#baron zemo Tumblr posts

  • from-the-clouds
    15.06.2021 - 39 minutes ago

    A Man After Midnight - Sugardaddy!Zemo x Reader

    Masterlist | Story Playlist

    Summary: After escaping the RAFT, Zemo hides out in Italy. Reader is a student studying abroad in Rome, but has spent much of her time working in order to pay for school. One day after work she runs into a man while grocery shopping....

    Words: 7.7k

    Warnings: Smut - unprotected sex, age gap, dubcon & daddy kink (if you squint), sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship dynamics. Alcohol use. Public displays of affection. Italian translations by Google Translate and being an avid fan of The Sopranos.

    A/N: This was a request I got on AO3 I took some liberties with. Please don’t try to poke holes in some of the logic in this story (i.e., Zemo going out to a club while he’s on the run), it’s just supposed to be fun. I meant to post this awhile back but it needed more work and I got super busy.  Also, I made a playlist for this story, which you can check out here. Please enjoy!


    Pocketing the map she’d been using a bit self-consciously, she stopped herself outside the small market. She was nearly successful, finally, at navigating from her flat to the closest place she knew to grab groceries, only having to look at directions once. 

    Studying abroad was supposed to be fun — at least that was what she had been told — but so far all she’d been doing was working overtime just to scrape by, and hardly had much time to explore the city. But how else was she supposed to afford living and studying in Rome without a proper job? Most of her classes were online, as it encouraged her to spend more time experiencing Italy, but it only gave her an excuse to spend more time at the office, putting in extra hours wherever she could. 

    It was easy to pick up ingredients for dinner every few days, and once she arrived at the grocer she set about getting all the things on her mental checklist. Mind spinning with thoughts of work — which was a competitive, paid internship she’d scored — her attention was everywhere except in the moment; hastily gathering the produce she needed.

    There were a few emails she’d have to answer when she got home, a few files to review before she could even think of her meal and –

    Letting out a grunt, she abruptly collided with a broad chest just as she was rounding the corner her way to check out. Tomatoes, apples, and oranges collided with the floor, she’d forgotten the canvas bag she usually carried her groceries in, and had been overly confident about what she could balance in her arms.

    “Mi dispiace,” she apologized profusely, using the limited Italian she knew, barely regarding the man in front of her as she knelt to collect the items that had been sent rolling in every direction. “I’m so sorry.”

    The man would step around the mess and continue about his day, she figured, but in her flurry to collect everything, a hand holding a bruised tomato was suddenly in front of her face. 

    Glancing upwards at the outstretched hand, she was taken aback when she saw the stranger’s face, becoming lost in golden eyes, which were sparkling, attentive, gazing at her coyly.

    “You might want to get a cart next time,” he said, voice low and even. His accent was European, but she couldn’t place exactly what it was from. However, she had heard enough Italian accents to at least recognize that this was different. It didn’t matter though, because his husky intonation was the most agreeable sound she’d heard since she first arrived in the country. He didn’t seem angry, if anything, he was amused. “May I help?” he asked, gesturing to the groceries in her arms. 

    It took her a moment to respond as she was too busy checking him out; he was good-looking, and had a vaguely familiar face, though she didn’t know exactly how. Perhaps he resembled an actor she’d seen in a movie somewhere, but she wasn’t going to let it qualm her.

    “Oh please, you don’t have to-“ she began.

    “It’s the least I could do.” She didn’t argue, and how could she? It seemed almost rude to refuse. 

    “I take it you aren’t from here…” he stated plainly.

    “You can tell?” she asked sarcastically. 

    He chuckled, a pleasant sound. “Neither am I.”

    They made their way to the register, and he paused to grab a bottle of wine off the top shelf of the rack, not bothering to look at the price, although she did, and tried not to gawk when she saw it. There was a short line at the register, and they filed behind other patrons.

    “My name is Helmut,” he offered his hand, and she shook it, giving him her name in response, which he repeated once before offering a soft smile. “What brings you to Italy?” he asked, chatting her up. Normally she shied away from small talk, but right now, she really didn’t mind it at all.

    “I’m studying abroad,” she answered.

    “Sounds educational,” he winked. “Have you seen anything interesting yet?” 

    She shrugged wondering how much she was willing to share. “Uh, well...it’s a little embarrassing but...not really. I scored a sweet internship, so I’ve mostly just been working.”

    “Well don’t work too hard,” he chided. “There’s so much to do here, you won’t want to waste the experience.”

    “I know,” she said. “Do you live in town?”

    A somewhat sour expression crossed his features, his brows drawing together, eyes narrowing, but then he blinked and it was gone. “No, I’m in town for business, I’m staying just outside the city.”

    “Oh nice,” she said, and she realized that she had made it to the front of the checkout line, where Helmut helped her place her items on the counter. The cashier bagged them quickly and she paid, taking the tote in her arms. 

    “Well it was nice meeting you,” she said, turning to find him watching her attentively, seemingly zoned out or lost in thought, though there was something quite intense in his gaze. 

    “You as well,” he answered. He paused then, eyes raking her up and down quite brazenly, and she thought maybe he was going to ask her something else, but appeared to decide against it.  “Enjoy your time in Rome,” he finished.

    “You too.” The cashier pulled his attention away and she left. So far, most of the people she’d met had been friendly, and she didn’t think much of the interaction, leaving him behind in the market as she began the short walk home.


    She lounged in a chair by the window in her little bedroom, feet propped up on the windowsill, watching the last sliver of sun slipping carefully under the cover of the horizon, the sky changing colors, from blue to red, to pink, to yellow before her eyes. Her cheap bluetooth speaker played an old Eagles album, and her hands worried about the handle of a mug that contained the remainder of a cheap bottle of Merlot. It wasn’t even a week night, but she was going to have to go to work early the next day just to get a few hours in. There was a good chance she’d be the only other person in the office, but she didn’t have much of a choice, as she needed the extra hours if she wanted to make rent the following week. 

    The trip was only possible because of a scholarship she’d gotten, but it was barely enough money to cover school, let alone rent and other living costs. The other students in the program had help from their families, or had money saved up, but unfortunately, she didn’t have such luxuries. 

    The city went on without her that night, and she could hear the chatter of people on the street, out getting dinner and drinks, pregaming before heading out to the clubs. She closed her eyes, taking another sip of wine. She’d have to start getting ready for bed soon, but she was savoring the only bit of city life she could have right now.

    That was until her roommate, Tiff, came tearing into the room, wobbling in precariously high heels and a skimpy, skintight dress, a watered-down drink in her hand. 

    “Uhhh, please tell me you’re going to change,” Tiff scolded, incredulous. She opened her mouth to speak but she was cut off. “Wait...don’t tell me you forgot..”

    “Fuck,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut, head lolling backwards. “That’s tonight?”

    “Yeah, it’s Friday!” Tiff exclaimed.

    “I can’t, I have to go in tomorrow.”

    “Okay well, you’re coming anyways.”

    “I could barely afford it even if I wanted to.”

    “Who cares? I’ll spot you, but we’re not leaving without you.”

    Despite her insistent protests, her roommates were convincing, and thirty minutes later she found herself on the sidewalk, huddled in a group, headed to a club she’d never heard of. Clad in a borrowed dress that was much shorter than anything she’d ever worn before, throat still burning from a shot of garbage vodka they’d taken just minutes ago, she planned on only staying out a few hours before heading home so she could make it to work the next day.

    She’d been in the city for about a month, but it was her first time out, and as she waltzed with her friends down the street, she was struck by its beauty, the crowded sidewalks filled with people headed to various bars and clubs, dressed in varying degrees of formality. For the first time since she had arrived, she felt carefree, happy, excited. At this point, she didn’t care what the plan was, she was just relieved to be out of the cramped apartment and boring office.

    The club her friends had picked out was packed, crowded, playing music she didn’t recognize but could easily dance to. It was a little overwhelming, and their group flocked to the bar to get a drink, leaning over to catch eyes with one of many frazzled bartenders. 

    Scanning the crowd, it was full of people she didn’t know, which was more comforting than anything else, compared to the pubs back home. That was, until she locked eyes with a man at the end of the bar. Wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his long fingers were wrapped around a tumbler filled with ice and amber liquor. She was struck by him instantly, not just by his handsome, confident looks, but….where do I know him from? His eyes narrowed at her kindly as a smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, oh god, he was so hot and she was so-

    “What are you gonna get to drink?” her friend smacked her on the arm, and she turned away from the pleasant stranger, as Tiff bobbed her head to the music obliviously, and took in the scene around her.

    She shrugged. At this rate, it didn’t seem like the bartender would ever notice them, and she’d practically forgotten about getting a drink, even though she felt like she’d need one soon to tolerate the crowd, which was growing increasingly rowdy. Turning her attention back to the man at the end of the bar, she was disappointed to find him gone. Maybe it had been her imagination, but she couldn’t hide her disappointment.

    Sighing, she leaned further over the bar, hoping the bartender would be forced to acknowledge them, until she heard a deep voice in her ear.

    “What a pleasant surprise,” it was a low purr that sent shivers up her spine, and she turned around to find the man now standing behind her, lips curled in an ornery grin.

