hearing your own voice drone on any longer.

You turn your head away from the train schedule you had previously been pretending to occupy your mind with, watching the rails with mild impatience and fidgeting with your gloves.

He is late.

It’s not abnormal, really, for the more independent locomotives — those not on the Scarlet Empress’s own payroll, that is — to run on their own definition of time, but you’ve never known your contact to be anything more than a man of his word.

When you’ve properly interpreted his words, that is.

No matter. You have the luxury of time. Collecting your luggage takes little effort — a rather bulging handbag and a briefcase is not so terrible compared to the crates of fuel, souls, and hours you see being carted around you — as you step briskly towards the more busting central parts of port. The station itself has seen better days, almost empty save for a handful of dock-workers and the occasional Employee making sure the schedule runs on time, but as you pass through an open archway into the city proper, they seem eager to resume whatever activity they might otherwise have abandoned for your intrusive presence.

NORTH.

How did it happen? Was it prophecy — or maybe some mad interpretation of the scream-whispers of Distant Polythreme, a vision of the Garden — that led the Proclaimers to make their rhyme, completing the riddle and speaking for the Masters themselves?

Something must have rung true to the Masters, for them to solve the riddle.

Novi Grad rose, then fell. Fell until it could fall no further, until there was nothing left of decades of history but ash and blood for the ghosts of her denizens to wander through. Until there was nothing for the Masters and their bats to drag to cavernous depths.

So she, in her infinite tragedy and infinite pain, became the solution.

Your tea, madame. You look up from your scribbling absently, glancing briefly up at the server and then feeling your polite smile immediately fade off your face.

Must you always play games?

Helmut Zemo stands before you with a perfectly placid smile on his cruelly handsome face, So lovely to see you again, sweetling, and you’re quite welcome for the tea.

You narrowly avoid the temptation to roll your eyes, closing your journal and placing the cap on your pen, its nib glimmering venomously in the candlelight, You are late. A casual accusation, one he dismisses with an easy wave of his hand, just before seating himself before you and stealing a biscuit from your place.

And you are impatient. Surely this must mean you have missed me, little bird. If he notices the way you flinch at the sweetname, struggling to compose yourself before you manage to settle on sternness, he does not say.

You have faced worse things than Helmut Zemo, you know. Worse than the ache that slices through your heart when you look at him and his easy smile, the one you might have fallen in love with once again, if you forgot yourself.

You will not.

Instead, you breathe, letting the heavy air in your lungs out slowly as you tug the fingers of your glove until the whole thing is loose enough to be removed entirely.

You always hated getting biscuit crumbs on your whisper-satin fineries.

You asked me to meet you here, Helmut, a fact which he seems to dismiss with another too-sharp smile, eyes flickering over you.

It burns. Licking over the neckline of your dress before moving down to the delicate pearl buttons that hold shut your bodice, heat rising over the thin lace collar wrapped around your throat, and you wonder idly how often he fines pleasure in watching people struggle to breathe and die.

I’m told you have been busy, he tells you flatly, practiced hand snapping his biscuit in half before dipping one perfect semi-circle into the cup of tea he’d placed in front of you, Too busy, it seems, to inform your husband of your whereabouts.

The knifeblade edge of his voice is enough, slipping past the plates of armor you always try to wrap around yourself every time you agree to meet him, his joyless smile the barbs he leaves in your heart, ensuring it will bleed for him for a few months more after your eventual parting.

The first time he’d touched your cheek in the shadow of a clockwork sun while you wept, his lips ghosting  your skin, you nearly fell to your knees at his feet.

That should have been the last time you would ever see him, as he whispered sweet nothings and sweeter promises in a language you did not speak, burning intention into your skin and leaving you forever bound, words falling from his lips like a waterfall.

The third time you met Helmut Zemo, you cried. And the fourth. And the fifth.

You refuse to meet his eyes, smoothing out the wrinkles in your gown with trembling hands, Is this what you came to remind me?

He does not stop smiling, even as you make note of the uneasy tension sitting on his shoulders, the vicious gleam in his eyes as he continues his visual examination of your countenance, tea soaked biscuit melting idly on his tongue.

Yes, it is.

You should be grateful for his honesty — Devils rarely are, after all.

He continues before you have a chance to consider it, How much farther do you plan to run from this place, sweetling, before time returns you back to me?

You wish he wouldn’t call you sweetling.

You haven’t been sweet in a thousand years.

But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? He already knows that, anyway.

Though you suppose that maybe you ought to tell him about something he doesn’t know.

