#daniel brühl fanfic
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Gingerbread
Word Count: 4,870
Rating: E
Warning: wine drinking, swearing, breast play, some dry humping
Author's Note: happy thanksgiving! Now that it's passed I can officially say: Merry Christmas y'all! Timeline wise, this takes place between chapters six and seven.
Alice missed the days of elementary school when the last day before winter break was reserved for nostalgic movies, hot chocolate, and wearing your pajamas to school. Instead, students completed their end-of-term exams. Instead of relaxing, kicking up her feet and putting on a movie, she graded first periods’ exams during second, and so on and so on. Those who finished before the end of the period could read or study for another exam.
Stevie approached her desk, and she looked up assuming he had a question about the exam. Instead, he handed her a small envelope and whispered so quietly she could hardly hear him, “Merry Christmas, Ms. Greene”. Stevie turned on his heels and returned to his desk.
Curiosity piqued, Alice examined the envelope. She would recognize Stevie’s handwriting, so she assumed it must be Laszlo who scrawled her name on the front of the envelope. Alice noted the fancy stationery: the thick off-white envelope with a red wax seal.
It was a simple but elegant Christmas card depicting a winter scene. Before she read it, she looked at the gift card tucked inside. It was for her favorite coffee chain and $15, plenty for two drinks or a drink and a snack. Inside the card, Laszlo wrote a brief thank you, Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays. He signed, as well as Stevie.
Stevie watched her open the card. Not wanting to distract any students or draw too much attention, Alice mouthed thank you to him. She wondered if any other of Stevie’s teachers received a card. When she checked her phone at lunch, Bits answered her question.
Nice Christmas gifts from the good doc 🎄🎁 I’m assuming you’ll get more than a card from him? 😏😉
Alice chuckled, knowing all the innuendos Bitsy meant with a simple wink and smirk emoji combination. They made plans for Saturday when Stevie was supposed to be hanging out at a friend’s house.
Oh hush you 🤫A lady doesn’t kiss and tell
She went back to grading, worrying if the gifts she bought him were enough. Saying he was difficult to shop for felt like a lame excuse, but Alice couldn’t think of anything else to get him. Unless… well she supposed it was more of a purchase for her, but he would certainly appreciate it.
Laszlo deliberated for two days about what to cook for dinner. It was not his first time cooking for Alice, but it was his first time in his kitchen amongst all his tools and familiarity. The expectations were higher. He wanted to do something delicious for her, showing her how much he cared for her. Once decided, he went to the markets in the morning. It was his guilty pleasure. Laszlo enjoyed carefully perusing all his options and leisurely strolling around. He could never stick to a list; he always bought things he didn’t need but decided at the moment he wanted.
He returned, carefully holding a brown paper grocery bag to his chest. Stevie stood over the stove, cooking a late-morning breakfast of eggs and toast. Laszlo had to tease him as he slipped into a winter break sleep schedule.
“Good morning. Any later and I would tell you good afternoon.”
“Ha ha,” Stevie laughed dryly. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
Laszlo unpacked his groceries and handed a party-size bag of chips to Stevie. “For tonight,” Laszlo thought it rude to go to someone’s house emptyhanded. “Do you need a ride or is Jake picking you up?”
“He said he’d pick me up at like four, and then…” Stevie trailed off, but Laszlo waited expectedly. “I was going to ask you how late I could stay.”
Curfew was, Laszlo didn’t like to call it a debate, but a matter of discussion. On school nights Laszlo stuck to 9:30, wanting Stevie home at a reasonable time. On weekends, however, he was more flexible. So long as Stevie was transparent about his plans, telling him where he wanted to go and who he would be with, Laszlo was willing to adjust the time.
Laszlo trusted Stevie and he had yet to disappoint him, but for emergencies and peace of mind, they had each other’s location shared on their phones. It went both ways, Laszlo could see if Stevie was at school, home, or a friend’s house, and Stevie could see if he was at the university, the Institute, the police station, or the courts. As a show of faith, Laszlo told him he would only check if he had a legitimate concern or cause. He had yet to check, knock on wood.
And of course, if Laszlo coincidentally had plans with Alice the same night, then perhaps Stevie could stay with his friends a bit longer.
“That depends,” Laszlo huffed a sigh in thought, “Will he be dropping you off, or will I pick you up?”
Stevie didn’t bother to plate his food or sit at the table. He stood at the counter, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a piece of sourdough toast with his wooden spoon. At least he didn’t create many dishes… Stevie answered with a mouthful, “He can drop me off.”
Perfect. “How does eleven sound then? Take it as an early Christmas present.” Then Laszlo could enjoy more time with Alice. “And text me when you’re on your way back.” That way they had a reminder when she needed to leave.
“Thanks!” Stevie was a quick eater, a result of his childhood, and already he finished his breakfast. After cleaning the few dishes he used, he went back to his room.
Alice pressed her lips into a thin line in focus. It was an unconscious habit as she piped details on gingerbread cookies in royal icing: delicate buttons to the little men, twinkling lights on the trees, and fine lines on the snowflakes. Flour and icing smeared her cheek and dusted her clothes, and she was sweating from the residual heat of the oven.
The timer on her phone startled her, making her smear the line of the snowflake. She cursed and set the cookie aside. Alice didn’t want to give Laszlo an ugly cookie. And, she sighed while brushing away an errant lock of hair, she didn’t want to look like an ugly cookie either. The timer reminded her to step back and start getting ready.
After hearing Laszlo had no Christmas plans, other than little celebrations with Stevie since John and Sara were on a much-needed vacation, Alice wanted to make sure their night was perfect. She debated what to wear, settling on a red low-cut sweater and a tight skirt. Classic, but enticing, and she could show off one of her gifts for Laszlo.
***
Alice parked on the street and waited in her toasty car. It was her first time visiting Laszlo’s house. She pulled out her phone, and rather than text Laszlo that she arrived, she typed a message for Bitsy.
Oh shit. He’s rich rich 💰
Bitsy responded quickly. oh??? 👀👀That’s good because you need to marry rich you’re a teacher
She took a picture of the front of the brownstone house and sent it. That should tell Bitsy all she needed to know. Then, she texted Laszlo that she had arrived. Taking a deep breath in, she left the coziness of her car and braved the cold night air.
The front door was off street level; it was up a set of stairs. Alice was careful, her hand gliding over the railing as she ascended them. The last thing she wanted was to slip on icy steps: embarrassing herself and ruining her hard work that afternoon or Laszlo’s gifts. Before she could knock on the old brass knocker or ring the decorative doorbell, Laszlo opened the door.
He radiated warmth, and not just because of the heat escaping the house. Laszlo wore a white apron over his clothes, a lock of hair fell across his forehead, his sleeve was rolled up, and he smelled like the delicious food he cooked. It made Alice’s stomach growl and her heart flutter.
“Please, come in. You can put your coat there,” he gestured to a coat rack in the corner of the vestibule and took the platter of cookies from her hands, “and I can take these to the kitchen.”
He had a vestibule and a foyer beyond that. Alice knew he had money, but she did not realize how much until she saw his home. She shed her coat, and she caught Laszlo’s eyes appreciating the neckline of her sweater just as she intended.
“I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished, but please, feel free to wait in the parlor and nibble on the cheese board while I return downstairs.”
“Your kitchen is downstairs?” Alice almost asked “you have a parlor?” but that was a less pressing matter.
Laszlo chuckled. “Yes, it’s an old house, so the garage, kitchen, and ironically Stevie’s room are all street level. I promise I won’t be long.”
“Good,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m hungry and I’ll miss you.”
His cheeks flushed, and he kissed her properly. “Then I won’t keep you waiting.” He disappeared down the stairs, readjusting the apron tied around his waist. Alice admired his ass as he left.
Alice did as Laszlo suggested and wandered to the parlor. She nibbled on a cracker with brie and thinly sliced apple while she surveyed the room. A heavy, ornate fireplace warmed the room, and she relished its heat. Her sweater and skirt did little to keep her warm. Alice noticed there were no pictures on the mantle, just a television mounted on the wall. It was one of the fancy ones disguised as a landscape painting, complete with a gilded frame.
Two bookshelves bookended the fireplace, and Alice skimmed through the titles. Some she recognized, like classic novels, whereas the psychological essays and journals were far from her realm of familiarity. Where did he find the time to read, she mused. A record player nestled in the corner, made to look like a vintage gramophone, filled the room with traditional Christmas music. Alice hummed along to the familiar song. Laszlo was a maximalist, filling his home with as much as he could in his eclectic style.
Alice heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so she went to the formal dining room. As she wondered how often Laszlo and Stevie ate there, he answered her silent question.
“We rarely use it, but I wanted tonight to be special.”
“Please, let me help you,” she offered. Laszlo held a heavy tray laden with plates and bowls with one hand.
“There’s no need,” he insisted, setting it on the table. “It’s part of why we don’t use the dining room very often.”
“I can imagine, but it looks lovely, Laszlo.” He dressed up the space with formal dinnerware and linens. He lit a candelabra on the table, and pitchers of water and bottles of wine waited to be poured.
“Thank you.” He blushed again, clearly unused to praise. Alice wanted to make the tinge of pink darker.
“You’ve put in so much effort, and I appreciate it. You’ve made tonight special and memorable, and we’ve barely begun.”
Laszlo returned downstairs for the rest of the meal, and Alice stole a glance at what he brought up already. A basket of dinner rolls, small bowls of soup, and salads. This was meant to be the appetizer, and she wondered eagerly what the main course could be. With perfect timing, he brought the entrée: roasted vegetables, seared duck breast with a red wine sauce, and creamy mashed potatoes.
Once everything was settled on the table, Laszlo could settle himself. He removed his apron revealing a white button-up and a Christmas-themed waistcoat: dark green with white detailing and gold buttons. Laszlo pulled out her seat for her, and then he poured them both a glass of water and a glass of red wine.
“Please, enjoy. There’s plenty.” He offered her the basket of warm dinner rolls glistening with butter.
Laszlo was an excellent cook, and she was excited to try it. He waited until she tasted it and smiled before he ate anything.
