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loki-quinn · 7 days

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The Bloody Baron: Chapter 4

Victorian Vampire!AU

Series Rating: Explicit 18+, Minors DNI

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Brief descriptions of blood, minor mentions of pain

Masterlist

You think it’s been three weeks since your promise to each other. You’re unsure because of the complete lack of sunlight in the rooms you’ve frequented; the sound of the grand clock downstairs your only clue as to what time it may be. You sleep through most of the days between feedings and lessons, you’ve been hesitant to explore the mammoth of a manor further on your own thus far. Zemo has taken his time in trying to prepare you for the role you’re meant to play. You have two weeks left until your “marriage”, and you must have everything committed to memory.

How you met, the names of his family members, the duties and obligations of a baron and baroness, all fed to you as regularly as you feed him.

He hasn’t compelled you since that day– you’ve been as compliant as you can manage. Zemo proves to be a rather patient man when you’re not deliberately annoying him; taking on the role of a stern schoolteacher rather than a feared captor. But you weren’t stupid. That pleasant facade of his was terrifying– knowing the predator that lurks beneath the surface, waiting to feed, to chase, to claim.

He asks for a kiss every night before you retire for the evening. Sometimes they linger, and others are chaste, almost affectionate. You wonder if this was his way of getting you more used to spousal affection, so it won’t seem forced once your public appearances were to begin. And oh, to begin they were.

“In two days time you’ll be attending a luncheon with a friend of mine. You will get to know the other ladies there and insert yourself into their circle of trust”.

He’s circling you as he walks, hands behind his back. A curious habit of his.

“Ah, here she is. Wanda, this is my fiancee.”

You’re shocked at the sudden appearance of a statuesque woman with shocking red hair and piercing blue-green eyes.

“Pleased to meet you.” You give a light curtsy out of habit and immediately regret it, knowing he would have introduced her by title if she had one, meaning she should have technically curtsied to you as the future baroness.

As the feeling of failure overtakes you, she gives you a tight-lipped smile, and moves towards you so smoothly you’d think she’d floated there. She circles you in the same way you imagine rich women do before they purchase a dress– looking for flaws in order to haggle the price down further, even if they could afford not to.

“Hmm.” She raises a hand when in front of you once more, using a gentle finger to turn your face this way and that.

Pain unlike you’ve ever felt before blossoms from the back of your head, first dull and throbbing, and then unfurling into something sharp and painful. It feels like your brain is threatening to burst from your skull, you do your best to maintain your composure, standing stock still, pulse raging, until you cannot take anymore– falling to your knees on the plush, ornate carpet.

You’re trying to control your breathing, gaze falling to her polished shoes.

What a curious thing, you are.

Your eyes widen as they fly to her face. She moves across the room slowly, to stand next to your fiance. You grit your teeth, eyes trained on Wanda as another wave of pain wracks through your mind.

Your mind is reeling, rapidly trying to decide what kind of test this must be:

Endurance? Seeing exactly how much pain you can take before surrendering?

Or was this another interrogation?

You’re interrupted by another shock of pain, followed by memories passing in front of your eyes against your will: laughing with Wade and Vanessa, snooping through the study, kissing him in the alleyway, Zemo looming over you on his mattress–

Fuck this.

You maintain eye contact with her, rage clouding your features. It takes everything in you, but you rise, slowly.

“Asking would have been much nicer.” You grit out.

Out of the corner of your eye you spot Zemo quirking an eyebrow, but you keep your gaze leveled on Wanda.

She smiles, and ice slices its way through your veins.

“Do you intend to stay loyal to your fiance, and keep the secret of his true nature from others?” Based on her tone she could have been asking you about the morning paper rather than casually interrogating and mentally torturing you.

“Yes, I do.” You spit out. “I may be many things, but disloyal is not one of them. Neither is stupid.”

The corner of Zemo’s mouth quirks up in a smile at that, while Wanda chuckles.

“Are you quite sure? One sentence from you to the police and they’d have him burned at the stake like a witch.”

“Or they’d haul me to the sanitarium. I’m not so naive to think anyone would believe my word over that of the Baron Zemo. I have my life, and I’m grateful to him for that.”

This seems to satisfy her for now, as the pain finally subsides, and you heave a sigh of relief, wobbling slightly on your feet.

You feel Zemo grasp your elbow gently, helping you find your balance.

She eyes the two of you curiously before re-approaching. You stiffen in an attempt to prepare yourself for whatever she may be planning next.

“The luncheon.” He reminds her. “Will consist of 8 other society ladies and yourselves. Wanda, will you provide her with some background, please?”