    She felt herself smiling like an idiot, absolutely taken, especially as she now recalled how she knew him, the same man she’d met in the market earlier that week. He had been stately before, but she realized she’d been too flustered to discern just how fine he really was.

    “Helmut!” she exclaimed. 

    “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me,” he said.

    “How could I forget?” she blurted, and then felt her cheeks warm, embarrassed at her overt display of enthusiasm. 

    But he seemed to like it, and smiled even wider in response. “How serendipitous it is to find you here. I’m glad to see you experiencing the nightlife.”

    “Yeah,” she appreciated him up close, and felt somewhat awkward trying to figure out what to say next besides just oogle.

    “What are you drinking?” he asked, eyes flickering to her friend as well, who had just caught on to what was happening. 

    “Uh, vodka soda,” she said without thinking, her usual drink of choice when going out. “If we ever get a drink.”

    “Allow me,” he leaned over the bar, raising his hand.

    As if on cue, a bartender approached him, and as he was ordering, Tiff elbowed her aggressively. “Holy shit, who is that?” she asked, checking him out, and her eyes drifted down to the curve of his ass in his dress pants. Nice, her friend mouthed, nodding in approval. 

    Shrugging, she was too taken aback to tell the story, and before she knew it, Helmut pressed a cold glass in her hand, offering another drink to her friend who took it graciously. 

    “It’s on me,” Helmut said before she could open her mouth. 

    Now, she was able to give him a real appraisal. Stubble covered his jawline, dark hair falling onto his forehead, and she noticed, for the first time, the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. He was older than her, much older – she had to guess maybe somewhere in his forties – but it hardly mattered because he wore it well. If anything, he couldn’t have been more becoming if he were any younger. The dark dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the top, revealing just a bit of his bare chest, but not hardly enough, she thought. 

    The bartender sat down a round of shots as well, ones he must have ordered. “Please, let’s toast,” he lifted the small glass. She didn’t dare ask what the shot even was, and Tiff just kept elbowing her aggressively, like she couldn’t believe what was happening. 

    “Salute,” the three of them clinked the glasses together and threw back the liquid. It was smooth, expensive, nothing like what she had taken before she left her place that night.

    Helmut threw back the rest of his drink as well, and his eyes fixated on her. 

    “Come dance with me,” he commanded, and tilted his head in the direction of the dance floor. She froze, turning back to Tiff to ask silent permission. 

    “Will you just have some fun? I’ll find the others. Go on, he’s hot.”

    She couldn’t disagree, and took his outstretched hand hesitantly. It was cool from the drink, but felt so nice.

    “You aren’t working tonight?” Helmut teased, and she was surprised he’d remembered anything from their brief conversation in the store earlier in the week. 

    “No, but I have to go in tomorrow,” she rolled her eyes.

    “On a weekend? It doesn’t sound like you’re taking my advice.”

    “I’ll be short on rent if I don’t, “ she regretted the words the second they came out of her mouth, but she’d never been a great liar. Still, she doubted he wanted to hear about her financial misfortunes. As she expected, a look of discontent crossed Helmut’s features and she figured this would be the blow that startled him away, but it wasn’t, and his expression neutralized quickly.

    She didn’t recognize the music, all sung in various languages she didn’t understand, even the songs in Italian she only half comprehended, but it didn’t matter. Helmut’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close to him, and she felt her heart rate increase, echoing in her ears, even louder than the bassy club hits. His proximity was intimidating, almost suffocating. She wasn’t used to attention from men like this, and as much as she liked it, she herself wasn’t quite sure what to do. One wrong move might turn him off entirely, and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself.

    Finally finishing her drink, she discarded the glass on an empty tray passing by. Her hands rested stiffly on his shoulders, and he pulled away slightly to smile at her. “You don’t do much dancing, do you?” he asked.

    She shook her head no, struggling to find words. You idiot! She practically screamed at herself, feeling heat rising up her neck. “I’m sorry,” she managed.

    “Don’t apologize,” he said gently. “Here,” Guiding her hands, he laid one on the arm that he had wrapped around her waist, the other to his chest, her thumb mere inches from his exposed skin.

    “You can get as close to me as you’d like darling,” he hummed. “I don’t bite.”

    His hands were big, the one spread across her waist, thumb lazily grazing her ribcage, warm and gentle, her stomach fluttering at the contact as they began to move in time to the music. There was something almost protective in the way he held her, which had her reeling, despite how little they knew each other. 

    Helmut’s stubble tickled the side of her face as he talked to her while they danced, and she wondered if he was doing it because he could tell she was nervous. She hoped not. 

    “Sweet girl,” he murmured in her ear. “Don’t tell me this is your first time out since you’ve been in the country.”

    She grimaced, glad he couldn’t see her face. “I’ve just been so busy.”

    “You can’t spend all your time working.”

    “I don’t have much of a choice,” she was embarrassed truthfully, but she wished they could change the subject. It was clear she sounded like a stick in the mud. 

    “I might be able to help you,” he purred. From her spot, her chin over his shoulder, against the side of his face, she couldn’t really read him, but she was beginning to feel tipsy from the drinks she’d had. “But enough talking about work.”

    It wasn’t clear what he meant, and she didn’t want to press him, didn’t think she would have the audacity to even if she wanted. Instead, she let the liquid courage seep slowly into her veins, the rest of the club, the noise, the lights blending together into a more tolerable backdrop. When she leaned in closer to him, he matched her enthusiasm. Drowning in his scent, expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and whiskey, she gathered he was a man who liked the finer things, the watch adorning one of his wrists could probably pay her rent for the entirety of her stay in Italy and then some.

    Growing more and more bold, she moved her thumb over to dip underneath the shirt he was wearing, hesitantly touching the bare skin there. Her thumb began toying with the fourth button of his shirt, and he pulled away slightly to look at her then. Freezing, she wondered if she’d crossed a line.

    But instead, Helmut quirked an eyebrow, amused. “Would you like to see more of me already?”

    “Just a little,” she felt small, demure in his presence, but there was something kind of appealing about it. Watching her, she unbuttoned the shirt carefully, pushing the fabric aside to splay her palm against the broad expanse of his chest, which was searing hot and damp with perspiration. She gently raked her nails back and forth. 

    “Oh draga, you aren’t as shy as you lead others to believe, are you?” he smiled at her.

    She shook her head no, and at this point the two of them were closer than they’d been all night, his lips just inches from hers. Lifting her chin, she let her eyelids flutter closed halfway, hoping he’d give her what she wanted, and he did, tilting his head down to slot his lips against hers. 

    Whatever she’d been expecting, he blew that out of the water, the searing heat of his mouth against her own was like stepping into a sauna, sucking the air from her lungs and buckling her knees, a jolt of lighting hitting her stomach and radiating all the way to her core. He was so passionate, so confident. She didn’t need to worry about what to do next as he took the lead, his tongue sliding against her lower lip, one of his hands on the back of her neck, the other on her jaw. Even if she didn’t want to give in, she’d have no choice in the matter, and surrendering to him felt euphoric. 

    No one had ever kissed her like this before, and definitely not in public, but that hardly mattered because the last thing she wanted to do was stop him, and she let her hands roam, wrapping around his broad shoulders and tangling in his hair. 

    When his hands pulled her closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss even further, she let out an unbridled moan into his mouth. It’d been so long since anyone had paid her attention, and now, this, one of the hottest men she’d ever met was making out with her - passionately - in front of hundreds of people.

    He pulled away suddenly, she was a panting mess, lips swollen as she sucked in greedy gasps of air while she could, though she’d much rather be deprived if it meant he was going to kiss her like that again. She thought she’d done something wrong until he spun her around and grabbed her hips, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back so her ass was flush against him.

    He pressed his hips forward, gripping her own with bruising intensity, so she could feel him hard against her and she moaned, plainly, unable to help herself, head lolling back against his shoulder.

    In her limited years of life, she never imagined herself in this situation, which made it all the more thrilling. They were invisible among the crowd of people and she felt giddy, delirious. Grinding against him to the music, she threw an arm behind her to grip at his neck, which allowed him to press hot, searing kisses along her sensitive skin as she keened back into him. His lips locked with her own again and she moaned into his mouth.

    “You little tease,” he growled, his words had desire settling in the pit of her stomach as one of the hands on her waist slowly drifted up her ribcage and cupped the soft flesh of her breast through too many layers of her clothes.

    “Fuck, Helmut.”

    With every touch of his greedy hands, she was growing impossibly wet, he devoured her shamelessly, for anyone there to see. But no one around them seemed to care.

    There was power and powerlessness in her current state, all at the same time. He was cursing in a language she’d never heard before, the one hand that wasn’t on her breast ventured to grapple along her thigh where her dress stopped short. They explored her bare skin, torrid and rapacious, her self-control waning with every press of his sticky palms.

    “You look incredible in this dress,” he cooed. “If I fucked you in it right now, I don’t think anyone would know.”

    The precipice between her legs ached at his words, clenching around nothing. And Helmut seemed to know exactly the effect he was having on her, but it only seemed to spur him on as he whispered absolute filth in her ear.