Over dinner, they reminisced on past Christmases: best presents, worst presents, family drama, vacations. Alice thought long and hard about the best present she ever received and decided it must have been when she got a Barbie dreamhouse. She knew what it was as soon as she saw the gigantic wrapped box by the tree, but her parents made her wait until the end to unwrap it. Laszlo smiled saying he had something similar happen when his parents bought the baby grand piano for the parlor.
“Do you play?” She noticed it, but the keys were covered and the music books were nowhere in sight. If he did, he left no clues.
“No,” he frowned, “not since I was a young boy.”
Alice didn’t want to upset him, so she did not press it. She found it odd since he was the one who mentioned the piano, to begin with, but this was a happy night. From then on, Laszlo was more inclined to listen to her than share his memories.
Alice insisted upon helping him clean up after the meal, and Laszlo found it hard to refuse her. He enjoyed simply being near her, and he admitted it was easier with an extra set of hands. Laszlo rinsed the dishes from dinner while Alice unloaded the dishwasher.
“I wasn’t sure about making Christmas cookies,” Alice confessed.
Laszlo raised an eyebrow in playful alarm. “Why ever not? Your cookies are delectable.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m a one trick pony. You’ve had my cookies before at open house and the conferences, so I thought I should show you something new.”
“But they’re delicious, and I presume gingerbread to fit the season. I’ve not tasted those.”
“Which is why I went with it. You can really only do gingerbread this time of year. But I think next time, I’ll make something totally different.”
“I look forward to it.” Since his hands were covered with soapy water, he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Speaking of dessert, do you want it now or do you want to wait?”
Alice smirked. “Well, if dessert is a real kiss, I want it now.”
How could he refuse? Laszlo kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Alice pinned him against the counter, and since her hands were dry she ran them through his hair and rested them at the back of his neck. Laszlo leaned into her touch.
Abruptly, Alice ended their kiss. She stayed close to him, pressed to him. “But if dessert is the cookies, they can wait until we’re watching a movie on the couch.” Laszlo hardly understood what she said. He was too distracted by the way Alice kissed him. She giggled, clearly amused by his love-drunk expression, and smiled. “Come on,” she teased, “let’s finish this up.” Laszlo did not need any more encouragement.
***
They set out all their gifts on the coffee table along with the platter of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Laszlo insisted on preparing it for them, his recipe using dark chocolate and rich milk to create the most decadent drink. Stevie preferred the instant Swiss Miss powder, no doubt due to his unrefined palette, and Alice surprised Laszlo by asking for a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. Curious, he had to try it for himself.
Alice shivered once on the couch, so Laszlo found the red knit blanket he kept in the living room and draped it over her shoulders. She looked comfortable like she belonged there.
“Can I go first?” Alice volunteered, “My gifts for you require a little bit of explanation.”
“Well now you must. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
She handed him one slim box, one wrapped present that could only be a book by its shape and size, and a flat, rectangular box. All were wrapped in delicate blue and white snowflake wrapping paper and finished with silver bows. Laszlo reached for the smallest box first. He tore the paper at the tape and lifted the lid from the box. It was a black and gold fountain pen, weighted in his hand.
“It’s supposed to be smear proof. All the reviews said it was left hand certified.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” He reached for the book next, sliding his thumb under the edge of the wrapping paper. It was a well-read, well-loved paperback copy of her favorite book. Laszlo glanced at her before skimming through the pages.
“We talked about books before, and how a person’s favorite book can tell you a lot about them, so I thought I would give you my favorite filled with all my thoughts and annotations.” It was a deeply personable gift. Laszlo was shocked, and he immediately tried to give it back to her. “I already bought myself another copy, please, keep it.”
The final present was a rich golden-colored cable knit sweater. Laszlo held it up, modeling what it would look like, and he saw her eyes light up. He would have to wear more gold…
“I had to guess your size, so I put the receipt in the box in case you need to return it or exchange it. But I thought the gold would suit you, and I see I was right.”
“Thank you, darling.” He kissed her cheek again. Laszlo enjoyed seeing her cheeks flush whenever he did. “It’s all so thoughtful.”
“Technically,” Alice said with a sly grin, “there’s one more gift, but you’ll have to wait to unwrap it.”
“Oh?” Laszlo checked the coffee table wondering how he missed it. Alice nodded, removed the blanket from her shoulders, and sat up straight, pushing her plentiful chest out. “Oh!”
Intentionally, her sweater slipped off her shoulder exposing a touch of lace. His eyes followed the movement. “It’s more of an investment, I think, but mutually beneficial.”
“Certainly,” he agreed, unconsciously licking his lips.
“But not yet.” Alice fixed her sweater and re-wrapped the blanket. Laszlo blinked twice, refocusing on the moment. She knew how to tease him, draw him in, and turn his head all around. It was maddening and enthralling. He thought carefully about the order in which to give his gifts to her. Start small.
“The poinsettias on the table are yours to keep, so long as you keep them away from Georgie. I read they’re not good for cats, so put them somewhere high and out of reach for him.”
“They’re gorgeous, Laszlo, and I appreciate the research. All the other flowers you’ve given me have been Georgie safe, so I’ll have to find somewhere special for these.”
Next was a little gift bag filled with imported German chocolates, the best in his opinion, and cat treats for Georgie. Treats for both of them, he explained, with a sheepish smile at the pun. These were all small gifts, trivial really, but they all brought a smile to her face. It was time to step it up. He handed her a slim, unmarked envelope with two tickets to the Nutcracker, on Christmas Eve no less.
Alice’s eyes glittered. “I thought this had been sold out for months! How did you get these?”
“I have a box, so I get the first pick of any tickets…” he trailed off. He always bought at least two tickets. In years past, he would take John, Stevie, or John and Sara and play the third wheel. This year, Laszlo would have a date.
“Fuck off,” Alice said indelicately, but still alluringly to him. “You have a box?”
“I do,” he snickered, “It was my family’s before it became mine.”
“That’s incredible.” She still held the tickets in her hand, looking them over and over. His eyes met hers, a silent question. What are you thinking? “Honestly, I’m trying to think if I have an outfit worthy of this.”
“Whatever you wear, I’m sure it will be divine, and I hope you pair it with this.” He slid his final present over to her: a small jewelry box.
Tentatively, she set the tickets down and picked up the box. It wasn’t wrapped; Laszlo thought the black velvet spoke for itself. Now he feared it was too much too soon. Jewelry set certain expectations. It announced intention.
“Oh, Laszlo.” Her thumb rubbed along the edge of the box, and she tilted the necklace and earrings toward the light. “It’s- I don’t know what to say other than thank you.” Alice’s wide eyes met his, and he thought he saw the shadow of a tear.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” The troublesome tear slipped down her cheek when he asked, and more threatened to follow. Given the nature of his work, Laszlo was accustomed to tears, but he did not know what to do when Alice cried.
“You’ve done so much and given me such wonderful gifts,” she tried to steady her voice but was unsuccessful, “and I’m worried I didn’t do enough.”
“Don’t say that,” he rushed to assure her. In the unspoken silence, Laszlo sensed her true fear was that she wasn’t enough. He struggled for words, so he took her hand in his and squeezed it. “You have given me plenty.”
Alice smiled, tears still in her eyes, and nodded to herself. “Thank you, Laszlo, just-” she paused again, registering her hand in his, “Thank you.”
After Alice dried her tears, embarrassed she cried but comforted by Laszlo’s words, they dimmed the lights and turned on a movie. All playful bickering about what to watch stopped when Alice spotted an old stop-motion classic about the year without Santa Claus. She had not seen it in years, but she vividly remembered the song with heat miser and snow miser. Laszlo chuckled and indulged her, selecting the movie and letting the opening credits play.
She cuddled up next to Laszlo, his arm across her shoulders, and she shared her blanket with him. Alice leaned her head on his chest, and he rested his chin at the top of her head. She was comforted by his slow and steady breathing. Laszlo was a rock: steady and reliable under her.
Both their hands wandered, appreciative and lingering touches, until the movie was forgotten and Laszlo encouraged her to sit on his lap. Alice hesitated, biting her tongue at a quip about being more than he could handle, but he was insistent and unflinching. She straddled his lap, her already short skirt rising up even further, teasing him with the tops of her thighs.
“There you are,” Laszlo crooned. He looked less perfect and more like a person. Toussled hair, pink cheeks, sly smile. Alice adored him like this. His hand circled her waist and pulled her closer, eliminating any space between them. His kiss tasted of their drink, rich chocolate with a touch of spice. Alice melted into his touch. Laszlo panted, whining into her mouth as he felt her chest pressing against him.
His hand slipped under the knit of her red sweater and traced the skin underneath. His fingers danced over the clasp of her new bra, her gift just for him to unwrap, asking her permission before advancing any further. She broke their kiss and nodded, a quiet “I want this” escaping her lips. Laszlo needed no more encouragement, and he deftly undid the clasp. She pulled the sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Her nipples pebbled in the sudden chill, and Laszlo was quick to latch himself to her.
He took one into his mouth, lavishing it with attention, while he cupped her other breast with his hand. Laszlo did not want it to feel unappreciated as he nipped, licked, and pinched. Alice moaned his name and wriggled her hips against him, craving more in the heady heat of the moment. “I want to see you,” she huffed.
Laszlo paused and drew back. A trail of saliva connected them, and Alice brushed it away with her thumb. “I’m all yours,” he murmured.
Alice hastily unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt, cursing him for wearing so many layers, but grateful for them too. Laszlo looked good in his layers, coordinated and well-put-together, but she wanted to see underneath his careful clothing choices. Alice feasted her eyes on a broad chest, dusted with coarse hair and fine freckles, leading down to his soft stomach. Laszlo tipped his head back and groaned when she trailed her hand down his chest.
“Much better.” Pleased, Alice touched Laszlo’s chin and brought his attention back. His eyes were hazy, as if he’d drunk more than a glass of wine, as he studied her form. Laszlo ran an appreciative hand across her body: cupping her breast, holding her waist, and resting on her ass. He kissed her again, his lips wandering from her lips to her jaw, and her collarbone.