“Of course.” A smile forms that you’d love to smack off her face.

“Our hostess is to be the LadyFrost, of the Boston Frosts, and thus it is to be held in her home. I have received an invitation as Lady Wanda Maximov, and have received her permission to invite you as the future Baroness Zemo. Their goal is to interrogate you, your goal is to survive the ordeal. Have we decided on her character yet?” She inquires to Zemo.

“We have not. Based on your knowledge of the group makeup, what do you think it’s missing?”

“Hmm.” She circles you once more, and you can feel the spotlights her eyes cast on you as they roam your form. “Well-meaning but not completely naive. Too green and they’ll believe the whole thing was arranged by her family, in which case we’d have a harder time proving her lineage. She can’t be too wry or witty, Emma will see it as a personal challenge to rip her apart. Kind, well-mannered, looking to make friends but not willing to let them walk over her. You need to have a backbone, girl, but don’t show it until you need to. Don’t expect her to be very friendly, they call her the ice queen for a reason.”

You nod once.

“Mrs. Jean Summers is the Lady Frost’s best friend, anything you say within earshot of her may be relayed back to Frost. Actually– assume anything you say will be heard by every single person at the table, it’s far safer that way. Nastasha and Yelena Romanov are sisters, they’re very close and work in tandem to pick you apart. They can see through liars before any words are even spoken. Ladies Hope and Cassandra Pym are a mother/daughter pair, rumor has it that Hope had Cassandra at a scandalously young age, so they’re attached at the hip. Do not bring it up or assume Hope is Cassandra’s mother, if it becomes revealed to you, remark on how youthful she looks, and how they could be sisters instead of mother and daughter. Lady Jewel is a notorious drunk, try to stay out of her personal space or she may fall asleep on you. If she does fall asleep on you, pretend it never happened. Lady Kitty Pryde is one of the youngest and is absolutely Man-obsessed, so she will likely have the most questions for you aside from Lady Frost. We all have the title of Lady, so we’ll all be on equal footing–don’t under any circumstances show any signs of inferiority, deference, or fear. You’re meant to have been raised and ready for this life, one drop of sweat, one misstep and your blood will be in the water, little girl.”

Wonderful. Really should have just swapped with Jessica, chosen the damn Stark party instead and avoid all this mess.

She swooshes in front of your eyes to tower over you. You lean back but maintain eye contact.

“Do you think this is a game?” She hisses.

“Why, not at all. What could possibly make you think that?”

If this is a game then you have an unfair advantage, Lady Maximov. I will play my part, rest assured.

She backs away, the anger in her eyes dimmed but still present. Out of the corner of your eye, you chance a look at Zemo, his face unreadable–but you can feel a wiggle of…annoyance? In the back of your mind, cluing you in that it might be his rather than your own.

Seemingly placated for now, Wanda continues her deluge of information, throwing questions at you mid-tirade to see how well you’ve been listening.

What’s the name of Lady Summer’s dog? Snowball. What is Jewel’s drink of choice? Brandy. How did you and the Baron Zemo meet? At a party. Whose party? One of his parties. And how did you manage to get an invitation? They’re quite difficult to obtain. I was being a bit naughty and decided to gate crash. Obviously, I was quite successful. Don’t be arrogant, it won’t sit well with them.

They both seem satisfied for the moment, and Wanda dismisses you for the day. Thank heavens you think. Your head was properly pounding, you needed food and water. You slink slowly to the staff kitchen, asking politely for a glass of water and a crust of bread, which they graciously provide. You lay your head on the cool wood of the small table in search of some relief, it was as if Wanda were still stirring a hot poker inside your skull.

“Are you unwell?” His voice startles you, head whipping up from the table to look at him, wide-eyed.

Zemo’s manner seems casual, so you try to calm your breathing for the moment.

“Just a headache, nothing out of the ordinary.” You’re suspicious of the fact that he may or may not know that Wanda had been poking around your skull’s interior, so best not to divulge that just yet.

“Soup for the future Baroness, please. Something hearty.” He calls out to the staff, who begin to flit about the kitchen. He drops into the seat across from you, fixing you with his gaze, assessing you.

“Everyone’s first encounter with Wanda feels like that, please don’t feel too harshly about it, you performed beautifully.”

You’d take the compliment to heart if your head weren’t pounding in time with your heartbeat.

“Thank you.” You tersely reply. You hope it doesn’t come across as anger, you’re doing your level best to ignore the pain altogether.

You gasp when Zemo’s fangs extend, about to apologize for any rudeness– when he bites down on his own wrist instead, drawing blood.