    “Do you want me as badly as I want you?” he asked.

    “Yes,” she cried out as his hand slipped underneath the fabric of the skirt, no one would even be able to see him squeezing and pinching at the inside of her thighs, harsh enough to leave marks behind.

    When his knuckles grazed the front of her panties, she could tell they were already damp. He was so, so close to where she wanted him most but he was holding out, refusing to give her what she needed. “You’re so wet for me already,” he chided.

    “Helmut, please,” she whined, a simpering mess at this point. She hadn’t even drank that much, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been with anyone, and she knew with certainty it wasn’t this hot, hell, she probably hadn’t even gotten off. Mind clouded and driven by pure lust, it was Helmut who pulled away, but only slightly, and she whined at the loss of contact.

    “Draga,” he sympathized. “What kind of gentlemen would this make me?”

    Her logical brain managed to push through the fog, just a bit, as she turned around to face him once more. With some space between them, she was coming down from her high, realizing that she had never even been that drunk before, just lost in the throes of desire, intoxicated by him and the energy of the crowd surrounding them.

    “Be patient, anđele, you’ll be grateful once I’m through with you.”

    His words sent another wave of want over her, but she had to fight it, she was tempted to drag him into the bathroom, or worse, back to her flat. But she knew better than that...or did she?


    She’d donned her nicest dress, at least, the nicest dress she owned, and had to admit she was feeling confident as she approached the hostess stand. However, she was distracted by the view as the sun set before her, illuminating the skyline of Rome. She took a second to enjoy the moment, to focus on the soon-to-be memory, rather than the elephant in the room. 

    And as the hostess led her to their table she spotted him, seated by a balcony, looking at the view, nursing a drink. The mere sight of him had desire curling in her belly, and nerves tingling along her skin. It was all so intimidating. 

    Before she’d left the club, Helmut had asked for her number. The next day he’d Venmo’d her $500 and invited her to dinner. You aren’t working tonight, the memo had said. It sounded like she didn’t have a choice, so she didn’t.

    She didn’t have words to describe how she felt about it all. Like she’d said before, she wasn’t used to attention from men, especially not someone like him. And she knew almost nothing about him, what he did for a living, where he was from. Hell, she didn’t even know his last name for fucks sake. This whole situation could be dangerous, but for some reason, she was still intrigued. 

    “Well at least if you die tonight, I can tell your family it was in pursuit of a sugar daddy,” Tiff had teased as she helped her get ready. 

    “I don’t know if that’s what this is.”

    “Please,” her roommate rolled her eyes. “It totally is, and it’s totally hot. And so is he.”

    She couldn’t disagree. But she still wasn’t sure what exactly to make of the whole situation. 

    “Buona sera,” Helmut stood to greet her. “Come stai?”

    “Molto bene, grazie,” she answered softly, though she wasn’t sure if that was honest. 

    “How lovely it is to see you tonight,” he purred, as a waiter poured them both a glass of wine from a bottle. “I hope you don’t mind, I already ordered a bottle of wine for us. But if you’d like something else, by all means...”

    “No this is…” she glanced at the label as her glass was being filled with the crimson liquid. The label looked vintage, and probably pricey. “This is good.”

    “I thought you might appreciate a nice Italian wine,” he said. “This one is from Tuscany.”

    As if that meant anything to her, her normal choice of wine was Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joes. But, she was still flattered, even though someone with a more refined palette deserved to try it instead of her. 

    Clinking glasses with him and taking a sip, she looked out over the skyline of Rome once more. The sun had set, but there was still a bit of light in the sky, and they were tucked away from everyone else, out of sight. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose, so he could try to feel her up, not that she would’ve minded.

    Taking a deep breath, she decided they had enough privacy to bring up what was on her mind, especially because he seemed to be avoiding it.

    “Listen, Helmut, I need to tell you something…” she began.


    “About the money you gave me-”

    His expression turned from one of contentment to something much darker. “It is impolite to discuss such matters in public, and especially not at dinner.” 

    “Well when else are we supposed to-”

    “After, once we retire to my room.”

    “Retire to your room?” she raised an eyebrow. “How presumptuous.”

    “Is it, though?” he gave her a knowing look, and a once-over. “Just a few days ago you were begging me to fuck you in the middle of a club.”

    It shut her up. That sort of audacity would normally turn her off, but now, coming from his mouth, it sent tongues of heat up her neck. She squeezed her thighs together. His expression softened, and he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

    “Schatzi, I’ve spent much of my life like you, always running around, focused on my next accomplishment. And because of it, I missed many precious moments I’ll never be able to get back,” briefly, a sadness crossed over his features. She flickered down to the hand that worried about the stem of his wine glass. He didn’t wear a wedding ring. 

    “Let’s enjoy dinner,” he said, leaning back in his chair to look at the menu and take in the view once more. She supposed he was right.

    Her evening with Helmut was pleasant, surprisingly so. He was not the party boy she thought him to be, after their first encounter, as he wooed her with his knowledge of literature and history. He was well-educated and well-read, but not condescendingly so. She was impressed by his nature, and despite their clear differences in upbringing, they got on quite well. Most importantly, he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, despite the fact that her life was incredibly mundane and boring in comparison to his. 

    He had a way of making her feel special, the way his eyes met her own, the occasional flirtatious remark he’d make. The conversation rarely lulled and if it did, it didn't feel wrong, and they would settle into a comfortable silence as they ate their food.

    By the end of the meal and a few too many glasses of wine, Helmut paid the bill. When she reached for her purse to offer him money, he looked genuinely offended, waving her off dismissively. 

    Shivering as they stood, Helmut draped her jacket over her shoulders and pulled her towards him by her waist. His touch lit her on fire again, brought her right back to the dance floor, his hands on her hips, the feeling of his cock grinding into her ass. She’d spent each night trying to rid herself of the lingering arousal using her own fingers, but it hadn’t been very helpful. 

    The suite he’d chosen was nice, though she supposed even the most inexpensive rooms at this hotel were. But she couldn’t appreciate the decor, as the moment they stepped through the threshold Helmut spun her around and pressed his mouth against hers. Snaking his arms around her waist, he took two steps backward and she hit the wall, pinned in place by his hips against hers. She moaned into his mouth, responding to him instantly. 

    “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you all night,” he growled, his hands dipping beneath the skirt of her dress to trace along her bare skin. It made her squirm, and she began to rut against him, lifting a leg to wrap around his waist.

    But before she could find any relief he pulled away, rather abruptly, leaving her breathless, as he stalked to a small sitting area of the hotel. How he managed to remain so composed after kissing her like that was a mystery. He lifted an envelope off the table, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, passing it to her. 

    “But before I forget, this is for you,” he said. 

    Opening it, oblivious, she felt her eyes widen when she saw what was in it, a fat wad of cash. “That should be enough to cover your rent for the summer,” he said, sitting down and crossing his ankle over his legs, his arm over the back of the couch. Still dizzy with excitement she looked down at him. 

    “Helmut, I can’t-”

    “Ah-ah,” he tutted. “You will. You’ll never experience Italy if you are working all the time.”

    “This is insane,” she said, but was beginning to think her friend had been right.

    “I’m a baron, schatzi, that is nothing,” he gestured to the envelope. “Don’t let such things trouble you.”

    “A baron…” she trailed off, and her mind began working. It made sense, she supposed, why his work seemed so flexible, why he spent money like it was nothing. But there was something more, she thought. 

    She’d taken a few classes on European culture before her study abroad semester, and though she’d spent most of it asleep due to her crazy schedule, there was a name in the back of her head that she’d long since forgotten, one written on a whiteboard behind her professor the day after she’d pulled an all-nighter. 

    “Helmut Zemo,” she said to him softly, finally snapping the final piece of the puzzle into place. It all made sense, why he’d looked familiar when she first met him. A Sokovian Baron, a terrorist.  “You’re supposed to be in jail.” He frowned, slightly, but didn’t respond. “Oh my god.’

    The envelope, and the cash slipped from her fingers, unceremoniously fluttering to the coffee table, littering the floor.

    “Schatzi, come sit...”

    Her mind was spinning but she didn’t pull away from him when he tugged her to the couch and tucked her under his arm. And how could she? She didn’t know much about him, really, except that he was dangerous. Or at least, he was supposed to be. He’d only been kind to her, she couldn’t imagine any part of him being cruel. 

    “I thought you’d already figured it out,” he murmured. 

    As much as she wanted to be angry, it was hard to be with him so close. His presence was unsettlingly comforting and really, some ugly side of her was turned on by the whole idea. She liked it, though she would never admit it to herself.

    The whole story came back to her now. He’d lost his whole family in the Battle of Sokovia, his son, his wife, his father. And although she didn’t condone the extremes he’d gone to avenge their deaths, all she saw before her now was a broken man, seeking companionship. And he wanted it from her. She didn’t understand it, but she supposed that didn’t matter.

    “Let me show you Italy,” he coaxed, his deep brown eyes soft when she looked at them again. “You’ll have anything you could ever want.”

    “Helmut, I-”

    “You work so hard to take care of yourself, tirelessly. Won’t you just let me take care of you?”