Why did you call me here, Helmut?

Why does any man call his wife back to the port where they parted last? I missed you.

You swallow thickly, avoiding the unyielding blade of his sharp-eyed gaze and even sharper smile, refusing to let your heart leap out to him as it aches to do, You are lying, Helmut, you accuse, pretending to busy yourself with the biscuits he brought to your table.

As always, as you should have expected, he only grins at you — a cruel, twisted grimace that makes your stomach twist not-wholly-unpleasantly — before reaching out and brushing his knuckles over your cheek, Would you let me lie, little bird?

I certainly hope you don’t expect an honest answer to that question.

His laugh is as sharp as his smile, a huff of bemusement you recall bringing you happiness before, a long time ago.

Now it reminds you of the taste of poison, of bile curling in the back of your throat, of blood and metal and the screaming agony of time stretched to its very limit.

The silence too, stretches between you, taut as the wires you would wrap around your palms to cut through cheese and impertinent throats, waiting for you to finally surrender and rise to your feet, gather your things and bid him as formal a goodbye as you’ll allow yourself — always just out of reach, I have no intention of playing games, Helmut, you challenge with the same tone of voice you might use to scold the Empress’s misbehaving sons, If you refuse to do me the courtesy of your honest, then do me the gift of your absence.

He watches you, eyes glimmering amber with insult, but does not dishonor you enough to reach out, There was a time, little bird, when you loved me without such reservation.

The words burn across your skin like living fire, your vows and his molded together in a single remembered sigil, a bond forced with the very language of Judgment, unbidden agony scorching your composure as you make a desperate, futile attempt to push away the memory; his voice soft, the low timbre of his accent sliding over your ears like honey in your mouth, gentle lips on yours as he sealed your fate with a kiss, I have memorized you like a prayer.

You could almost have forgotten he was a liar, standing lost in your memories as you are, forgotten the price of promise and the weight of truth.

Almost.

The tears burn at the backs of your eyes, but you blink them back, let bone grind against bone before, More fool I, then, for thinking you did the same.

You turn to walk towards the door, four sovereigns in hand to pay for your meal — interrupted though it has been — making a concentrated effort to not look back, even as you hear his voice cutting through the otherwise silent room, When everything goes wrong, it is a terrible burden to bear alone, don’t you think?

You cannot help yourself, can you? Shoulders slumping as you declare a reluctant defeat and turn to face him, swearing your heart has lit aflame.

You cannot ignore His Law forever, little bird.

You know nothing of responsibility, Helmut, your voice is cold as the icy expanse beyond the warm walls of Novi Grad station, still aching to leave and frustrated by your uncooperative feet.

There’s a twitch at the corner of his lips, amusement sparking in his own eyes, And what of you, little bird, what have you learned of responsibility since your escape from Perdurance?

You visibly flinch, the name sparking an endless array of horror and memories within you, just as his expression falls into uncharacteristic regret.

Nothing, clearly, you reply hollowly, words bitter on the back of your teeth, Much to your pleasure, I think.

That wounds him, to your surprise, hurt painting his face before he controls his features and buries both regret and rage beneath a placid mask, Infinite freedom is as tight a prison as an opulent cage, on occasion.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Love Across the Galaxy 🌌 | Helmut Zemo Imagine

Contains spoilers for GOTG Vol.3

Link to my Marvel masterlist

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

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

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

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

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

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

————————

Fall 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t call them that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well….they were quite the bunch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arriving in style.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ross tightens his lips, “You assume correctly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?” Kraglin asked intrigued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A shield?” Mantis repeats confused.

“It’s a frisbee,” Drax mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just give me another second—.”

“Quill.”

“I almost got it.”

“Pick a goddamn song!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guardians for the win!” Rocket cheered.

“I am Groot!”

“Never underestimate the power of Duran Duran!”

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

Oh boy, trouble was on the horizon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do what, exactly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose it did.”

Three Years Later

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

An action that rarely occurred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you saying?”

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

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

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

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

[ay0nha]

"Can you hold me?" w/ ANY DANIEL BRUHL NOW THAT THE QUEEN IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHH I HAVE THOUGHTS! Thank you for this one!! ok ok but imagine laszlo or zemo with this one oof...bif OOF...

[fandom-lover20]

To be fair I do need to do some writing but I'm running out of thigs to read so does anyone know any sweet, cute Loki x reader, Snape x reader, Lupin x reader or Zemo x reader? Oh and Steve Rogers x reader?