“Laszlo, I-” His phone, forgotten on the coffee table, rang and interrupted her. She turned, glancing at the caller ID, and handed it to him. “It’s Stevie, he’s probably on his way home.”
Laszlo answered and held the phone to his ear. Alice was somewhat relieved he called. She wasn’t sure how much further they were going to go, and she was nervous to broach the topic. This was a natural end to the evening. When she went to move off his lap, he held her there with his right hand. Not firmly, but the surprising and warm touch was enough to keep her there. She slipped her hand over his.
Alice waited until he hung up to speak. “I think it’s time for me to go, Las.”
“Please, darling, five more minutes.” His hips ground against hers, and his voice was as enticingly sweet as honey.
“Five minutes, my final Christmas present for you,” she teased.
His lips reattached to hers, and his hand groped her breast. Her hips continued above him, and Laszlo followed every one of her movements.
Hindered by Laszlo’s request, but hastened by his assistance to redress, Alice left without issue. She promised to text him when she arrived home safe and sound, and he reminded her what time they would leave for the Nutcracker. Laszlo waited for Stevie to return in the kitchen, hoping to ask about his evening before locking the front door and going to bed.
“Hey,” Stevie entered through the more hidden ground-level door that connected through the garage. He preferred the direct access rather than messing with the front door. It was part of why he chose to live downstairs.
“How was it?”
“Good,” he shrugged, “Caleb got a new game for us to play, so it took a while to figure out the rules, but it was fun.”
“Did they enjoy the chips?”
“Yeah, yeah, they did.” Stevie glanced at the sink, empty apart from two mugs of hot chocolate. “How was your evening?”
One mug was still smeared with lipstick, and panic shot through Laszlo. Did he have any of her lipstick on his face? He wished he checked a mirror instead of presuming he looked okay. Laszlo flustered, thinking on the spot.
“Fine. Some people from the psychology department came over for dinner, part of a new tradition they’re trying to start.”
Stevie poured himself a glass of water and stood in front of the fridge. “That’s cool. Any leftovers? ”
“What? They didn’t feed you over there?” Laszlo chuckled, relieved by the change in subject.
“They did, but I’m still hungry. Growing boy and all.” Stevie ate a dinner roll without bothering to microwave it.
Laszlo rolled his eyes. Ah, the youth. “Goodnight, and don’t forget to lock up.”
“Already did.”
Laszlo meant it when he said, “Good kid.”
***
Two days later, Laszlo picked Alice up from her apartment with a bouquet of pale pink roses. She wore a simple, elegant black dress and shawl. Underneath her silver shawl, Laszlo spotted the simple necklace he gave her and more than one purple hickey. He felt a sense of satisfaction seeing his work.
They arrived early to the theater and worked slowly through the crowds. People acknowledged him — former clients or students — and he stopped for a moment to chat with some of them. His chest puffed up with pride, talking to them with a woman as wonderful as Alice on his arm. She shimmered under the chandeliers.
Finally, Laszlo brought her to his box on the upper level. Alice whispered in his ear she always wondered what the view from the boxes was like rather than general admission. Laszlo promised to take her to more shows in the coming year. They enjoyed the show, her hand clasped in his, and her shawl slipping off her shoulders.
Laszlo asked if she was hungry, too, when they left the theater. Sheepishly, Alice confessed she was. He swung by a fast-food joint, one of the only things open at the late hour on Christmas Eve, and ordered fries and milkshakes. After their midnight snack, they made out like teenagers in the front seat. It was a complete contrast to the formality of their evening, but it was the perfect way to end the night.
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Consequence
A Ghost!Horstmayer x Fem!Reader AU
Summary: “Seriously?” You say, sighing in vague annoyance. “A ghost?” You don’t consider yourself to be a superstitious person, and you certainly don’t believe in haunted things lurking around dark corners.
Of course, it doesn’t make sense. Of course, ghosts aren’t real. You just need your overactive imagination to calm down.
But then comes the night that changes everything...
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut; explicit language; references to 1918 pandemic and lost love; Horstmayer needs a hug
A/N: Last year, it started with a pirate!Horstmayer fic and now we have ghost!Horstmayer on this Christmas Eve. Curl up somewhere warm with something warm & cozy, and I hope you enjoy! And to those who celebrate the holiday - I wish you all a Happy & Merry Christmas 🎄😊❤️
You inherit the apartment from your Great-Aunt Alphonsine. Heartless as it sounds, you didn't even know that you had a Great-Aunt Alphonsine until the lawyer calls you.
“The care and maintenance of the apartment is part of your Great-Aunt’s estate. Should you choose to retain the dwelling, you will only be financially responsible for the consumables.”
“The consumables?” You echo in confusion. “What does that mean? Consumables as in… water and electricity?”
“No, miss. Consumables as in food, paper products, toiletries, and so forth. Your Great-Aunt’s estate has allocations for utilities, cleaning services, repair services, tax fees, and insurance costs. She was adamant that you shoulder no additional financial burden with the inheritance of her beloved home.”
On and off over the years, your mother has spoken of the estranged family that lives in France, but surely, this has to be too much. You’d never met Great-Aunt Alphonsine, and doesn’t she have any immediate family of her own? Or is this her way of trying to reunite the family?
Regardless, you still can’t believe it. Even now as you stand - still dumbfounded by the simple fact that you’re actually here in Paris - staring at the building’s elegant stone and wrought-iron facade, you want to pinch yourself.
Nearly overnight, you’ve gone from a cramped, nearly-windowless apartment to this sweeping, third-story, top-floor apartment with commanding views of the Luxembourg Gardens. Nearly overnight, you no longer have to choose between paying rent or paying down student loans. Nearly overnight, you find yourself faced with the decision of what to do with such a classy place, but you figure that you should at least see the interior before deciding.
And the interior doesn’t disappoint. Cozily appointed and elegantly furnished, the whole apartment proves an expert study in Edwardian class and comfort. Each room hosts gleaming wood fireplaces, lush rugs, and plushy armchairs and settees. The living room with a piano in one corner and a simple writing desk tucked in another corner looks like the perfect place to continue work on your novel. The dining room is warm and intimate, and blessedly, the kitchen has been updated with modern appliances.
The hallway hosts three inviting bedrooms and one sophisticated bathroom. Each progressive room makes you feel sloppy in your jeans and sweater, yet also puts you completely at ease. The old-world charm and elegance of the whole place should probably be intimidating, but there is something undeniably homey and inviting about it.
You make your decision and settle in right away. The living room becomes your favorite haunt and think-tank, while the master bedroom serves as your private lair. You’ve never known such stylish comfort or pleasant environs. In fact, it’s a marvel that your Great-Aunt has managed to outfit her home in a way that doesn’t feel old and stuffy but still retains the splendor of a bygone age.
As time passes, you meet the cleaning lady by name of Marie-Rose who tiptoes around on silent footsteps, and the all-around handyman, Georges, who is never without a jovial smile beneath his bushy mustache.
“This is an easy fix, mademoiselle.” Georges says, extending the ladder legs. “I’m glad that you called.”
“I appreciate that you came so quickly, but really, there was no rush.” And you mean it. Replacing a burned out lightbulb in the living room chandelier isn’t an urgent matter, but Georges wouldn’t hear of it.
“Well, Mademoiselle Alphonsine was just the kindest lady, and I wouldn’t want to do her an insult by way of you, now.”
Your mouth pulls to an awkward, closed-mouth smile. “I wish that I had known her better.” Or at all, really.
Georges unboxes the new lightbulb, nodding up at you with a reassuring smile. “I’ll have this replaced in no time. Don’t you worry, mademoiselle.” Despite your insistence otherwise, he refuses to call you anything else. “But keep an eye out for that ghost, would you please?”
He starts to climb the ladder, and you arch a dubious brow. “Seriously?” You say, sighing in vague annoyance. “A ghost?” You don’t consider yourself to be a superstitious person, and you certainly don’t believe in haunted things lurking around dark corners.
“Oh, you can be sure of it. Mademoiselle Alphonsine had many stories about her resident ghost - even said that she glimpsed him in the foyer mirror once. Eyes like golden chocolate, she said.”
“Golden chocolate?” You hum skeptically. “And I’m sure that every time this old building creaked, that was the ghost, too?”
Georges nods as he works. “Mademoiselle Alphonsine swore that he was always here - as a chill when she entered a room, as a phantom whisper against her cheek, as a fallen and broken object.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” You scoff, shaking your head. “I mean, it makes sense why a single, elderly lady living alone would conjure tales about a ghost when things went bump in the night. It’s the most basic trope in all of horror-dom! And once she believed it, I’m sure it just became easier each time something ‘supposedly-mysterious but easily-explainable’ happened for her to just chalk it up to her resident ghost.”
Georges laughs softly but nothing about it is comforting. “Then, don’t believe in the ghost at your own peril, mademoiselle. But far be it for me to speak ill of the dead - either Mademoiselle Alphonsine or her resident ghost.”
Of all the ridiculous nonsense. There are no such things as ghosts, regardless of what your Great-Aunt or her handyman think.
And yet… you can’t fully banish the lingering thought. Especially in the dark hours of night when the city grows still, when the building grows silent, when shadows dance on the walls. You start to notice the ambient creaks and groans of the centuries’ old building. You start to notice the reflections in polished surfaces, unable to stop the creeping moments of suspicion and the urge to do a double-take over your shoulder.
Eyes like golden chocolate, indeed.
Of course, it doesn’t make sense. Of course, ghosts aren’t fucking real. You just need your overactive imagination to calm down.
But then comes the night that changes everything.
The day has been absolute hell in a handbasket, and you need to lose yourself. So, you do: retiring to your bed with a half-full bottle of wine and your favorite vibrator. It has been a while since your last boyfriend, and you treat yourself far better than he ever did. Still trembling from your first orgasm, you writhe against the bedsheets, slowly teasing towards your second. Your slick, sensitized skin sings as you drive the toy harder, chasing the pleasurable swell inside you. The wood and plaster walls echo with your soft cries and whimpers - and in the moments your eyes wink open, you see yourself in the mirror mounted above the bedroom fireplace.