    His voice, a low purr in her ear, rekindled the fire she’d been feeling from a few nights before and she decided it wasn’t her responsibility to turn in a dangerous criminal. Especially not one so handsome, so gracious, so impossible for her to resist. She kissed him this time, open-mouthed and needy. And really, why had she been so stubborn? She would’ve let him fuck her for free.

    Helmut must have sensed the shift in attitude, because he spent very little time kissing her before his hands were roaming her body, squeezing and grabbing at her exposed flesh. His hand hooked behind her knee and pulled her across his lap so he could cup her ass. 

    Every touch reminded her of the night they’d spent together, how close his fingers had been to where she needed him, and he had given her nothing. She hoped he would tonight. “I want you so badly, Helmut,” she mumbled into the skin of his neck. 

    “Don’t worry, anđele, daddy is going to give you everything you need.”

    “Please,” she mumbled after his words, she could feel how wet she was already, aching and clenching around nothing. His hand slid up between her parted thighs, she was still hovering over him, and his knuckles brushed against the front of her panties. 

    She let out a whimper, even the slightest bit of pressure was a relief, even though it didn’t last long. Pushing aside the fabric, he finally made contact with her skin, fingers dipping into her folds and spreading around her wetness.

    “You’ve made such a mess of yourself for me, haven’t you, darling?”

    “Yes,” she answered, hoping she was telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

    Looking down into his burning gaze, he chuckled darkly. It allowed her just enough time to be distracted from the feeling of his hands on her, until, without warning, he thrust two fingers into her soaked cunt. 

    “Fuck,” she nearly collapsed on him, pitching forward with the sensation, the way it felt for her body to yield to him so easily. 

    “Ah-” he used his free hand to push her backwards. “Stay on your knees,” he commanded. “I want to see your pretty face when you come for me.”

    “Fuck, Helmut, I need-” she cried out, not even sure what she was protesting as he worked her open. His thumb found her clit, pressing down, and she wasn’t sure if it was a response to her inquiry, but it was exactly what she had hoped for.

    It was hard to hold herself up, her walls throbbing and fluttering around the intrusion of him, she was growing wetter and wetter, and he was reaching all the spots she hadn’t been able to herself, especially when he added a third finger.

    She wasn’t going to last. It was embarrassing but she couldn’t help it. Before she knew it she was rutting her hips against him, seeking more friction. His free hand rose to her neck, squeezing, and she grew even more lightheaded and feeble. Helmut’s fingers curled, finding the spot that none of her other lovers bothered to find. When she looked down to meet his gaze, eyes stormy but warm, she felt herself begin to tighten around him. 

    “Don’t stop, I’m so-” she began, but was unable to finish her sentence before it happened, tumbling over the edge as she came hard, clenching around his fingers. Everything went black - she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d closed her eyes or it was the intensity of the orgasm alone, but it didn’t really matter. Her knees gave out beneath her, and she fell forward, whimpering and whining his name, head on his shoulder, panting in his ear.

    “That’s it,” he praised softly. “Such a good girl for me.”

    Slowly, he withdrew from her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before lifting his digits to his mouth. Watching him, she felt the ache between her legs return as he greedily sucked her arousal from his fingers. 

    Pitching forward, she couldn’t hold back the giggle that passed her lips, relieved and incredulous. But it wasn’t enough. He cursed under his breath as she palmed at his pants, grappling at him.

    “Fuck,” he pulled her hands away from him, forcing her to straighten up as his eyes locked with hers. “Strip for me.”

    No man she’d ever been with had been so abrupt, so domineering. And with anyone else, she might have found it dramatic, even embarrassing. But he was so confident, so sure of himself, each command he gave she’d obey without question. 

    Stepping away from him, she snaked her thumbs under the straps at her shoulders, pushing them off as he watched her under the dim light of the room. Even though she’d never stripped for anyone before, not like this at least, but the way he looked at her, all-consuming with his eyes, made her feel sexy. Slowly, she moved with purpose, delaying his gratification, as she pushed the fabric over her hips, letting it skate down her thighs and to the floor. 

    His breath hitched in his throat, she could hear it, as he rubbed a hand over his stubbled cheek. As deliberate and sensual as she was trying to be, it was growing hard to be patient when he was looking at her like that.

    Off came her bra, followed by her panties, which she had the forethought to match, having some semblance of an idea of where the night might take her. For once, being an overthinker paid off.

    “Oh liebling, you are more beautiful than I imagined.”

    It was hard not to beam at him, grinning like an idiot, and while she wasn’t sure exactly what this relationship entailed, he still managed to make her blush, whether he was trying to or not. 

    “Now you,” she giggled, and he chuckled slightly at her.

    “Ah-ah….you don’t get to call the shots,” he warned, before growing serious. “I’ll have you on the bed.”

    She would test the waters eventually, she thought, to see how far she could push him. But tonight, it was clear she’d get what she wanted if she just listened. And she didn’t think she could go much longer without his hands on her.

    Legs still a little wobbly, she made her way over to the bed and he stalked behind her, loosening his tie and tossing it to the floor. He spun her around right as she reached the bed, and she stumbled, falling backwards, only to be met with the plush mattress.

    Helmut was on her quickly, pulling her into another searing kiss, and she parted her legs so he could slot himself between her thighs. Impatiently, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, managing to work her way down to his belt, and he didn’t protest when she pushed the garment off his shoulders, exposing his bare chest.

    His hands roamed her body, met her bare breasts and squeezed, cupping them and pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefingers. Crying out, she was torn away from her focus on his belt buckle briefly. His mouth latched onto another, sucking and nipping and she keened into the contact.

    Eventually, she managed to loosen his belt, unbuttoning his fly and shucking down his pants, his hard cock bobbing in his boxers, and she grabbed him through the thin fabric. 

    He groaned into mouth, she tasted the desire on his tongue, pumped him a few times before reaching her hand under the elastic band, freeing him fully. He was big, intimidatingly so, and she wanted to be concerned about how he would fit inside her but she didn’t have the time, as he pushed her to her back, coming to his hands and knees to hover over her. 

    “Normally I’d spend more time on you,” he mumbled, as he rolled them to their sides, slotting his knee between her legs so she couldn’t provide herself with anymore friction. “But not tonight.”

    “I need you,” was all she could answer. 

    Somehow soon she was hovering over him, her hips straddling his as she stood on her knees, and he guided the head of his cock to her entrance, teasing her until she finally stopped him. Slowly, she began to sink down onto him, moaning, the girth of him alone was a lot to take. 

    “You’re so big,” she whimpered, wondering if riding him was really the best decision. But the discomfort was just so, not too much for her to handle. In fact, the burn of him pressing inside of her had her growing even wetter.

    “And you’re going to take all of me,” he answered. When she flinched, her body meeting resistance, Helmut bucked his hips up, almost a little cruelly, and she was forced to take him deeper, a sharp cry leaving her mouth.

    Once he was fully seated inside of her, he thrusted upwards, so deep she could feel him in the pit of her stomach, the back of her throat. It felt incredible, but overwhelming, so it took her some time to begin to move. The first shift of her hips alone had her eyes rolling back into her head, her limbs growing numb.

    But Helmut didn’t allow her to stay still for long, he worked up into her in time with her movements, as she built up a steady rhythm and rode his cock. One of his hands kneaded into the soft flesh at her hips, the other rose to her mouth, thumb tracing along her bottom lip before he pressed it forward, into her mouth, and she sucked on it while she fucked him.

    “Good girl,” he praised her, whispering compliments along with other filth she would never dare to repeat outside the room they were in, about how good she was being for daddy, about how well she was taking his cock. And she certainly didn’t mind it. Already sensitive and from her previous orgasm, she felt her second of the night creeping up as he stretched her open and hit every spot imaginable inside of her. 

    But she was struggling to stay consistent as she approached her release, pausing every now and then to catch her breath and keep her strength. Helmut must have noticed, even he seemed frustrated, and with one swift movement he flipped her over, his body never leaving hers as her back hit the mattress and he was the deepest inside of her he’d been all night. That alone was all she needed and she came again, this time around his cock.

    Cursing and whimpering his name, Helmut answered with a moan, but he composed himself quickly. “That didn’t take long, did it?” he taunted, and she didn’t have the strength to answer.

    She didn’t need to, as he fucked into her then, leaving her no time to recover. The nerves all over her body were tingling, begging, crying for some kind of break but it was clear Helmut wouldn’t allow it as he drove into her.

    “I know you have another one for me, schatzi,” he grunted, frenzied. “Come on my cock again, I know you can.”

    “I can’t-“ she gasped, but beyond her body crying for a break came another sensation, another coil winding deep in her belly. “Please, I-” 

    She was unintelligible by this point, her protests fruitless. He was a man who almost always got what he wanted.

    “Yes you can,” he growled into her ear. “Let go.”

    There was no way she’d be able to walk straight in the morning, that was for sure. His words had her back arching off the bed, still protesting weakly even as she came for him the third time that night, seeing stars. But even then, he wasn’t finished, he was now focused on his own release and she could hear the slick of herself as her sore and soaking cunt took him over and over. 