It'd be even cuter if they had kids but that might just be me.

[author-violet]

Hi guys!

Just a little update on me. I’m not dead. I’ve just been super busy with school since I’m graduating and I’ve been working like a madman. But I’m almost at the finish line so hopefully I will be able to have a couple of new fics out in the next 2-3 weeks.

Ps. If anyone wants any small fics of any of the characters that are listed on my masterpost I can definitely do that. And asks are of course welcome.

Thank you guys for everything <3

[therenlover]

Slain (Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo/Vampire!Reader) THE MASTERPOST

A/N: Welcome! This is gonna be the home base for all of the chapters of Slain on Tumblr. If you prefer to read on AO3, you can find the fic here. I can't wait to finally share this story with you <3 If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic or all of my Zemo fics, just let me know. My hope is to get one or two chapters out a month, but as of now, due to my current work schedule being variable, I don't have a set upload schedule in mind.

Synopsis: Sokovia is destroyed. Some say it fell to Tony Stark's bomb. Others say something much darker tore the country to shreds. Something supernatural. Something that had to be covered up by total destruction. Helmut Zemo doesn't care about the how, though, or the why; He cares about revenge, and he will stop at nothing to rid the world of those who live to harm it, even if that means going toe to toe with the ancient vampire who killed his father.

Tags: Vampire!AU, Enemies to Lovers to Friends, Angst, Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo, Morally Grey Characters, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Rating: E (+18) for later chapters

Current Word Count: 9,900~

------

Chapter One: No Compasses, No Maps

Synopsis: The world undergoes change. Helmut Zemo finds new residence and perspective on his journey for revenge.

Rating: M

Word Count: 9,900~

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Chapter Two: Thirst

Coming Soon!

[vervainariadne]

Same, girl, same

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader

@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?

"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."

He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.

"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."

"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."

He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.

"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."

He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."

"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"

You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...

"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."

Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.

"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."

"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."

You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..

"You see, after evading you so many times—"

"Narrowly," you interjected.

"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"

"That's not—"

"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"

Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.

"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"

You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.

"Because you're the person who knows me best."

You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."

"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.

"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"

"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."

"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."

You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."

"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"

"Don't step any closer," you warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."

He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.

You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.

You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.

"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"

"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.

Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.

But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.

"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."

"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.

"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."

His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered.  Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely.  You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good.  His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky.  And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?

“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added.  “That’s something we share, too.”

He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient.  If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it.  But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills.  “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.

“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained.  “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”

Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially.  You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this.  “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.

“That’s what you want?” he taunted.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor.  You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.

He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin.  His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion.  “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered.  You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.

“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.

“Wouldn’t what, dear?”

“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.

He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it.  “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”

A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.

“I don’t need to.”

He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you.  You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.

Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response.  Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it.  The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.

He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.

You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck.  “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt.  “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”

“And that time you shot me.”

“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.

He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder.  He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie.  You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.

Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it.  Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away.  

When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes.  “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.

Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way.  Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust.  You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you.  He was ruthless, in fact.

Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement.  He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.

“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”

“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier.  Maybe that was kind of the idea.

Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.

“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly.  “You played dirty.”

Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever.  You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!

"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."

He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.  

Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple.  You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.

You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you.  It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.

“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled.  “You missed it, didn’t you?  Chasing me.”

When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.

He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body.  “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment.  “What a filthy whore you are.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.

“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him.  “Show me how bad you need it.”

As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat.  Desperate for anything he would give.  You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible.  “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.

His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you.  “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.

But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head.  He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan.  “I’m close,” you panted sharply.

“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed.  He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan.  “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”

You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster.  “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you.  It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed.  It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.

If only he were satisfied by that.  With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.

“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred.  “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga.  I want you dripping.”

You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you.  The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.

“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”

“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.

“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised.  “I only need to feel you come one more time.  You want a rest, don’t you?”

You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.

“Then give me what I want.”

Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy.  But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.  

You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.

It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin.  When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace.  You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep. 

Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going.  Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.

He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water.  He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass.  “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water.  You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.

The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.

You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were.  It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…

If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.

Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him.  He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly.  “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.

“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.

“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.

“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.

“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt.  “I mean, I drank the water, so—”

“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.

“Enough?” you chuckled.  “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough.  I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate.  I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”

“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.

“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.

“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.

“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”

Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.

“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga.  No one else will ever see you again.”

You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision.  As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.