The debauched sight that you paint should probably be shameful, but you’re too far gone to care. Your hair fans across the pillowcase, sleep shorts and underwear discarded with your sleep shirt rucked up. With one hand twisting and pinching against your breast, the other works the toy inside you. The desperate heat builds to a crescendo as you drag against your white hot spot of pleasure, tearing a long cry from your lips as you start to boil over.
Glass cracks and shatters across the room, slicing through your fog of arousal. You scream at the sudden burst of sound, and the toy slips from your grip. Your body fights a new surge of adrenaline-fueled energy as you stare at the fractured mirror over the bedroom fireplace. Cracked lines radiate across the reflective surface originating from a point in the middle. Several glass shards have broken loose, now smashed against the polished wood floor.
Your heart races as you sit up to get a better look, overcome with the impending rush of your denied orgasm and the fear that bolted down your spine at the sight. Especially as you stare at the distorted reflection in the mirror’s broken remains. It looks… you gulp. Another shiver runs through you as you squint harder in the low light. The shape coalesces into a distinct, shadowed outline of a head and shoulder - and eyes.
Eyes that glint with golden chocolate.
You blink, and the image disappears. Or… has it even been there in the first place?
The thought keeps you awake longer than you care to admit. And ever since, you haven't been able to shake the unnerving feeling that you’re being watched.
Sure, it sounds cliche. Fuck that, it’s definitely cliche. You’re starting to be no better than your Great-Aunt, really: living alone in an old house with an antique mirror that had finally just cracked from age. You don’t need to let the power of suggestion get to you. Of course, there hasn’t been a ghost with golden chocolate eyes watching you in your bedroom. The implications of that are just too fucked up.
But none of that stops a shiver from crawling down your spine when living room floorboards squeak while you sit unmoving on the couch. It doesn’t stop you from giving the foyer mirror a suspicious side-eye every time you walk past or glimpse shadowy movement on its reflective surface.
All of it stirs traitorous, lingering questions to life. Has Great-Aunt Alphonsine been right? Does her home indeed have a resident specter of some sort? Could there really be such a thing as ghosts?
The nagging questions torment you for the better part of two weeks, not helped each night when you crawl into bed and stare at the bare patch of wall above the fireplace where the mirror used to hang. But finally, emboldened by another bottle of wine, you open an incognito browser window and let your search history spiral down a rabbit hole.
Are ghosts real
Why do ghosts haunt
Can you banish ghosts
Can you contact ghosts
Madame Lastra incantation
Dr. Vladimir Zugravs’s Collection of Spells and Other Curios book
The next day finds you at the National Library of France. Of course, the section you seek resides in a quiet, dusty corner of the archives that surely crawls with ghosts of its own. Fluorescent light bulbs buzz overhead as you scan the spine titles and catalog numbers. Eventually, you find Dr. Zugrav’s book and pull it from the shelf as your heart leaps. Thumbing through the pages, you glimpse all sorts of sketches - diagrams of plants, people, symbols - and page after page of obscure, occultist lore.
When you find the page entitled ‘Madame Lastra’s Incantation for Contact Beyond the Living World’, a forbidden thrill runs through you. Fuck, you can’t believe this actually exists, and worse… would it actually work?
Back in the warmth of your living room, you pour over the pages with rapt interest. It… honestly, it sounds so easy. Does it really only take sandalwood scented air and a red beeswax barrier coupled with the right words to contact the dead? You read the pages again and again, looking for the obvious catch. If it is supposedly just that simple, then why doesn’t everyone know about this?
But once you have the sandalwood incense and red beeswax candle, you wait until Saturday night. The fact that it’s Christmas Eve just happens to be a coincidence. You already told your parents that you aren’t able to come home for Christmas, and if you really have the chance to make a new friend, then… well, who wants to be alone on Christmas Eve?
So, you sit in the foyer and light the incense. As the woodsy smell permeates the air, you light the candle and let it burn for several minutes to form a blood-red puddle of molten wax. With careful movements, you dribble the wax in a line just behind the front door, spanning wall to wall as the book instructured. Admittedly, you do cringe at the sight of the vibrant red wax cooling against the finely polished wood floor - and god, maybe you should go to a therapist after this - but for now, you’re too committed to stop.
When the line looks thick enough - honestly, the book wasn’t too specific - you set the candle next to the incense and sit cross-legged, staring at the front door and the fresh line of wax. You turn the page and your breathing quickens. Adrenaline surges through you, taking a deep breath to listen to the gentle piano Christmas carols that play in the background as a low fire burns in the living room fireplace accompanied by the soft glow of a table lamp.
In a clear, purposeful voice - the book is incessant on that part - you recite the words. It sounds even stupider and laughingly implausible as your voice echoes off the woodwork, as if waiting for the punchline of some elaborate joke. But then… the fire flares in the living room from the corner of your eye and a wave of intense heat rolls over you. Lightning strikes outside the windows and roaring thunder threatens to burst your eardrums. Strobing lightning continues to blind you as shapes and shadows melt and shift around you. With wide eyes, you glance around as fear otherwise paralyzes you.
God, shit, fuck… what have you done?
Thunder shakes the building incessantly, but your blood freezes as audible, distinct footsteps creak down the hallway. Your heart sticks in your throat as blood pounds in your ears, turning around to see… an unknown man emerge from the shadows.
His thick chestnut hair and beard hold a neat style as he frowns down at you. He wears dark, high-waisted trousers of an antiquated fashion with a white dress shirt, matching vest, and tie neatly knotted at his throat. Firelight and lightning gleam off a wristwatch set against a thick leather band wrapped around his right wrist. He looks for all the world like he just stepped out of a late Edwarian-era photograph, and a chill runs through you.
He rests his hands in his trousers’ pockets as he comes to a stop at the living room threshold, his face hard with disapproval. “I understand that modern sensibilities have changed,” he says with crisp, Germanic syllables. “But have you completely dispensed with all sense of general propriety?”
You stare back at him, agape and lost for words. Too many questions overload your brain as you meet his sharp, golden chocolate eyes. Eyes that are all too familiar from a hazy moment in your bedroom’s shattered mirror.
He blinks those otherworldly eyes as irritation tightens the corners of his mouth, and he nods vaguely over your shoulder. “Referring, of course, to the mess that you have made on his floor. Terribly inconsiderate of you as a guest, considering how that red dye will no doubt leave a permanent stain.”
Your eyebrows climb to your hairline. “A guest…? But I live here.”
He shakes his head in slow reproach. “This is not your home anymore than it is your Great-Aunt’s or mine - we are all houseguests here.” He advances slowly, coming more into the flickering firelight and your pulse quickens as he continues. “But, perhaps you are not as worthy as she was - first, for damaging his floor, and second, in this unwelcome -.” His words stop short as his face pinches in open confusion and disbelief.
You freeze in equal uncertainty, watching his keen gaze fix on the roaring fire. Lightning still flashes all around - or, perhaps strobe is a more accurate word - especially as you realize that thunder no longer accompanies each bright bolt of light. Without another word, he strides forward with his attention clearly diverted from you.
With trembling movements, you push to your feet as you continue to stare at him. Just who in the hell is this man? He can’t just come into your house uninvited… or was he invited? You stand just inside the living room, staring at the broad line of his back as he pauses in front of the fireplace. He holds his left hand in front of the flames as if warming chilled skin, but the look of astonishment on his face makes your brow furrow.
Chilling realization creeps through you as he continues to stare at his hand in a mix of disbelief and reverence. You wet your top lip, exhaling sharply. “You’re Great-Aunt Alphonsine’s resident ghost, aren’t you?”
“I prefer that you call me Karl Horstmayer.”
You gasp as realization slams through you, and holy shit… the incantation has worked. The truth before your eyes stuns you as lightning flares at random, disorienting intervals. You blink away from him in your stupor, still trying to process it all, and your mindless gaze sweeps around the room. At least, until you notice that the familiar table lamp has just… disappeared. In fact, the fireplace and lightning are the only light sources around you.
Your mind reels at the implications, and you turn towards the windows that overlook the gardens across the street. It’s impossible to make out anything of the city beyond - no streetlights, no rustling trees - as if everything outside has been swallowed up by the soundless lightning storm.
Everything about that thought sends your mind into overdrive as your heart races. “Does… does that mean that I’m… dead?”
He shrugs a disinterested shoulder, still studying his hand. “What is dead?”
“Dead is how y-you’re a ghost.” Your words shake with mounting uncertainty. “And how I’m… I’m - where are we, anyway?”
“Why do you assume that I have all the answers?” His words cut sharp. “Aren’t you the one with the occultist book?”
“The book doesn’t say anything about this!” Honestly, if the incantation is going to transport you to some freakish vortex between life and death, the book should at least fucking mention it.
If your outburst bothers Karl, he gives no visible indication. Instead, he simply lowers his hand back to his side as the corner of his mouth lifts with a sad, fond edge. “All I know is that I have not felt such warmth in well over a century.”
Despite your unease, your brow knits as you process his words. “No? Not even when… well, assuming that you’ve walked this apartment as you are now,” you gesture at him, suddenly feeling woefully out of your depth. “Does that mean that you don’t feel physical sensation…?”
“Not as such.” He answers softly. “But the eternal now has no physical concept, so your question is invalid.”
“That makes no sense.” You shake your head, returning your gaze to him as you wait for him to respond.
But neither of you speak for several long minutes. Brilliant purple-white light continues to burst out the windows, punctuated only by crackles from the fireplace and the eerie melody of distorted Christmas carols. You strain your ears to listen, just able to recognize ‘Silent Night’ despite how melancholy and dissonant the tune sounds.
You force a swallow, continuing the conversation in his stead. “I mean - clearly, this is a physical place. I’m standing here, a-and you’re standing there. And there’s a fire, and music… and you called it his place.” You pause, blinking over at him as he stands unmoving, still just staring into the fire. “So, if I’m a guest and you’re a guest… then, whose place is this?”
Heart-wrenching sadness eats at the lines of his handsome face despite his failing attempts to hold a stoic appearance. It ages him so young - younger than you’d initially estimated due to his deceptive facial hair. What has happened to this young man? By all accounts, he looks healthy - as if he could still be alive today.