“Drink, you’ll feel better.”

You hesitate.

“I haven’t had to compel you in a very long time, it would be a shame to break that streak now.”

You gingerly lean over the table to grasp his wrist, gently lapping at the wound. He tenses when your tongue makes contact with his skin, and you can feel the dull throb of desire in the back of your mind. Huh. I suppose this affects him. You remove yourself from him after a few careful licks, not wanting to be as drunk on his blood as you’d been the first time. As you carefully wipe your mouth with the napkin from your crust, your headache finally subsides, and you let yourself collapse into your chair in relief.

“Thank you, truly.”

He smirks, and places a kiss to the back of your hand.

“The least I could do, really. Besides, no matter how proficient you may become at lying, I can still feel you.”

Your cheeks heat. Ah, yes. That damned funny connection between the two of you since sharing blood.

“Thank you, all the same.”

He gently releases your hand as the staff drops a bowl of hot soup in front of you, and it briefly conjures the memory of your first meal with him, in the dungeon room. My how things have changed. That first day you’d thought for certain you’d be dead within the next 24 hours, yet here you are: fiance to a vampire Baron, tortured by a sorceress and already on your way to an introduction to proper society.

You suppress a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Your dealings with high society were few and far between, Zemo’s party had been your first foray into that environment on your own. Agatha and Valkyrie had used your assistance in pretending to be part of high society here and there, but all you’d had to do was dress in what they gave you and cause whatever diversion they laid out for you. Your friends might die of shock if they could see you now.

Part of you worries you’ll never see them again, and the other part worries that you will see them again, and you’ll have to come up with some story as to how this all happened. Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.

The days have flown by, today has arrived far too soon for your liking. Your stomach is churning but you try your best not to show it. It’s just a game, that’s all. Only a game. You smooth your hands over your skirt for the millionth time, willing the nerves away with the swipe of your fingertips on the luxe purple fabric. Purple, of course, was to be your family color. It speaks to royal heritage, and those of royal heritage aren’t nervous about luncheons. So knock it off.

Your heart nearly escapes your chest when the door to your room screeches open, rising to your feet in a millisecond, ready for your exit.

You exhale when it’s only Zemo entering, sans Wanda. You sit back down, taking a shuddering breath.

“Apologies, I thought you were Wanda.”

He gives you a small smile.

“No apologies needed. Nerves are to be expected. Please, may I have a proper look at you?”

You stand on shaky legs once more, stepping to the center of the room. He circles you once, slowly. The sense of whatever he may be feeling is completely overwhelmed by your own trepidation. Finally, he stands before you once more, and gently rests his hands on your shoulders.

“Breathe, little one. Breathe. You survived a chase given by a vampire. You’re clever, you will survive a luncheon with a few rich ladies.”

Let’s hope so.

Wanda sidles in behind him, looking at you pointedly and saying “It’s time. Come.”

“Showtime, darling.” He gently rests his hand on your lower back to guide you to the front door. Showtime, darling. You can still hear Agatha’s voice in the back of your mind from your last adventure.

“Remember, breathe. Practice those exercises I taught you if you get too nervous, and if all else fails, just say “oh do forgive me, my mind hasn’t been right since the funeral.”

With a gentle shove, you’re through the stage door and out into the street, ready to herd people towards the theatre.

As you make your way through the grand hallway and approach the massive front doors, Zemo stops a short distance from them, kissing your hand, and nodding quickly. The doors open, and the first rays of sunlight you’ve seen in weeks come pouring in. You move forward into the rays with Wanda’s form as your guide, hand reaching up to shield your eyes from the blinding sun. You are escorted into the carriage as your eyes finally begin to adjust, settling into your seat across from Wanda. As the doors shut, and Zemo’s form disappears behind them, all you can think to yourself is:

Showtime indeed.

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loki-quinn · 7 days

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loki-quinn · 7 days

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I know it’s way too early for the sleepover but I am absolutely BEGGING for something exceptionally naughty with Zemo ❤️

I mean when you say exceptionally naughty my first instinct is anal... I think it’s time for a little conjugal visit to the raft eh? implied sex worker reader but it’s very vague, not dark but zemo is possessive and degrading and a little... aloof, we’ll say lol

After a few months of this (whatever ‘this’ was, exactly), you pretty much knew the drill.

He didn’t like the bed much, so you got used to bending over it or just being pressed against the wall. You were pretty much always facing away from him, he didn’t like you to look him in the eyes even when you were on your knees. You could tell he was close by the way he held you tighter, and started breathing in your ear heavier than ever and cursing in languages you didn’t speak. Like I said, you knew the drill.