    Their lips met once more, sloppily, feverish, as her nails raked up his back. He was close, no longer holding back, and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Through the haze of overstimulation, she looked upon him. A thin sheet of sweat had broken out across his brow, along his shoulders, heat radiating off every inch of his body, a curtain of his dark hair falling in his face. 

    Bottoming out one last time, she felt him throbbing inside of her as he came, cursing loudly as his lips latched at her neck, catching the sensitive skin between his teeth. She cried out, startled by the sensation, but it didn’t hurt, at least not yet, while she was still coming down from her high.

    In the aftermath he was surprisingly tender, which she was grateful for, as he helped her clean herself up. She slipped under the cool, clean sheets while he made nightcaps for the two of them.

    “I’m flying to Lake Como next week,” Helmut said as he handed her a cocktail. “My family has an estate there I haven’t visited in awhile. I’d like it if you joined me.”

    Even though she probably had to work, there was a way she could call off, or even telecommute. She wasn’t going to refuse him anymore, especially not if he was going to fuck her like he just had while they were away together. At any rate, she was sure this would be a semester she’d never forget.


    Zemo tag: @juice-1981  @marvelsvision  @pattispunk  @msmarvelwrites  @professorrw 

    #sugardaddy!zemo #helmut zemo#zemo#baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #sugardaddy!zemo x reader #helmut zemo x female reader #helmut zemo smut #marvel#mcu #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws#tfatws writing#marvel imagines #helmut zemo imagine #civil war #captain america: civil war #smut #helmut zemo x you
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  • themadiarts
    15.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    SUITKOVIA THE MAGAZINE does definitely exist change my mind 🙄✋

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  • imagined-johnwalker-quotes
    15.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Thunderbolts group chat-

    Hammer: How do mermaids have babies?

    Yelena: Do you think the people who play teletubbies feel horny on set sometimes?

    Zemo:Why didn't Tarzan have a beard?

    John: Why didn't Aladdin have nipples?

    Sharon: Why is it called beauty sleep when you wake up looking like a troll?

    Ava: Why do sandwiches taste better cut diagonally?

    Val: Why did I thought recruiting you guys for this team was a good idea?

    #thunderbolts#john walker#sharon carter#helmut zemo#yelena belova#ava starr#justin hammer #contessa valentina allegra de fontaine #us agent#captain america#power broker#baron zemo#black widow#ghost#wyatt russell#emily vancamp#daniel bruhl#sam rockwell #hannah john kamen #florence pugh #incorrect john walker quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #john walker positive post #pro john walker #john walker positivity #incorrect quotes #positive john walker #disney+#marvel #antman and the wasp
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  • mymagicsuitcase
    15.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

    Bodyguard AU! 🕶

    Gender neutral reader

    Collage by @realremyd

    [Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

    Part 6

    You wake up in the hospital. Your shoulder aches. Your hip aches. Your throat is dry and you can feel a headache coming on.

    You remember everything.

    The car. The gunshots. The Baron.

    You sigh softly. You did your job. At least you hoped you did. As long as he was alive, you did what you were hired to do.

    You lick your lips and look out the window. You could just about see outside. It was dark out now. You wondered how your friends were doing. Hopefully they were all safe too.

    The door opening to your left caught your attention. You looked over to see a nurse enter. He smiled at you as he came over to your bed.

    "I wondered when you would wake," he spoke softly.

    "How long have I been out?"

    "About six, maybe seven hours now."

    You sigh as you relax a little. You had no reason to tense up and freak out.

    "Can I have some water?" You ask softly.

    The nurse nods and comes up beside your bed, pouring you a glass from the pitcher that bad been prepared earlier. He pours you a cup and hands it to you. You sip from it, thankful for the hydration.

    "I better call Mr. Rogers. He wanted to know when you woke up."

    You smile slightly and nod.

    "Let him know I'm OK."

    The nurse nods and leaves you alone again. You turn back to the window.

    You're left alone for the best part of an hour before the door opens again. This time the nurse is with Steve who is smiling at you as he comes closer.

    The nurse leaves you both alone to chat.

    "How are you doing?" He asks, smiling softly.

    You smile in return.

    "I'm alright. A bit achy, but I'll live."

    "I'm glad to hear that. It's been a tense day."

    "Tell me about it. What happened? Is the Baron alright? I need to know I did my duty, Steve."

    "He's alive."

    "The asshole got out of the car! That was so stupid of him," you grit your teeth.

    "I know. We can't work out why he did that. Bucky dragged him back into the car and took him to the hotel. We followed protocol. None of us felt good about it though," he confessed.

    You reach out and place a hand on his.

    "It wasn't your fault. I would have wanted you to carry on with protocol anyway. We were trained to do so."

    Steve nods, but he was still filled with regret over it.

    "I spoke to Tony shortly after we returned to the hotel."

    You stare at him, waiting.

    "Once you're well enough to be discharged, you'll be flown back to New York. You're off the assignment, for now at least. We just need you back in top form. Tony will be expecting you back."

    "I see. What about the Baron?"

    "When things calm down, he will be flown back home to Sokovia and his security will tighten. I have to reach out to a few friends. His travels will cut short until it is safe for him to travel again."

    You nod and look down at your lap.

    "Alright. I understand. Thank you for looking out for me, Steve."

    He gives your hand a light pat.


    Steve smiles once more before he gets up and stands.

    "I'll leave you to rest. I'll return in a few days, OK?"

    You nod.

    "Tell everyone I said hi."

    He chuckles and promises. Steve leaves the room and you're once again alone.

    His next visit is toward the end of the week. Word had spread that the group now known as The Agent Association had left town, unable to get another hit on Zemo.

    That meant they could focus on getting Helmut Zemo back to Sokovia. Steve promised to visit before that happened.

    The door opens and he enters, but he isn't alone.

    You're surprised to see the Baron with him, followed by Bucky.

    Helmut comes to your bedside, not yet taking a seat as he turns to the two men by the door.

    "May I?"

    Steve glances between the two of you before nodding. Bucky and Steve leave the room, standing right outside the door. You turn your gaze to the Baron, not quite sure what to think. Why was he here?

    At last, he sits down.

    You feel a little awkward being left in a room with him. Considering he hasn't liked you since you arrived at his home, you were worried about what he could possibly want.

    His dark eyes are focused on the covers of your bed for a moment. You can tell he's thinking, but you're not quite sure what he's thinking about.

    Then those stunning dark brown eyes meet your own gaze.

    "Are you alright?" Is the first thing he asks.

    "Yes. I'm alive, so there's that. They didn't hit anything vital."

    You can see the way his shoulders relax.

    "I was concerned."

    "You have no need to be. I was doing my job, sir."

    He falls silent for a moment. A small sigh escapes his lips and he finds it hard to look at you for more than a few seconds. Something was weighing on his mind.

    "They left you."

    His voice sounded small, as if he still couldn't believe it had happened. The way Bucky had grabbed him and then driven off. It hadn't sat right with him.

    "That's protocol, sir. If one of us go down, the rest must make sure the client is safe before calling for help for their colleagues. You were the priority, sir."

    "Please, don't call me sir. Helmut, please."

    "That would be unprofessional of me, sir."

    He sighs. He was not willing to argue on the matter right now. You needed rest. Though he did like the idea of you using his name for some reason.

    You look at the Baron. His eyes are soft as they look at you and he looks a bit tired. There was a bit of stubble on his chin. Though you had been shot, he just have had a pretty rough week too.

    "I appreciate you coming to see me, sir. You really didn't have to."

    You didn't think his gaze could any softer.

    "I did," he mutters. He does not elaborate on that any further, and you don't ask. He turns his eyes away again, looking down at the floor by his feet. His hands clasp together as he leans on his knees.

    You let the silence hang in the air.

    After a moment he pinches the bridge of his nose and stands up. He releases a breath and looks back at you.

    "Get well soon."

    You nod softly. He smiles. A small smile, but you see it and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly.

    He looked so handsome when he smiled. Even if it was a small one.

    Why did it affect you so much?

    He turns around and heads toward the door, glancing over his shoulder once to look at you before leaving.

    You stare at the door.

    You hadn't told him you were off the assignment. Maybe Steve had? Though he hadn't mentioned it.

    It didn't matter anyway. Helmut Zemo didn't like you to begin with. He probably didn't care.

    But he did come to visit.

    You sigh and sink down into the hospital bed. You were getting carried away now. You needed sleep.

    You needed to get better so you could go home.

    @thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol

    #zemo #zemo x reader #marvel #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo#au #baron helmut zemo #bodyguard au
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  • morganbritton132
    15.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    No Powers AU where Zemo is the most insufferable PTA dad at Cass and AJ’s school.