The muscles of his throat work around a hard swallow. “This is the home of the Audebert family. Camille Audebert, in particular.” He pinches his mouth shut as if needing a moment to collect himself.
Concern stirs in your chest as you wrap your arms around yourself and step into the living room. “And who was... is Camille Audebert?”
Karl’s eyes swim with firelight and distant memory. “Someone who I met on a Christmas Eve long ago. Someone who… who I had hoped to find again. But someone who died in this house before I could get here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” You take another careful step forward. “How did he die?”
“The flu of 1918 swept through Paris, sparing neither the rich or the poor, and he succumbed much like countless other victims.”
A chill runs down your spine as your heart lodges in your throat. “The flu of 1918… that sounds unreal….” Your voice trails off as the unnerving lightning reflects off your skin and clothes. “Is that also when you… died, too?”
“No.” He offers a weak shake of his head. “I followed… in 1919, I think it was. You’ll forgive me on the exact year…”
You ach an incredulous brow, unable to believe it. “And you’ve been here - in this place… this apartment since 1919, give or take.”
His heavy eyes drop closed as he bows his head solemnly.
Your tongue runs across your top lip. “Then, why don’t you just leave?”
“That’s not how it works.” His voice chills you to the bone. “Actions on the mortal plane ripple through eternity, and a deal with the devil is just that.”
“But you’re…,” you start as you struggle to understand. “Surely, you’re not… like a demon or something.”
“No,” he gives a short shake of his head. “But one needn’t be a demon to find themselves in hell.”
You regard him in a moment of contemplation. Is he really trapped here? What deal has he possibly made? You exhale an uncertain sigh, hesitating until you catch yourself. For fuck’s sake, this man is a ghost – what do you really have to worry about? “So, what -” your words stick in your throat despite yourself. “How long do you have to stay here?”
He turns an almost pitying, closed-mouth smile towards you. “Time is a mortal construct. It doesn’t exist in the eternal now. As such, I shall simply reside as I am until… until the stars turn cold, I suppose.”
Your heart goes out to him as your gaze softens. “That sounds incredibly lonely. With no one for company.”
“Yet, you’ve proven that it’s possible.” His brow furrows as if he just realized something that hasn’t occurred to him before. He turns towards you with his haunting, perceptive gaze. “Tell me, why did you seek this meeting tonight?”
The intensity of his firelit gaze leaves you fumbling for words. Why exactly have you contacted him? Is it merely to satisfy your own curiosity? Is it just to vindicate your Great-Aunt?
“And tonight, of all nights,” he continues, not unkindly as he gestures vaguely with his left hand. “I am not unfamiliar with the carols in the air, though again… to hear them so vividly now is….” He trails off with a shake of his head.
“Vividly?” You arch a dubious brow. “It sounds like they’re playing underwater on an untuned piano.”
“And yet all I hear is clear, harmonized perfection.” He drops his eyes closed in clear indulgence of a treat that he’s been so long denied.
A shiver races down your spine at the thought and you can’t help but wonder. Each time that you play music in the house and enjoy tonal melodies, does he hear the sort of tuneless, distorted musical notes that you hear now? Is your presence in whatever this place is somehow letting him experience the world of the living from beyond the grave? The implications of that only make your mind spin and a distant ache blooms in your skull. You take a deep breath, massaging your temples and feeling woefully out of your depth.
Nothing about this makes any sense – but honestly, what did you expect by using some incantation to contact a dead ghost? And now… just where the fuck do you go from here? How long are you going to stay here? How long does the incantation last? And, really, just what do you have waiting for you back on the other side tonight?
Your gaze falls to the blazing fire for another long minute. If Karl Horstmayer is indeed dead, then why shouldn’t you just be honest? You nibble your bottom lip before speaking. “I guess it’s just…” you trail off, sighing as anxious butterflies erupt in your stomach. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I just… I didn’t want to be alone.”
He shifts almost uneasily on his feet. At first glance in the swirls of blinding light, perhaps a blush dances high on his cheeks above his beard, but you can’t tell for sure. It does nothing to detract from his handsomeness, and an appreciative smile edges your face.
He catches your gaze, his own pensive and analytical as he regards you. “And straddling the veil between worlds is the best way to remedy that?”
Your mouth pinches with irritation. “I… well, yes – I mean, you’ve been watching me and because I… I saw you.” You don’t want to delve into the details since - fuck, this man has seen everything that happened in your bedroom. “I saw your brown eyes - eyes of golden chocolate - just like my Great-Aunt had said.”
His eyes darken with obvious memory as the shared knowledge of the night that your bedroom mirror shattered hangs between you. Heat flares along your skin despite the fire’s warmth, gathering low in your belly under his intense scrutiny. From his words so far, the extent of his physical sensation may still be a mystery, but clearly, he isn’t emotionally unaffected by the events that took place in this house.
You wet your top lip as your breathing quickens. “You say that the eternal now has no physical concept, yet you were able to break the mirror that night. For that was you… watching me….”
A startlingly ashamed look crosses his face as he drops your gaze. “As only the dead can. Not one of my finer moments, I regret to say.”
His dizzying verbal circles make your head spin, but they’re far from off-putting. “But you only feel guilty now that I’ve confronted you about it, right? Never thought you’d get caught, right? And why would you if I’m your first-ever visitor...” And, shit, the implications for the future crash down around you. As long as you stay in this house, he will be here watching you – each time you shower, eat dinner, sleep, pleasure yourself or share your bed with anyone else. Honestly, the thought should probably repulse or terrify you, but there’s something oddly… comforting about it. In the knowledge that you’ll never truly be alone.
But what about Karl? Is he forever condemned to just watch humanity pass him by from within the confines of this apartment? “So, what does that mean, then?" You ask softly. "‘As only the dead can’…?”
“Precisely that. A spectral existence has no physical concept in the eternal now.”
“That’s such bullshit.” You shake your head pleadingly, stepping around the couch towards him before you think better of it. “As we’ve both agreed – we’re both standing here. And you’ve felt the fire’s warmth on your skin, heard clear music – so, don’t tell me there isn’t anything physical in this moment.” You reach your hand out to his white shirt sleeve covered arm to prove your point.
Your fingers connect with the fine fabric and solid forearm beneath, gasping as sapphire sparks burst into view and wink out with wispy trails of smoke. The scent of cedar and citrus fills your nose – and in that moment, you see everything.
A life shrouded by the shadow of an older brother. A steadfast dedication to military service befitting a dutiful second son. A horrific world war that shatters the globe and leaves permanent scars. A forbidden, blossoming love in a snowy trench on an unexpectedly peaceful night that tragically, abruptly ends in a global pandemic. A destructive desire driving him to reunite with his beloved.
And in that moment, when his eyes meet yours, his face blanches with the discovery of profound knowledge. As if he, too, sees everything in your life that led you to this moment as you stand with your hand on his arm somewhere between life and death.
The breath punches from your chest as the images run through your mind and emotions boil within you. Your heart constricts yet threatens to burst, your stomach tightens with anxious knots yet lightens with hopeful anticipation. Your eyes see only him, blind to the rest of the world as you want to cling to him, to lose yourself in him, to have him lose himself inside you.
Blood pulses through you, pooling low and needy as damp heat soaks your core. All at once, you realize how hard you’re breathing, stunned and reeling.
You force a swallow as dizziness consumes you. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s happening.”
He gives a slow, bewildered shake of his head, obviously just as speechless as he gasps for breath alongside you. With your mind awash in a sea of unfamiliar memories and new sensations, your hand trails up his forearm, almost disappointed that more sparks don’t appear. You raise your other hand to his chest, both exhaling long moans when you press your palm flat over the woolen waistcoat. A shower of deep blue sparks rain down around your hand as more of that intoxicating scent suffuses the air.
You struggle for breath as a fresh wave of heat surges through you, touching the essence of your being. It extends beyond physical or emotional, as if… as if his spirit touches yours, speaking in a language that you don’t understand yet comprehend implicitly. And god, just listen to yourself, but your brain - and body - are truly too far gone to care. His warm, heavy hand falls against the small of your back, and you arch against the touch with a soft cry on your lips.
Electricity jolts through you, driving you closer in his embrace, overwhelmed at the onslaught of sensation erupting from his touch. Everything about the moment compels you closer to him, each touch igniting more sparks and reaching some deep-rooted part of your soul that belongs only to him.
Your lips fuse together in an intoxicating haze as that delicious scent wraps around you and sapphire light gleams beyond your closed eyelids. He can’t be close enough to you as tongues tangle and you cling to the solid, sturdy build of shoulders. His broad hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him - body to body, soul to soul.
He needs to be closer - so much closer - and your hands tear at his tie, his vest, his shirt buttons. The heat of the fire is a distant memory compared to the scorching touch of his skin as your own clothing falls away with wisps of smoke and showers of sapphire starbursts. Everywhere he touches draws you helplessly towards him as he dissolves into you and pulls you down to the plush, thick rug in front of the fire.
Your legs wrap around his waist with mindless instinct, driven only to connect with him in the most intimate way as your soul demands. Breath leaves you and sanity abandons you as he slides deep into your core, piercing your heart and soul as he buries himself in your heat. His groans drown against your lips as smoke and sparks shroud the frenzied rocking of his hips and he drives himself to fill you completely.
Unrecognizable cries leave your lips, echoing in the void as you take everything he gives you and surrender yourself completely. The crescendo builds with unstoppable intensity as you claw at his back, tasting the salt on his neck and relishing the burn of his beard on your skin. A moan tears from you as you convulse around him, and a heavy force claws at the very essence of your being, shearing something inside you as euphoric ecstasy pulls you under.
The deafening roar of his own release mixes with your deafening cry as blood pounds in your ears. Your vision swims in hazy light as your body drifts away from you, and you struggle to breathe under the gnawing sensation. His solid weight against you fades as darkness eats at the corners of your mind, and you feebly cling to him with all that you possess.
His lips ghost against yours as your hands fall slack and thought abandons you completely.
You blink awake, foggy headed and bleary eyed. Desperate to ignore the throbbing pain in your skull, you squint against the bright, invasive morning sunlight – Christmas morning sunlight – and don’t know what to think. Especially as you become aware of three things in quick succession.