But tonight, when started to run his fingers closer to somewhere new, you wondered if maybe you didn’t know it as well as you thought.

“You’re my little toy, aren’t you?” he asked, getting a nod as you only dared to look at his chest over your shoulder. “I can use you however I like.”

“Y-yes,” you agreed breathlessly, whimpering when one finger pushed into you there.

It twisted and curled, joined by another not too much later as he carefully stretched you open. He kept one arm wrapped around your chest, his hand holding your shoulder, and pulled you close. It was more intimate than you were used to, especially when he started to kiss your neck while his fingers began to thrust properly into you.

You felt him smile when your legs shook slightly.

“You won’t fall, will you? I don’t want your knees to give out,” he spoke. Maybe it might’ve sounded affectionate to someone who didn’t understand the situation, but you saw it for what it was: a taunt.

You just shook your head, groaning a little when he moved his fingers faster and deeper, even rougher.

His cock was still wet from when you’d sucked him off earlier, so he didn’t have much trouble when he took his fingers out and started to push it in instead.

You, on the other hand, had a bit more trouble.

“Fuck,” you winced, and to his credit, he slowed down, giving you shallow thrusts of what little he’d already managed to fit. You just focused on your breathing, eyes falling shut, feeling your skin break out into goosebumps.

He gave you a little more with each movement, steady and patient, until he could finally slide all the way in, both of you moaning at the feeling. “What a good little toy you are,” he breathed, voice rough and desperate, perhaps the least composed that you’d ever seen him. Well, you couldn’t actually see him, but it was just as obvious either way.

The hand that had been on your waist moved to push against the wall in front of you instead, keeping you both upright, and something instinctual made you reach for his hand and lay yours on top of it.

He surprised you by turning his hand around and interlacing his fingers with yours, squeezing tight as he fucked you faster.

As for the hand on your shoulder, it let go and slipped down to fiercely rub your clit, making your knees actually threaten to buckle this time.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he saw you struggle with it, “so sensitive.”

You could tell he was breathing through his teeth by the way his grunts got thinner and sharper against your ear, and just when you thought he might speed up to chase his release, he slowed down and focused on filling you as deep as possible. “God--” you choked, feeling his name bubble up in your throat but you kept it down; you didn’t do names, he liked it better that way.

You figured he wanted to forget who he was when he was with you.

“I figured you might enjoy this,” he purred. “Of course a desperate slut like you would love being fucked in the ass.”

“Just don’t stop, I’m close,” you breathed, out of energy to defend yourself from any of that. He gave your clit a spank and you shuddered so hard that you would’ve fallen without him holding you up; he kissed and sucked and bit your neck until you felt your eyes water.

“I’ll finish inside,” he promised, something he usually didn’t discuss beforehand (or afterwards, for that matter), “leave it dripping out of you for the rest of the night. You can limp back to the chopper with my come dripping down your legs.”

You whined at the image of that; there was about a 99% chance that the guards here knew who you were and what you did and why you visited, but even then that was a new level of exposure. Fuck, why did it turn you on, though? Why did you want him to stake his claim on you?

“But before that, you’ll come three times for me,” he insisted. “I think the first isn’t too far off, no?”

You nodded with a whimper, gasping and writhing unintentionally against his grasp. “Yes, I-I’m close,” you breathed.

It hit you even sooner than you expected, your thighs quivering and teeth sinking into your lip as a hazy, tingly pleasure washed over you; almost a numb feeling, but so much more acute. He whispered filthy encouragements all the way through, pinching your clit right as you reached the height of it just to hear you swallow your scream. “One down, only two left,” he chuckled, and your eyes started to roll back in your head as you tried to imagine how your body would take so much.

There was never a dull moment during your visits with him, that was for certain, but even with how overwhelming it all was... you were already craving next week’s visit.

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loki-quinn · 7 days

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do you have any headcanons for how Zemo would act with a virgin reader? (Idk if you do HCs during the week so feel free to wait until the next sleepover if I’m bothering you early shsjsjk)

yes, yes I do and this made me Soft

first of all, I think he’d actually feel a little guilty/worried about being your first. he’d get more concerned about ‘taking advantage’ or making you uncomfortable due to the vast difference in experience levels.

because as we know, he has experience.

but once you assured him this was what you wanted, he’d finally be willing to admit how much it turned him on that you had never been touched that way by anyone else. he’d really relish the chance to make your first time unforgettable (because if he’s going to be your first... he might as well be your best, maybe even your only).

the key word here is going to be slow. he could easily spend hours just kissing you so of course it’ll take him all night to do this properly. he’d get you so worked up with every little thing he did that you would be begging for more right away.

not that it would work... he’d smile and remind you he’s going to do this properly.