    #harm came to his son and Zemo didn’t hesitate to become a terrorist #he isn’t going to have any qualms about telling Carol her bake sale idea fucking sucks #politely of course #he’s still a baron #all the other PTA moms swoon over him because he’s young rich and hot #and he is a really good dad but he did make a kid cry for making fun of Carl’s accent so there’s that #he does like Sarah though #and was thoroughly disappointed when Sam covered for her at one of the meetings #let Zemo and Sarah be acquaintances #baron zemo#helmut zemo #aj and cass #sam wilson
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  • mymagicsuitcase
    15.06.2021 - 6 hours ago

    Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

    Bodyguard AU! 🕶

    Gender neutral reader

    Collage by @realremyd

    [Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

    Part 5

    Bucky got the Baron back to the hotel without issue. Well, no other issue than the Baron's complaints. Zemo insisted on several occasion that Bucky turn the car back around and they go get you.

    Bucky didn't say a single thing to him. He just kept driving. When he pulled up outside of the hotel he climbed out and opened the back door. He grabbed the Baron by the arm, ignoring all his complaining as he escorted him into the building.

    Zemo was promptly taken up to his room. He was going to push Bucky off of him, but Bucky had a tight hold on him. Zemo is pushed into his room and Bucky stands in the way of the door. He clasps his hands together in front of him and stands there stoically, facing the Baron.

    Zemo glares at him.

    "I hired you, you should do I say."

    "Our duty is to protect you, and protect you we did."

    "You let them behind."

    "Our duty comes first," Bucky tells him.

    "Your duty involves leaving your colleagues to fall at the hands of armed gangs?" Zemo is fuming.

    Granted, Zemo didn't care much for you when you arrived at his home. You weren't the same as your colleagues. You didn't look like bodyguard material. He didn't think you were capable.

    He was wrong.

    You put your life before his to ensure your job was done. He disrupted that by climbing out of the car and checking on you.

    Why had he checked on you?

    "You left them to die."

    Bucky doesn't say anything, but Helmut picks up on the slight shift of his stance. Bucky felt guilty, as he should, but he also carried out his duty.

    Helmut watched as Bucky raised a hand to his ear to listen to whatever was being said.

    Bucky lowered his hand and said nothing.

    "Well?" Zemo asks.

    "They got away. The others are returning here now."

    "And Y/N?"

    Bucky doesn't answer him. This infuriates the Baron more.

    Zemo had been to war. He was Colonel once. He had his own squad. He had seen people die, but to think that someone he hired to protect him had died doing just that, it felt strange to him.

    You had given your life for his.

    Thirty minutes later, Steve and the other make it to the hotel. Steve knocks on the door, giving the code word they had agreed upon to let them know it was each other. Bucky let's them in.

    Zemo stands from where he had been sitting in silence with his own dreaded thoughts.

    His room is filled by the other bodyguards.

    "Well?" He demands.

    "They got away. We fear the will come after you again. I think we should bring your visit to London to an end and rearrange this meeting some other time. We will firmly get in touch with the representatives to discuss this for you. For now, until things cool down, we will keep you here for the reminder of your trip. We suggest you don't leave your hotel room until it's deemed safe again. They are still in the city," Steve says, standing in front of the Baron.

    Zemo couldn't give a shit about the meeting.

    "And your friend?"

    Steve looks a lite taken back that the Baron was even asking. Zemo didn't like you. At least, he didn't before.

    "They were escorted to the hospital immediately after the ambulance arrived. They passed out, but are stable."

    Zemo's shoulder sink down from their tense position and he casts his eyes off to the side slightly. He sighs softly.

    "Take me to them."

    "No can do, sir. You are to remain here until the threat level diminishes, Steve replies sternly.

    "I demand to see them."

    "I'm sorry, sir. We can't allow that."

    Zemo hates those words with a passion. He needed to know you were OK. He needed to see you with his own eyes.

    He owed you an apology.

    Helmut sinks back down into his seat and tilts his head back. He runs his hands down his face and sighs again.

    You were stable. He'll take what he can for now, though he isn't happy about it.

    "So, you're going to keep me locked in my room?"


    That was aspect number two in which he hated. Zemo rises from his seat and makes his way over to the bedroom of his suite. He closes the door behind him.

    Once he was gone, the band of bodyguard turn to each other.

    "Is Y/N OK?" Clint asks.

    "Do you have any idea how hard it was to leave them there and bring him back?" Bucky says.

    "They're stable right?" Nat chimes in.

    "That was insane," Sam remarks.

    Steve holds his hands out in front of him and tries to get them to quiet down.

    "Y/N is alright though, right?" Carol asks.

    "They're stable. They were shot twice. Once in the shoulder, once in the hip. I don't think they were aiming to kill Y/N, just get them down," Steve says.

    "That asshole got out of the car," Bucky tells them.

    "He did?" Nat asked.

    "Yeah, he went over to Y/N. He looked pretty damn worried too. Did we miss something?" Bucky asks.

    "Maybe he feels guilty about being an asshole?" Clint suggests.

    "I doubt that," Carol says.

    "Whatever it is, don't worry about it. He's safe and Y/N will live. I have to make a call to Stark. Do not let him leave the room," Steve said, making his way outside into the hall.

    Bucky stays planted by the door as the other scatter around and wait.

    "Y/N was incredibly brave," Nat says, deep in thought.

    "They're a brilliant bodyguard, we all know that," Sam says.

    "Has Y/N ever been shot before?" Carol asks, trying to think back.

    "Yeah, a while ago. It was years ago, back when they started," Sam answered.

    "Damn, I remember that," she says, the memory coming back.

    "It's going to take a lot more than that to bring our Y/N down," Bucky states.

    They all agree.

    In his room, Helmut was leaning against the door. He would hear them talking about you. He felt a fool for ever doubting your skills. To hear you had been shot at before made him wonder. You must really love your job if you could get shot at and carry on.

    Then again, he should know how that feels.

    Not only back in the army, but back on that day too. Walker had taken everything from him as a result of trying to get rid of him, only to fail. He paid the price that day.

    He lived. They didn't.

    He closes his eyes and tries to block out the horrid images which threatened to flood back into his mind. Sometimes he can see them when he closes his eyes.

    You were in much the same position today. It was as if he was seeing it all over again.

    Zemo pushes away from the door and falls onto the bed, trying to bury his face in his pillow.

    "I don't want to remember," he mutters.

    He falls asleep there, still dressed and disheveled. He sleeps right through dinner, which is left at his bedroom door untouched.

    Most of the bodyguards had excused themselves from the room, returning to either their room or the hall.

    Steve and Sam remained in Zemo's room.

    It had been six hours since the shooting in central London. It was all over the news, which Steve had on, but kept the volume low.

    There weren't any shots of the actual shooting, reporters only getting there after the event was over, but witness statements from people in the surrounding buildings gave a pretty good description of what went down there.

    No one mentioned your sustained injury.

    He was rather glad about that. You could recover in piece.

    He hadn't told anyone yet about the phone call to Tony. He wasn't quite prepared to share the details until he had a chance to speak to you. He would do so in a couple of days. He had contacted the hospital and they agreed to call him when you were ready for visitors.

    Sam looks a the untouched plate of food.

    "You think he's going to eat that?"

    The food had been brought up a short while ago. This would be the second meal they ordered that he hadn't touched.

    "You can have it. I'll get him something when he comes out."

    Sam picks up the plate.

    "What do you think is wrong with him? He wasn't like this before."

    Steve shrugs.

    "I don't know. Something must have happened between them out there. Yesterday he couldn't understand what Y/N was even doing with us, today he's locked himself away because they saved him. I don't know what's going on."

    Sam sighs softly.

    "I'm at least glad he isn't hating them now though. Y/N is more than capable of protecting that asshsole. Hell, they proved it."

    Steve just nods silently.

    His phone begins to ring. Steve gets up and goes to answer it on the other side of the room.

    Sam watches in interest.

    Steve hangs up and turns back around to Sam.

    "Y/N is awake. I'm going to go see them. Keep Zemo here. I'll call you later."

    Sam nods and watches Steve go.

    There were no words to describe how relieved Sam felt right now. You were going to be just fine. He knew you would be.

    Probably best he didn't mention it to Zemo just yet.

    @thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol

    #marvel #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo#au #baron helmut zemo #zemo#bodyguard au
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  • fuddlewuddle
    15.06.2021 - 8 hours ago
    #thank you for the anon #winterbaron#zemo#bucky barnes#baron zemo#fatws #bucky x zemo
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  • kindledimagines
    15.06.2021 - 9 hours ago
    #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo#zemo#mcu#marvel#daniel bruhl
    View Full
  • spookyspiderboiii
    15.06.2021 - 10 hours ago

    am I attracted to men with mustaches??????? like Daniel Brühl with a mustache??????? like Sebastian Stan in I, Tonya??????

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  • missloubanner
    15.06.2021 - 10 hours ago

    Zemo, wtf ...