One – the thick living room rug scratches and itches against your bare skin. A dark blue blanket covers you, surprisingly soft by contrast to the rug but completely unfamiliar to you. You grip it close, aware that it’s the only thing shielding your naked body from the clear windows.
Two – you feel absolutely drained. As if you haven’t slept or eaten in days, or maybe both. Your minimal movements against the rug are sluggish and uncoordinated as you continue to wake up and come back to yourself. Quite obviously, whatever you experienced last night has taken a heavy toll.
Three – you aren’t alone. A larger, broader, obviously nude and obviously male body presses against your backside as you lay against the uncomfortable carpet. You scrub a hand over your face, trying to wipe away the cobwebs and not disturb your slumbering bedmate.
Good god, what had actually happened last night? With fleeting clarity, you remember the lightning-drenched living room, the uncanny golden chocolate eyes, and the scorching pleasure – but now faced with the cold light of dawn, has any of that actually been real? Or did you really just knock back one too many cocktails, pick up a guy, and lose yourself in delusional fantasy?
You groan, stretching against the carpet and catching a glimpse at your smartwatch. Fuck, it’s already so late. With another groan, dreading the inevitable awkwardness of saying goodbye to a one-nightstand that you don’t even clearly remember, you roll over and prepare to face your fate.
You jump in surprise against the blanket, shocked to see two golden chocolate eyes blinking blearily back at you. Your heart pounds as you stare at Karl’s familiar features and bearded face as he lays beside you with dark swirls of his chest hair just visible above the blanket’s edge.
You gape, unable to believe it. “What the hell are you doing here?!”
“Here?” He groans, looking back at you in equally growing confusion. “What is… why are you here?”
“Why am I here?” You parrot back, gripping the blanket close, hyper-aware of both your naked bodies beneath the navy fabric. “This is my house, and you’re the dead ghost, and…” Your words trail off as your mouth fails to keep up with your raging thoughts. Does this mean that you have died, too? Are you now condemned to stay in this house with him for eternity?
A car horn blares outside the window, drawing your startled gaze. How does that make any sense? If you are dead, then why are you able to hear a car plain as day? You force a hard swallow as you try to think through the sluggish fog in your head. Maybe you aren’t dead, after all, but instead, maybe he is… does it make sense for him to be… alive?
But, seriously… have you somehow fucked him back to life? However crass and ridiculous that sounds. Is that why those strange, sapphire sparks had ignited between you? Has your life force somehow rejuvenated his own...?
Your head hurts too much for such mind-bending thoughts. Slowly, you turn back to him, catching his gaze as he studies you with equal bewilderment. His mouth pinches to a tight, hesitant line as he obviously considers a thought.
Tentatively, he reaches a hand forward, brushing the back of his knuckles along your forearm. No blue sparks or blue glow emanate from his gentle caress, but a low, thrumming rhythm grows in your blood. You gasp as the beating pulse aligns with the cadence of your own heartbeat, reverberating in tandem harmony. “Is that…,” you ask in a breathless whisper, “your heartbeat?”
His own breathing stutters as the contact lingers, and he twists his wrist to wrap his fingers around your forearm. “It’s your heartbeat, it has to be…” he whispers reverentially. “Mine stopped beating so long ago….”
“Then, why are you here?” Heat sings in your veins as your body recognizes its missing half - the answer to make you whole, body and soul.
He pulls his hand back, and the cloying sensations instantly dull. You’re still drained beyond comprehension and in serious need of sustenance, but whatever his touch has just ignited begins to fade without the sustained physical contact.
Just what the fuck have you done? Are you somehow forever bound to him? And him to you? How would you ever know? And is that what you really want? What about the rest of your life? What about the rest of his life? At least, now that he seems to have one again….
He shakes his head, sighing heavily. “We may never know the answer. But before we start trying to figure it out,” his face softens as the corner of his mouth lifts. “I guess there’s only one thing to be said.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
He fixes his golden chocolate eyes to yours, and… okay, maybe seeing those eyes every morning wouldn’t be so bad. A smile tugs at your mouth as you stare at him, hearing his accented words wrap around you and echo with the fading thrum of his twin heartbeat. “It’s not my holiday… but Merry Christmas, Liebling.”
#lieutenant horstmayer#karl friedrich horstmayer#daniel brühl x reader#daniel brühl fanfic#daniel brühl x you#daniel brühl#joyeux noël#joyeux noël 2005
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Always For A Second (Usually At The Start) - A Helmut Zemo x Reader fic
"And when I imagine life when it's mine / I can try to picture faceless folk to love a thousand times / But always for a second, and usually at the start / You're in the image posing with a cradled beating heart" - Katie Gregson MacLeod, i'm worried it will always be you
Synopsis: Leaving Helmut for good had been the biggest, most final choice you'd ever had to make. Two years later, he's in your living room again. This time, though, things are different.
Tags: Explicit Smut (+18), Exes, Getting Back Together, Enemies to Lovers to Exes to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Switch!Zemo, Oral (Fem Receiving), Service Top!Zemo, Aftercare, Bucky is Mentioned Too Much
Rating: E (+18) Minors DNI
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 8,600~
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“I didn’t expect you to come crawling back so soon, schatz,”
The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody heard Helmut’s words, curt and cloying and so fucking familiar. Still, my face heated. It always would for him, no matter how much my common sense protested by body’s reactions. How dare he be so damn effective at getting under my skin?
Some over-expensive brown liquor sloshed against the rim of the glass in my hand as I lifted it less than gracefully from the table, dribbling down the edge of my mouth as I guided it to my lips and drank deeply. “For one, two years isn’t soon,” I started, swallowing. “Two, you’re the asshole who showed up in my apartment like a robber, which makes you the one who came crawling back. I was just nice enough to let you take me for a free meal to get you the hell out. Three,” I set the glass down sharply, “don’t call me that. We’re not friends. We’re not anything. I still haven’t forgiven you,”
“Apologies,”
He didn’t mean it.
“Still, it’s too soon to expect any sort of kindness from you,” he continued, “If I recall correctly, you said you’d rather die than suffer through another night with me for the rest of eternity. I believe an eternity has yet to pass… and yet, here we are,”
His matter of fact tone left little up for debate, unless I wanted to reach for my fork and maim his smug face. Instead, I bit my tongue and swallowed another mouthful of whatever I was drinking.
For once I was glad to be surrounded by the kind of noisy, faceless jumble of humanity that usually made my skin crawl. F. Scott Fitzgerald was on to something with his theories on large crowds and intimacy; there was no better place for two war criminals to meet than the corner booth of a hazy restaurant, lounging and drinking, covered by the blanket of sweet anonymity. Anyone who glanced our way would see two normal human beings sharing a meal in peaceable silence, sharing sparse conversation between bites of this and that.
They would see lovers.
The thought left a lump in my throat.
Maybe I looked uncomfortable enough that they would presume, correctly, that we were ex-lovers. I wasn’t hopeful about it, though.
Helmut noticed, of course, but I knew he would. He had always had an almost supernatural sense for these things, like he could tune into my emotional radio on a frequency I didn’t even fully know myself. Enemy or ally or… otherwise, it was a constant to be seen through and picked apart like carrion. An appetizer for the fights to come. Thankfully, though, he chose to have mercy on me this time in a rare show of respect. Instead of wrapping his lips around another snide comment- even though I could tell it was burning a bitter hole into the tip of his tongue behind his clenched teeth- he chose to pick up a ring of calamari from the plate between us. He held it up to examine the crust in the dim lamplight before placing it delicately against his lips, pulling it from the fork in one bite. Still, he couldn’t be too gracious. Helmut held eye contact as he went.
I could only managed a disgusted sigh but found myself mirrored as his teeth sunk into the squid and his brow furrowed.
“Bad?” I asked.
He chewed for a good while before managing to swallow the offending clump down, gagging all the way. “Despite my recent diet, that might be the worst thing I’ve eaten in a long while,”
A laugh escaped me before I even knew it was there. “You managed to pick a restaurant where our appetizer is worse than prison food? Serves you right for ordering seafood in the midwest,”
“I suppose it does.” He nudged the plate towards me with a growing smirk, “See for yourself. I’d hate to see it wasted, and as you said, it is ours. I can’t be expected to finish it alone,”
As if under the spell of his charisma all over again, I followed his instructions without a second thought. It was just as bad as I anticipated.
Things were off to a bad start from the moment the tines of my fork hit the batter. The breading seemed to squelch under the pressure, sagging and giving way into meat that was somehow both rubbery and gelatinous, if that was even possible, and if the texture seemed bad outside of my mouth it was even worse inside. Somewhere between its fishy tang and the overly salted batter, there was a bitter, almost sour note that seemed to permeate further with every chew. I spit the macerated glob into my napkin before even attempting to swallow down the remaining spit.
Across the table, Zemo grinned at my misfortune. “Let’s hope our entrees are less offensive to our palettes,”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, lips turning up at the edges.
“You can curse all you want at my poor choice of venue, but I can tell you’re glad you’re the one who ordered the pasta instead of the steak,”
I went for my glass again, letting the liquor with a name I couldn’t pronounce burn all the way down my throat and into my chest. “I hate that you’re always right, Helmut. Can’t you be wrong, just once? Leave some correctness for the rest of us,”
Maybe it was the lighting, soft and amber against the dark wood of the table to mask the bloody steaks that would sit below, or maybe it was the music, something old and swinging that I couldn’t quite put my finger on but knew from the radio in my grandmother’s car as a child, or maybe, just maybe, it was the crows feet that popped up around Helmut’s eyes when he smiled that hadn’t been quite so prominent the last time I’d seen him, but no matter the cause, the solid iron wall I had put up around my heart when I walked out of the Baron’s life those two year sago seemed to soften. Weakened, somehow. It was like someone took a blowtorch right to the center of my defenses. Something in me screamed that they had never been all that strong to begin with.
I only noticed I’d been staring when he looked away, clearing his throat and wiping his thin mouth with the napkin from his lap.