“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”

[cas-backwards-tie]

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Upon request of your best friend you join two familiar faces in Germany to pursue a sudden lead on the reemergence super-soldiers. Out of your usual element, you run into bumps, twists, and situations you hadn't anticipated. After the leads die down, you're left on your own with the decision of a lifetime. Suddenly, life is changing, the only question left is: what will you do?

Warnings: Cursing, Illegal Activities, Criminals, Secrets, Insecurity, Sexism, Dubcon, Threats, Violence, Guns, Attempted Assassinations,

Mentions of: Terrorists, Politics, Bombs, Assassinations,

Chapters: Assembly Required | The Deal and A Meal | Fate Rewritten | The Morning After |

[violetmuses]

"Don't Be Kind" || Bucky Barnes (18+ MINORS DNI) ❤️🖤🦾

OR

"Expensive" || Zemo (18+ MINORS DNI) 💜🖤💸

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 8. Fucking Machine - Helmut Zemo

Kinktober Day 8. Fucking Machine - Helmut Zemo

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, bdsm, dom/sub, mouth gag, crying, begging, degradation, restraints, fucking machine, squirting, nicknames, no use of y/n

my main masterlist 📚 // kinktober masterlist😈 // AO3 Link 

“But- but I wan-want you”, the sob shook your chest, as you sucked in a deep breath, finally having the freedom to talk as your gag was removed, but your eye mask remained in place, soaked with tears.

Helmut tutted from somewhere to your side, “now, you know only nice gets get me, and what are you?” he asked in a condescending tone.

Trying to control your breathing, you took another deep breath, ashamed by your next answer, “a whore”.

“Yes, a whore who couldn’t keep her hands off of her cunt even after I instructed her to wait for me to get back. So some would say, you deserve this punishment dragă, if only you weren’t such a brat”. The disappointment in his voice was what upset you the most, kicking yourself for giving in to your desires so quickly.

The piece of material used as a gag was placed back over your mouth, cutting off any begging that you were about to continue with. You cried more like a baby, you knew you deserved this punishment but it was relentless, you should have known not to mess with your husband after the bad mood he’d been stuck in.

He had returned home, finding you in the shower, hand between your legs and you hadn’t even heard him come in to see you mumbling his name frantically trying to get off. His hand was on your arm before you could react, pulling you from the shower, water dripping everywhere and you knew better than to fight back.

You knew where he was taking you as he was tossed onto the bed, wetting the sheets. You’d expected him to position your body over his lap and spank your arse until you were sore and then fucked you nice and hard until he forgave you.

Instead, Helmut had handcuffed your wrists to the corners of the bed, eyemask and gag then attached so you couldn’t follow his movements or beg anymore that you were sorry, he’d heard it all before, you just couldn’t help being a brat sometimes.

Next were your legs, they too were strapped so that they were now spread wide for him to complete whatever plan he had decided upon. There were some shuffling noises and something heavy sounded like it was being dragged across the floor, you knew exactly what was happening, knowing how heavy the machinery was.

This led you to where you were now, you weren’t even sure how long it had been, hours? A few minutes? All you knew was that a dildo attached to the end of the fucking machine had been doing in and out of you for what felt like an eternity. Helmut continued to make sure you were lubed up well but every time you came - which seemed an excess amount - your cunt would contract so hard that the dildo would slip out and you would squirt all over it.

The machine was loud and your husband was in control of the remote, turning it faster and slower until you were quivering into an orgasm, time after time. Each thrust had you shifting up and down the bed, slowly at first, whirring with each movement and then an unnatural speed where the dildo turned into a blur and your cunt just had a constant pounding against all of those beautifully sensitive nerves until you were screaming and withering.

It went on and on, again and again, the machine fucked you all the whilst Helmut watched until finally…it all stopped. There was a ringing in your ears, dribble running down your cheek, you were well and truly fucked, you weren’t even sure if you could lift any of your limbs, and everything felt floaty.

Helmut knew you better than you knew yourself, knew the exact moment when you went from orgasmic bliss to one more thrust and you’d be passing out. He started by removing the machine, then undid your arm and leg straps, your gag and then finally your eye mask. You didn’t open your eyes at first but after a few taps on the cheek and a kiss on the end of your nose, you looked up to the man leaning over you with a proud smile.

“Talk to me princess” he encouraged, pulling you in close to his side so you could take in his warmth.

“I’m ok,” you mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, his hand softly stroking the side of your face, wiping away and the remnant of tears. “Intense but it was good”. Helmut didn’t respond, you held him tightly as sleep finally found you.