    #incorrect quotes#marvel #incorrect marvel quotes #TFATWS #The Falcon and The Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson#Helmut Zemo#Baron Zemo #FalconBaron (?) #Does this count as a ship? #omg #what am i doing? #Zemo No
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  • missloubanner
    15.06.2021 - 10 hours ago

    Wrong word, Bucky xD

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  • bruhlsbees
    15.06.2021 - 10 hours ago
    #goopyghosty #dreyma's empty thoughts #ask #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo#baron zemo#zemo
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  • crypticwanda
    15.06.2021 - 11 hours ago
    #marvel#mcu#mcu headcanons#avengers#the avengers #avengers x reader #mcu x reader #avengers headcanon#zemo #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #baron zemo x y/n #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo#zemo headcanons#zemo hcs #zemo x reader #zemo x you
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  • slutkovia
    15.06.2021 - 13 hours ago

    Daniel Bruhl has the perfect eyes for guyliner and I think it needs to be said more

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  • lafemmedezemo
    15.06.2021 - 14 hours ago

    The Daniel Brühl in the RCU (robe cinematic universe)

    #my two favorite boys #if anyone knows any other examples #or other pictures please add them on #i love to see it #daniel brühl#laszlo kreizler#daniel bruhl#baron zemo#helmet zemo#zemo#the alienist#tfatws
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  • godidontevenknowwhat
    15.06.2021 - 14 hours ago

    Yeah sorry I didn't reply I was too busy thinking about Zemo spitting in my mouth

    #baron zemo#helmut zemo#daniel brühl #ellie needs to shut up
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  • sorcerersofnyc
    15.06.2021 - 15 hours ago

    The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 6/?

    If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

    Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

    While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

    You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

    Chapter 6: When he wakes up beside you, Zemo remembers the day everything changed.

    Angst, various mentions of death & mourning, Zemo’s wife’s name is Heike because of comics. Implied alcoholism by Zemo as a means to deal with his guilt. I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian. The reader likes waffles (this is a non-negotiable fact).
    Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

    First Chapter | Previous


    Grief softens, but it never truly leaves. So when Helmut wakes beside you, he isn't surprised to find grief there, too. The pain has been a constant companion over the years, but today’s grief is nothing but a dull ache.

    He had a dream about his wife.

    The presence of another body lying right beside him forced his mind to conjure up a strange reality, something that bent and broke all known rules of logic and reasoning.

    He dreamt of his wife, yes, but he also dreamt of you.

    It wasn’t a sad dream — however; it wasn't painful to look upon her face, but his heart still ached. In his dream, she was happy, happy to sit and chat in a home that was both in Spain and Sokovia at once. She was taking the time to explain something to him, something that you seemed to understand already. You both laughed at him when he failed to get the joke.

    With a sigh, Helmut sits up in bed and turns toward the window.

    It's dawn, and the rising sun baths the room in an orangy-pink glow.

    You sleep soundly beside him, your even breaths breaking the quiet of the room. As he sits, Helmut thinks about breakfast, what might he make for you (and Sam and James) though the answer is obvious, really.

    He thinks about his mission, if Sam’s associate would locate Madani soon.

    He thinks about what you may do, what you might say. If he kissed you awake.

    He thinks about many things as you sleep beside him. He listens to the steady rhythm of your breath.

    He's happy.

    You never asked what happened to Vasily Zaev, and Helmut didn’t offer.

    News of his death never reached Spanish headlines or any other International News Broadcast.

    There were the occasional rumors of a scandal exacerbated by social media users but nothing outside the ordinary. His demise was attributed to liver failure, and he'd given his entire inheritance to a young woman, not a quarter of his age. Tragic indeed.

    In the weeks that followed that night at the Opera, you took an interest in his work. There would be no more missions like the one with Vasily (none would ever be that easy) but there were plenty of research, histories, and documents to discuss.

    And on some nights, you'd talk about more than just mission, nights when you shared your hopes and dreams for the future, your past sorrows, and secret anxieties.

    He'd sit with you while you worked on your art, bought you treats when you completed a commissioned project, and ask questions about what it was you were doing when he found you cutting up strips of carpet samples and tissue paper.

    Sometimes you'd take breaks together and watch television or movies.

    And it was strange. Just like the day you first hugged him, he felt as though the two of you had breached something:

    He now knew where you were born, how you became involved in the arts, how you felt the night you met Dominik at Heike’s dinner party, (“I always thought she set us up on purpose, but she always denied that she did.”)

    It was those stories, those small, stolen moments that made him see you differently. So by the time autumn settled and painted the leaves orange, and brown, and red, you were no longer just a friend his wife had; you weren't even the wife of a friend that he had.

    You were a friend to him as well.


    “Have you seen this?” You asked one day, sitting right beside him on the couch. You were so close, Helmut could feel the heat of your body pressed up against him.

    “See what?” He asked, though he knew what you would say.

    “This article.” You slid your phone closer to him, leaned forward, and your chest pushed up against him. You learned right away and though he pretended not to notice, Helmut didn’t particularly mind the closeness.

    The articles you found most interesting were often about the Avengers, with headlines that read:, ‘Accountability: Who Pays for the Avengers’ Mistakes?’ or ‘Sokovia Six Months Later’ and ‘‘Banning Ironman? One Country Holds Firm.’

    They were engrossing, and he’d discuss them with you while cooking or eating dinner together. These discussions would spark others, and those would carry you both through the night and sometimes into the morning of the next day.

    “They say the U.N. may get involved.” You said one day. “What do you think would happen if they did?”

    “Something I’d like to see.”

    But even with your help, even as you grew closer together, the weight of his promise still bore down upon him.

    The weight of his failure to protect them still haunted his sleep.

    So for every moment he spent with you, he worked ten times harder to complete his research, to find the Winter Soldier's Handler, to complete his plans.

    He had to work; he had no choice. Because every laugh, every smile, every lingering glance, every reprieve from his grief was a betrayal to his promise he made to his family—because happiness, even for a moment, meant that he forgot them. What other way could his actions be justified? How could he ever be happy in a world where his family was dead?

    He hoped to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle, but scotch, whiskey, vodka, and whatever else had on hand failed to provide a balm for his soul.

    Drinking was his only option, the safest option, because he couldn't let his thoughts linger on you.

    But one day, even that conviction was tested.


    It all started in mid-November when he read the headline for an article he knew would catch your interest. Despite what he expected, you didn’t come down for breakfast to discuss it with him, nor did you answer when he knocked.

    “I’ll be down in a minute,” you called, your voice muffled by the door — but you never came.

    You left your room around noon, but you barely spoke a word.

    Helmut should have been happy for the opportunity to work, but as he sat waiting for more files to decrypt, he couldn't stand to ignore the lump that formed in the back of his throat when his thoughts drifted to you.

    Over the past 7 months you encouraged him to talk and open up more, but it seemed you weren’t interested in doing the same.

    You left without saying much to him, and while you were gone Helmut brewed a pot of coffee. He prepared lunch. Had a glass of whiskey. He checked his phone for messages but found nothing from you. He reorganized your spice cabinets, bringing the most used containers to the front. He checked his phone again. Had a glass of whiskey. And finally, when evening arrived and you still hadn't come home to him, Helmut went into your room without permission.

    He was careful not to disturb your things, (even if he wanted nothing more than to pick your stray socks off the floor) and looked around the space. There were books and magazines neatly stacked across every surface. Their genres ranged from art and fashion to relationships and grief.

    He lingered on that last title before turning his attention to a paper on your nightstand. The page was wrinkled, spotted, and ripped in many places, but he knew what it was before he even picked it up:

    It was the letter Dominik kept in his pocket, the one he held on to so tightly, the one he had with him when he died.

    He frowned. You were grieving, and your grief had taken you backward, back to the promise of a simpler time.

    Helmut understood the unpredictable nature of grief, how it came and went without reason or regard, how days or even months could go by before it returned in full force.

    The letter was filled with the musings of budding love, a love that had grown and flourished before the cruelties of life intervened.

    He set the letter down with a sigh and left your room as quickly as he came. You arrived home not 20 minutes later.

    “Hello,” He greeted you by the door.

    “Oh—Hi, Helmut.” You carried a package of flour, four eggs, and a box of what seemed to be powdered chocolate in tow. He followed you into the kitchen.

    “Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked.

    “No, I’m... I got it.” You said, assuming he meant the groceries.

    “Are you sure?”

    “I’m sure.”

    He watched you put away the food and pause once you opened the spice cabinet.

    He observed you then, the way your movements slowed, and you stood there, staring off into space.

    “Helmut? Did you…”

    “Did I do something wrong?”

    “No, no, it’s just... I…” It was that gesture that broke you.

    Helmut didn’t know it at the time, but Dominik would organize your cabinets whenever he returned from duty. You placed both your hands over your mouth but even that couldn’t force back your cry. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, “I’m sorry—I’m ok,” you lied, but it only seemed to make you cry harder.

    “Tell me what’s wrong,” Helmut spoke softly. With a hand on your shoulder, he turned you around to face him. You shook your head. “Please, " he asked again, "Let me help you.”

    It took a few moments of coaxing, but once you calmed, you told him everything.

    “His... his birthday is next week.” You said, and it didn’t take a genius to know who you were speaking of. You explained that Dominik always asked you to bake him a cake, not buy one from the store. You set a yearly reminder to try recipes a week in advance, a reminder you’d gotten that morning. “Sometimes I look down at my ring and I still can’t believe it... that I’m a widow.” Your voice shook around the word and you sniffled again.

    Helmut walked you over to the table, helped you sit on a chair, and poured you a glass of Chardonnay.