“patience, draga, don’t you trust me?”

still, he thinks your whining and pleading is really cute, as is the way you rock your hips on top of him, trying to ride his thigh. he’d let you do it for a while, watching you mewl and gasp, before grabbing your hips tight to keep you still.

“let me do that, let me help you, darling...”

his fingers would be so delicate in their touch, he would draw gentle circles around your clit, kissing your neck and ear and whispering about how beautiful you looked, constantly showering you in praises.

in fact that would be true the whole night, though he would be a bit more gruff when he was finally inside you but we’ll get to that later.

because after he made you come with his fingers, he’d be putting his mouth on you next, telling you how badly he wanted a taste of the pleasure he’d just given you.

and if you thought he was good with his fingers... hoo boy you’re in for a ride with his tongue.

your back would arch so hard you could probably get a few cracks out of your spine, to be totally honest. and you’d moan maybe louder than you ever had before.

“shh, we can’t have anyone hearing you draga... nobody gets to hear you come but me.”

you’d come at least once if not more by his mouth, and he’d happily lap up every drop, growling and moaning against you (especially when you begged him to finally fuck you, sobbing about how much you wanted to feel him inside you).

finally, when he was satisfied with your total exhaustion and desperation, he would kiss his way up your body, a bit of his own need finally coming through (though only slightly).

when his lips finally found yours you would hum at your taste on his tongue, and gasp a bit when you felt his cock slide over your pussy.

“are you still sure this is what you want?”

you were amazed you could beg him for an hour straight and he would still reaffirm your desire for this. and when you did, he’d hold your legs open gently, kiss you one more time, and finally-- finally-- fill you.

it would still sting just a bit, even after all the build-up, just because that was sort of inevitable with his size. but he’d still be so so gentle about it, taking all the time you need as he kissed you softly and wiped away any small tears that might fall.

he wouldn’t move until you were ready, and even before the last of the sting faded you’d be moaning for him, holding onto his shoulders as you tried your best to memorize the feeling.

“how does it feel, draga?”

his voice would be even lower than usual, making shivers run up your spine just with its deep timbre. so of course it took you a second to stammer out that it felt good, really fucking good, that you wanted him to move faster and really fuck you.

which he did, still pretty restrained overall but more eager as you heard him moan softly with you, his hands gripping your waist tight so he could hold you still and thrust every inch of himself into your soaked channel.

and that’s when his praises turned from sweet to filthy.

“so tight, darling, you must’ve never had something so big inside you before. you sound so perfect when you moan for me like that, do it again, draga...”

when he started to move faster, more desperately, you’d watch his face and find yourself moaning his name just to remind both of you that it was him inside you.

after spending all evening focusing on you, it’s nice to see him get a little greedy, taking something for himself. you loved knowing that it was you making him feel that way, and it helped you understand why he had enjoyed being on the other end of this so much.

“come on my cock, draga, I know you’re close, show me how good I’m making you feel.”

as always, you’d be helpless to his commands and your walls would squeeze him tight as you came; it feels different than when it’s his tongue or fingers, and by different I mean fucking amazing. coming with something filling you so deep is just too perfect.

and the way he would encourage you as you came, oh goodness.

“good girl, there you go, that’s it... coming so hard for me, you’re doing so good, darling...”

and when you start sobbing his name and pulling him closer because it’s almost too much, he’d hold you tight and promise to come inside you, nice and deep just like you need, kissing all over your face while it’s twisted in pleasure.

“I’m right here, draga, I’ve got you.”

he’d kiss you again, even though you’d gone a bit limp and could only lazily kiss him back, as he spilled his come inside you. he wouldn’t pull out for a while, I think, wanting it all to stay deep and calling you his pretty little cockwarmer.

don’t forget the aftercare! because he certainly won’t.

the praises don’t stop for quite some time, even when he’s already drawn a bath for you and carried you to it.

unfortunately he couldn’t let you fall asleep until he’d helped you clean up and dry off, and then he’d be happy to slip in bed and hold you for the rest of the night, you can’t tell me he wouldn’t be the perfect big spoon.

and he’d make breakfast in the morning. possibly send you flowers the next day. most likely buy you gifts of all kinds. so yeah, moral of the story, zemo is the perfect person to take a virginity and I will not be accepting any disputes to this claim.

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loki-quinn · 7 days

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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.”

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