There went my hand. Helmut, 1. Me, 0… Well, 1, if leaving him those years ago counted for anything, and I refused to believe that it hadn’t. That the blow to his ego hadn’t given me at least a slight upper hand compared to the naive girl I had been in comparison when I first met him. There had been so much good in the world then.
The silence dragged on as if the structural flaws of my guarded heart could patch themselves up with the defenses created from just a few silent moments between us. That’s all it would take for me to remember all the reasons this would never work: all the pain, the sleepless nights, the snide comments that turned into biting replies that grew into massive, earth-shattering fights that exploded into days or weeks or months living alone in a house with him. One by one, the memories flooded back, reminding me exactly why it had taken me almost two years to find enough peace within myself that I wouldn’t decide to shoot the man in front of me on sight. My heart hardened by the second.
“I saw your concert,”
I was simultaneously thawed and frozen all over again. “How did you-“
“James mentioned it,”
“You still talk to Bucky?”
“Here and there,”
The conversation lapsed into silence.
He had… been there? I didn’t even bother to think about the talk I’d have to have with Bucky about my privacy, too focused on the more important matter at hand.
The venue was grungy, a basement bar with a small stage serving the communities aspiring comedians and desperate punk-rock garage dwellers just waiting for their big break. I had barely had the guts to pay the booking fee, though. It was just me, a piano, and my guitar for an hour and a half set of mostly cover songs that had gone better than I’d expected, but hadn’t been anything crazy. The crowd was appreciative and respectful. Several people had left tips, even more giving me a congratulatory clap on the back as I left the building that night, promising to “stream my EP” whenever I released it, despite the fact that I had no plans to do any such thing. Still, I couldn’t imagine that I hadn’t seen his face in the crowd. I couldn’t name what I was feeling as I imagined it; visualized his face on the other side of the smoky room, leaned against the bar with his dark eyes catching hold of mine…
“You came and you didn’t say anything? Not even a hello?”
Helmut laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “And risk my life over a free concert? No.” He paused, “Despite my tendency to sometimes be… less than kind, I knew it would rattle you to see me. I didn’t want to throw you off before your performance.”
I didn’t have much of anything to say in response. Instead, I picked at the paper straw wrapper in my lap and tried to look anywhere but in his direction, shoving down whatever was welling up in my chest. He wouldn’t let things go, though. He never could. That was half of why we’d never work. Every time I tried to drop an uncomfortable subject he’d be there to pick it up with a snide comment or two. It was an easy rhythm. Too easy. I had never wanted to fall back into it and yet, here I was, almost excited to snipe his next words down.
“Cain misses you,” He continued.
I folded the straw wrapper in my hands, pulling at the crease as I thought about the doberman puppy I had left behind. He would be so big now, as big as the one I’d taken with me was now. My heart ached at the thought.
“I doubt he remembers me after all this time,”
“Of course he does,” Helmut’s voice was low. It was almost hypnotic, the way he carried himself. He could fool anyone. I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach that couldn’t have been the calamari, he could still fool me. “He’s quite the troublemaker. More times than I can count he’s evaded me in the house, only to be found asleep in your old closet. I think he remembers your scent,”
“Thats…” I sat quiet for a moment, pursing through choices of words in my mind, mulling over the sharp accented way he pronounced the t in scent, “Sad. Really sad. Makes me wish I could’ve taken them both,”
“And what of Brutus?”
“He’s good,” A smile crossed my face. “Big, as you saw tonight. I remember when we got them, they told us they’d be 60 pounds at most, but I swear Brutus must’ve snuck in with the rest of those puppies, because he’s massive. Headbutts me every time I walk through the door wondering where I was. He’s a good boy, though. Keeps watch while I sleep, just in case.”
“Just in case I decided to let myself in through the window one night?”
I let myself laugh without judgement this time, reaching for my water. “Looks like it was all for nothing, then. Who knew he’d just let intruders come waltzing in off of the fire escape?”
“Am I truly considered an intruder in your home?” He asked it as if the answer wasn’t obvious. As if there were any other answer I could possibly give. As if I could’ve wanted him there. His earnestness almost hurt as much as his taunting did, maybe more, because even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, there was a soft ring of truth to his words.
I took the cowards way out. “I don’t know, what do you think?”
It was a vulnerability to not give a straight answer, the kind of weak spot that Helmut would catch wind of in an instant before using it to unravel someone piece by piece. Not a no, but certainly not a yes, and the fact that it hadn’t been a resounding yes was enough to glean that maybe, deep down, I wasn’t hating this dinner. He would see through me. Rip me to shreds for the subtle admittance that I hadn’t hated seeing him waiting for me on the couch when I walked through my door, even if I hadn’t expected or wanted him there in the first place.
I found it was better to lie by omission than to fully lie and let him see through me to the more important truth; For as much as I despised everything about him, I had missed Helmut Zemo. I had missed his stupid expensive taste and the tilt of his stupid head and his stupid shiny white smile. I had missed seeing his coat hung up beside the door and knowing what waited for me inside. It was sick how I had loved him. How I had loved every minute of him picking me apart by the seams and putting me back together. Who could possibly crave their own destruction? Who could live knowing that to be loved was to be deconstructed down to the bone and laid bare as something lesser, something so small compared to the great destroyer I devoted myself to.
How could he let me live like that if he truly saw through me?
And that was why I had to leave.
Loving Helmut Zemo was no way to live. I knew that. I had known that the day I picked up my dog and walked out of our home with nothing but my wallet, car keys, phone, and a polaroid picture of his silhouette. Somehow, I knew that he knew that too. Why else would I move on so suddenly, so sharply, removing every piece of the life we’d built to start myself fresh? A new me, I had said. A new chapter. Yet here I was across from him, shredded bits of paper littering my lap as he puppeteered my heart right back into his arms.
No. I couldn’t let it happen.
Not again.
“Listen, baron,” I didn’t let him answer my rhetorical question. It wouldn’t be wise to let him gain the upper hand again. It wouldn’t be smart to let myself stay weak. “I appreciate dinner. It’s been surprisingly lovely to catch up with you. I’m glad to know you’re not dead, and its great to know Cain is doing well, but I know you weren’t here to tell me that over a plate of mediocre pasta,”
Helmut smiled, his head in its signature tilt, and swished his own glass a bit. The ice was all but melted giving the liquor an almost clear quality as it diluted. Not a sip had been taken. “Ask the question, schatz,”
“Why are you here? Why did you stalk me here and break into my apartment when I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my life?” My words came out so matter of fact even I almost recoiled at them. Not unemotional but detached.
“Um, who had the chicken alfredo?”
I could feel the blood drain from my face as I looked up at the poor waiter, hot plates in hand, as he took in our table at just the wrong time. Five minutes earlier he would have walked in on polite conversation about the dogs or the shitty appetizers. Now, though, he stood between a man who was known to kill for the things he wanted and me, the one thing he could never have again.
Surprisingly, though, Helmut waved a hand towards me as I froze. There were none of the usual dramatics, just polite chatter with the waiter as he set my plate in front of me and left Helmut with his, taking the offending calamari plate away with him as he scurried away, surely to tell his coworkers about the crazy exes at the corner table. Helmut didn't even carry on with his answer. He just started tucking in to his steak and potatoes, not sparing me a single glance. If I didn’t know better, if I hadn’t memorized the way his eyes looked in the low light of a restaurant across from me, I would think he’d been replaced by a skrull.
Where was the tearing? The shredding? The utter evisceration of my waiting throat as he drank deeply of my darkest, most shameful thoughts only to spit them out for the world to see. Where was that shame? In the before times, in the times that the two of us had been a we, he never would have paused to mind a waiter. The world would have revolved around him as he laid me bare, no matter who watched or waited in the wings. What changed?
How had I not noticed his docility until now?
The pasta was decent. It was better than anything I would’ve made at home, at least. I barely thought about it, though, letting my body go through the motions of eating mechanically while my mind went over a million things I could say. What could I say? There was nothing left to. We had gone over every possibility before I had left, at least I thought we had. Whatever we were was dead. That was certain. But what we could be…
I swallowed hard before I could choke on a relatively large piece of broccoli I neglected to chew in my trance.
Helmut seemed to be in a painfully similar situation. One look at his plate showed a steak cut into tiny pieces. Almost none of it looked eaten, just diced into a pile and shuffled around a bit on the plate to mix with the potatoes, smashed down from their neat ice cream scoop globe and spread with the back of a fork.
With a sigh, I set down my fork, pasta already forgotten.
��Lost your appetite?”
He paused his fiddling with his fork and knife, mirroring me and letting the utensils rest on the table beside his plate. It was odd to see him rattled. Strange to watch his eyes roll up to the ceiling and pause there, as if he was searching for the right words to say. He always knew just what to say to cut the deepest. Maybe it was foreign for him to not want to cut; To find a soft word, instead of a sharpened one. His mouth opened one… two…three times. Open and shut, open and shut. I couldn’t help but hurt for him. The man of many words was finally struck dumb.
Finally, it came.
“I’m sorry,”
I had anticipated a selfish reply, a demand for me to come back and put the past two years behind us, but time had changed him. It had changed us both. He was no longer the man he had been when he was first freed from behind bars, vengeful and biting and so deeply afraid of being alone again, but I was no longer the lost girl I had been either. I did not need to be destroyed to breathe. I could feel tears pricking up in my eyes as he reached a hand across the table to search for my own. It was such a familiar sight in a time of uncertainty. I kept my hands firmly in my lap, though. I would not give him the satisfaction.
More, I would not give him hope.
“Come home, schatz,”
There it was.
I couldn’t hold in the bitter, wet laugh that bubbled up through me, more at my own foolishness than at anything else. He had changed, yes, but some things never would.
“Helmut,” The word hurt to say. It was altogether both familiar and unfamiliar, covered in a thick layer of dust from time, but nothing could erase the fact that it had once been used over and over, like a prayer, as easy as breathing or saying my own name. “You know I can’t,”
He let his hand slink back to his side. “I had to try, you know,”
“I know,” The words were a whisper.
So this was closure?