    “... I never wanted to move to Sokovia—did he tell you that?” He did, but Helmut thought it best not to interrupt you. “I wanted to be with him but... I didn’t even know Sokovia existed before I met Heike... but I loved him, Helmut, I loved him so much and he promised I’d be happy. There are days when I wake up and-” You didn’t finish that sentence, but he thought he knew what you’d say. There were days when you’d wake up and wonder why you were saved, why your loved one’s died and you survived. He didn't know if you remembered, but you told him this before, on the plane.

    “... He used to wonder if he made a mistake," Helmut started, "If he'd done you a disservice by asking you to move when his duties kept him away.” He finally said. “He asked me once if he were selfish.”

    “What did you say?”

    “That he was.” Helmut shrugged, remembering the look of resignation on his friend's face when he said it, a look you then mirrored exactly.

    Helmut put his hand on your shoulder.

    “He was selfish, but he didn’t make a mistake... your happiness wasn’t wasted and he’d want you to be happy again.” After all, you didn’t fail Dominik. You hadn’t given him a false sense of security, a promise of safety away from the fighting—Not like he had with his own family.

    At first, you looked as though he said something outrageous, something you couldn’t quite believe. But then you nodded, releasing your emotions with a shuttering sigh.

    “You’re right... he would want me to, want us both to...”

    He sat beside you for the rest of the night, listening to you talk and reflecting in peaceful silence as you rested your head against his shoulder.

    And on his birthday, Helmut helped you bake a cake. It didn't exactly turn out well, so he offered to take you to the best restaurant in the city.

    It was the least he could do for you.


    When you arrived, Helmut told the hostess of your reservation, Zemo, a party of two, and she checked his name off a long list. She noticed your wedding bands as she stepped away from the podium and said,

    'De esta manera, el señor y la señora Zemo.’

    Right this way, Mister and Misses Zemo.

    You looked at him, your eyes growing to the size of dinner plates, but he kept his gaze settled on the hostess with a set jaw. It was an honest mistake, one he’s sure others made before, but to hear it said aloud was baffling. You twisted your ring absentmindedly.

    He intended to correct the young lady, but she gestured for you to follow before he thought of what to say.

    If he said you were friends, others would presume you were having an affair. Normally, the opinions of others wouldn't concern him, and he didn’t want anyone to think badly of you.

    “That was weird,” you said. “I forgot people must think we’re…”

    “Should I have corrected her?”

    “It was an honest mistake, nothing worth embarrassing her over.”

    And that was that. You interacted no differently than before.

    You both agreed to treat it as a joke, to have fun with the idea because the alternative, explaining how you came to be together, was much worse.

    And besides, Helmut thought while taking his second cocktail, it wasn’t exactly hard to feign some level of attraction to you; you looked beautiful that night. He liked the way your formal clothing fit around your curves, the way your heels gave shape to your legs. He felt immediately guilty for that, however, and followed that guilt with another sip of his drink.

    But that night wasn’t the only time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. It happened everywhere—or perhaps he simply noticed it more, like meeting someone whose face you then see everywhere you go.

    Everywhere he went people saw his ring, and they'd assume he had a wife at home, that you were his wife at home.

    When spoken aloud he’d only occasionally correct them, but most, he knew, formed assumptions in their minds, and was little he could do about that (and he didn’t particularly mind.)


    In January, you convinced him to visit an art gala and while you were there someone recognized you.

    Helmut didn't notice him at first, his attention was torn between the open bar and an abstract painting with dark shapes against bold strokes of green and gray.

    He couldn’t appreciate the work the same way you did, but he tried.

    But as he looked for what you described as ‘the emotional turmoil conveyed by the paint strokes,’ you drifted to the next piece not a few feet away and a gentleman approached.

    He was tall, with neatly trimmed hair and a clean-shaven face.

    He seemed to recognize you from somewhere and offered his deepest condolences for Sokovia.

    “Thank you,” you said.

    “It was a genuine tragedy, a modern-day Pompeii.” His words gave you a reason to pause, which he seemed to take as permission to wax poetic about Sokovia’s demise in some futile attempt to prove his intellectual prowess.

    “Yes, well, thanks for that.” You say politely, though there’s an exasperated edge to your voice that the other man didn’t hear. He opened his mouth to say something else, and Helmut made the immediate decision to ensure that did not happen.

    “Драга,” he called as he approached you, placing his hand on your lower back. Dear. “I’ve brought you a drink.” Helmut offered you the cocktail he was about to drink himself and you smiled, a look of relief on your face.

    The man was no genuine threat, probably just a lover of art, but something in the way he looked at you, the way his gaze drifted from your face to your wedding band and the instant look of shame that overtook his (admittedly handsome) features gave his intentions away—and Helmut didn’t like his intentions at all.

    “Хвала ти љубави,” you replied with the mischievous smile you adopted whenever someone mistook you for being his wife. It was a playful flirtation, one that meant nothing. But you’d taken that tone enough times over the months that it no longer sounded strange. Thank you, my love.

    Helmut greeted the man with a simple nod, pretending to have been obvious to his blatant flirtation before guiding you away.

    “I never would have thought to compare the destruction of Sokovia at the hands of artificial intelligence to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius near Pompeii.” He said in a mocking tone.

    “Stop that,” you nudged him, hushed laughter in your voice.

    “I hope that isn’t what passes as flirting these days.”

    “Flirting? He wasn’t flirting.”

    Helmut struck you with a judgemental look. You tilted your head.

    “He wasn’t flirting,” you repeat. “It was just weird, that’s not really a topic most people bring up at parties.” You finally slow your steps and you look at a statue. It’s clearly meant to represent a couple, but their abstract forms create a tangle of limbs that hurts his eyes to look at. It was then he decided he hated contemporary art.

    Helmut shook his head, both at the ‘art’ and the fact that you failed to realize what he found to be blatantly obvious. You took a sip of your drink—his drink—and turned to him. Your eyes met briefly, and you smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischievous glee.

    “Let’s see what’s in the next room, душо,” You exaggerate. Honey.

    “Of course, драга, lead the way.” You hooked your arm around his and you explored the rest of the gallery. Dear.

    Eventually, you reached the main lobby where you set down your empty glass. An orchestra played a mix of soft melodies and what he swore to be a tune from an action movie soundtrack. The soft murmurs underscored the music as guests lingered, indulging themselves on cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

    A dark feeling filled his belly. This is the life he should live—perhaps not at a gaudy contemporary art gallery but something just as fabulous—the life you deserved to live. Had it not been for Ultron, for The Avengers and others like them, he’d be enjoying this life between missions and military tours. He might have even retired early, lived his life in bliss.

    He felt angry, distraught, and disappointed all at once. He could have been here with his family had he not failed them.

    So many dangerous thoughts spun around in his head and without thinking, he looked at you. In his moment of grief and self-pity, he looked toward you to anchor him.

    Your eyes landed on the couples swaying back and forth on the gallery's polished floors. He noticed how close you stood to him, how your arm wrapped around his hand, the way your hand rested on his forearm.

    He took a breath and smiled.

    “Would you like to dance, драга?”

    “I’ve seen you dance, Helmut. I don't.”

    “You wound me.” He said, pulling you along toward the others, anyway. “You’ve yet to see me waltz.”

    And with that, he unraveled his arm from your and slid into position, pulling you close.

    “You remember the steps, don’t you?” He asked because you had far less practice than he did. You nodded, but your eyes proved less certain. “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.”

    And he did.

    Helmut led you through the steps of the dance, a simple box step he mastered many years ago.

    “I think people are looking at us,” you whispered.

    “They can take notes,” he replied, his gaze solely on you. You anchored him; your kindness, your friendship, your playful banter, and your outlandish sense of design.

    With you he felt like less of a failure, his grief softened and he could see a clear path forward—an alternate path if he was strong enough to take it.

    News of action that the U.N. could take against the Avengers seemed all but inevitable then. Helmut knew he could use their plans to his advantage, but it also meant he was running out of time.

    You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his eyes. Part of him wanted to surrender to your gaze, but the other part, the part that won, held firm. Looking away, however, proved to be a mistake because then he noticed your lips.

    When the orchestra stopped playing, the dance slowed to a stop, but you were both still looking at each other, now cursed with the knowledge that something had changed.


    Thanks for reading! Next time we'll get to see what happens when your flirtation with Helmut is no longer a game.

    Feedback is very much appreciated. Please tell me what you think! This was a fun chapter to write.

    Tag list:

    @actuallyanita @fillechatoyante @viviace @buckyandlokicanhaveme @sapphiredreamer26 @robur-bellicum

    #zemo#baron zemo#helmut zemo #zemo x reader #mcu zemo #this was the longest chapter yet #my goodness
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  • burningfestunknown
    14.06.2021 - 16 hours ago

    But what about a fic where Zemo and Bucky meet Laszlo

    something like they fall into another universe or in a time travel and Laszlo is an ancestor of Zemo.

    It could be so interesting, just saying

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  • kindledimagines
    14.06.2021 - 17 hours ago
    #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo#zemo #baron helmut zemo #daniel bruhl#avengers#mcu
    View Full