The table was quiet. There was no desperation from Helmut’s side, no attempts to sway me or sudden outbursts of resentment. It was almost peaceful. His voice was sad but there was no manipulation in it. We laid our cards of the table as the game we’d played for years finally came to an end.
“You were right about us, when you left,” he laughed, “I was, as you so aptly put it, a massive ass. I was still so deeply disillusioned about this world and the horrors of it. It was as if everyone around me was just another cog in it all, even you. I thought if I could puppet it all, make things go my way, everything could just be quiet. The horrors would finally stop. The memories would finally stop. I took it too far, though. I took it out on you. For that, I will never be sorry enough,”
I put up a hand. “Helmut, you don’t have to do this-“
“I want to,”
His voice was delicate but didn’t waver. For the first time I wondered if this was more about what he needed to say than about what I needed to hear. I nodded him on. Without me even thinking about what I was doing, my hand caught his across the table.
“I wanted to run after you the same day you left. I nearly did, too, before I thought better of it. Then I really thought of what you said. What I did. It was then that I decided I had to change for the better, not for you but for myself. Only then would I allow myself to try again. So I did. I spent my time deconstructing the things I had seen and done and finally facing my own demons. I’m not perfect- believe me -but there are many things I have… worked on, for lack of a better word. James was surprisingly helpful throughout it all,”
“Is that why you’ve been talking?” My thumb stroked over his knuckles, pausing on a scar.
“More or less. I needed advice on how to overcome my atrocities, and I owed him an apology either way. He told me about your concert because he thought I would be ready to make amends, and yet I found myself unable to speak to you because I knew that if I did, I would have to beg you for forgiveness, and that is not something I will allow myself to do from anyone. Not now, nor ever,”
I let myself pull away. This was not a movie. There was no happy ending for the two of us at the end of this conversation. It was a chance to clear the air and let go of our grievances before going our separate ways. Treating it any other way would only hurt us both. “Why break in, then, and drag this all out over dinner? Why not just knock on my door, apologize, and leave?”
“I couldn’t have you slamming the door in my face and leaving me to apologize to the wall, now could I?”
We shared a sad smile, a knowing one. “I guess that’s true.”
“I needed to know you would hear what I had to say until the end,” he paused, “And one last confession. I must admit, I could not walk away without sharing dinner with you one last time. It’s selfish, as I am selfish, but I could not see you again without truly seeing you, more than just as you shouted at me and threw me to the curb,”
“You think so little of me?” I asked. There was no bite in it.
“No, I think so little of myself,” he finally took a sip from his glass, “Any anger on your part is warranted,”
We did not speak again for a long while. Helmut methodically went through the bite-sized pieces of steak on his plate as I finished the alfredo, which had grown cold in the time it took to sort things out. There was no quiet conversation, no jokes or shared stories in the glow of the lamps overhead. Instead we sat in peaceable silence and breathed in the finality of it all. I was almost grateful for it. I never would have imagined sharing a meal like this with him in all of the years I had known him and loved him. If it was to be the last, and it was, we would savor every moment of each others company. Every moment not spent on my meal was devoted to memorizing the line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes as he did the same for me.
By the time the waiter came to ask about dessert, I could have written sonnets about his face alone, and by the time he returned with the check, paid discreetly with a 40% tip for his troubles on Helmut’s card, I had committed the sound of his breathing to my mind. I could only hope the memory would last this time.
Realistically, I knew it wouldn’t.
I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as we approached the front of the restaurant together, pausing awkwardly outside the door as we exited out onto the street.
“So, this is it,” My hands found the pockets of my coat as I rocked onto the balls of my feet.
Helmut smiled softly in the lamplight. “Let me walk you home,”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,”
“Says who? I have to follow you either way, my car is parked down the block,” He offered me his arm.
I took it far quicker than I should have, relishing in the scent of his cologne. Even after all these years he had never switched to another brand, and I refused to admit to anyone else but myself that I was grateful for it. Instead I leaned into his warmth. “Well, it’s only a few blocks anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt,” and with that, we were off.
The night was cool. Summer had given in to the pull of a lush fall, the temperatures dropping to a comfortable but windy chill when the sun fell below the horizon. The leaves were not yet falling but they’d begun their slow transformation from green into a mosaic of reds and yellows and greens, forming a rustling canopy above the sidewalk that allowed a flash of stars and moon through the foliage every few steps.
We were not the only pair walking through the streets that night, but if you had asked me about it later I would have said we were the only two people in the whole city, matching each other step for step under the flickering streetlights. Helmut’s crows feet were in full force as he laughed at my terrible jokes, and I couldn’t help but feel warmth rush through my neck and cheeks as he recounted the moment we first met.
It had been fall then, too. A brief, chance encounter in the streets of Paris was all it was, a night spend with a stranger, until I had seen him again in Sibera, and again in Germany, and again on the Raft, and again, and again, and again, and again…
He had been younger then, much younger, and still raw with grief, but I had loved him even then.
I was so lost in my own memories that I almost missed the stairs up to my apartment, but Helmut paused there, keeping me rooted with him even though the look in his eyes told me he almost kept walking past, hoping to gain one more turn around the block before he had to let me go. He didn't, though. This was the end of the line.
My arm slipped easily from its place against his own, hand catching briefly on the crook of his elbow. “Walk me to my door?”
His laugh felt almost nervous, a paid mockery of my own earlier reticence. “I don’t think that’s wise,”
“Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman, baron?”
“I have never claimed that,” For a moment, when he paused, I thought that would be that. I would turn my back, ascend the stairs, and turn around to find he’d shifted back into the shadows from whence he came, but then the moonlight caught on his soft, wet eyes. “But for you, schatz, I try to be,”
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say as we walked up the front steps and into the building.
It had been so angry last time. I had vomited up every hateful, raging, repressed thought that I had shoved down into my chest over the course of our turbulent time together all at once and left without a second glance. This time, though, it felt wrong to end things without giving him credit for all of the other things, the things I had forgotten in the midst of all the chaos that surrounded us. How could I thank him? How could I tell him every wonderful thing about himself only to close the door in his face a moment later? I spent the whole trip up to my apartment trying to find a way to express even an ounce of what I felt, and then it was far too late.
We stood there on my novelty doormat, boots settled over the dirty cartoon chickens, hands in our pockets, and breathed in the stale hallway air.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said. If I shut off my heart and my mind and every other little betraying ache in my bones it was like it had been all those years ago. We were just meeting. This was the end of our very first date. There was a future instead of a past in the time that lay beyond us.
Helmut averted his eyes from mine. I could tell he was pretending too. “Of course,”
“I’ll see you again,” I lied, “I mean, it’s inevitable. We’ll end up at Bucky’s place at the same time,”
“Or run into each other at a busy cafe,” he offered.
“Exactly! Or our cells will end up next to each other in maximum security prison,” I laughed, but it caught, pathetic, in the back of my throat.
He took a step back, boots leaving my doorstep. “I look forward to it, whenever it may be,”
My shaking hands found my keys, an autopilot motion I had done a million times, and the door to my apartment swung open. I could hear Brutus in his kennel, beginning to whine the moment he heard me come home, but I paused there for a moment, one foot in and one foot out.
“Goodbye, Helmut,”
“Sleep well, schatz,”
I stepped inside and locked the door without turning around for a last look.
My tears came quicker than expected as I took in the room around me. It was the antithesis of my home with Helmut, all whites and beiges and grays from the sparse walls to the lonely couch against the wall. There was one great shock of black, though; a solid footprint on the windowsill. One last souvenir to remember him by.
I had done the right thing.
I had to have done the right thing.
Life with Helmut was hell. It was exciting and lush and romantic and alluring but it was destructive and painful too. It would mean being seen and unseen for the rest of my life, living with the ghosts of those lost in Novi Grad. He would never stop being the man his grief had created. He was just too broken… wasn’t he?
All at once I knew I had to see him again. This wasn’t going to be the end. There were still so many chances to make it right.
Before I knew my own feelings, I was undoing the latch and throwing my door open, only to find him there, feet planted solidly on that stupid welcome mat and fist raised to lift the knocker. Our eyes locked.
We didn’t need words then.
No, all I needed was his lips on mine and my hands in his hair. It was a need easily rectified.
He didn’t pull away as I grabbed the edges of his ridiculous fur coat and dragged him in for a kiss, letting the remains of that day’s lipstick smear against his chapped lips as the parted and made way for me. It was like a piece of my puzzle fell back into place, like the thing that had been lying dormant in my empty chest for the past two years had jumped to life and jumped into my throat. The tears weren’t coming anymore, though Helmut’s cheeks felt wet when I guided one of my hands to rest against it, dragging him closer. I needed him urgently. I needed all of it. Every moment I had missed.
At least one time in my entire tiny, useless life I needed to know him as he had always known me. I had to see him through eyes that would know every atom of him by heart.
It could have lasted second or hours. I was lost in it; lost in every heartbeat and the messy clack of teeth on teeth as we remembered exactly how our mouths locked into each other. There was no need to breathe. I would happily drown in him if he would let me. Through the passion I distinctly remembered this fervor, the endless need for him. It wasn’t frightening anymore, though. I knew how to walk away. We both did.
This time I didn’t want to.
Helmut was the first to pull away. His mouth was wet and red as he panted there, just a breath away from diving in for more, but he pulled away when I advanced again, instead choosing to speak between placing kisses on my cheeks and down my jaw. “I couldn’t let you walk away from me. Not again,” his voice shook as he kissed me, “Does that make me a bad man? Does that mean you can’t love me?”
I could only breathe a laugh as I pressed my chest to him. No measure of closeness was enough. I needed him to cover every inch of me. “I don’t think I could stop loving you if I tried, and I’ve tried,”
“Please, stop trying,”
With that, he caught me in another kiss.
“We should probably go inside,” I panted, gesturing towards the apartment with my head and Helmut nodded, maneuvering us over the threshold and into the barren entryway of the home I’d made without him. It didn’t matter, though. That wasn’t what I was focused on. Instead, my hands were more focused on pulling his coat from his shoulders and discarding it loosely in the direction of the coat rack between fevered kisses.
The old Helmut would’ve pulled away and make some snarky remark about keeping the place clean. This Helmut, though- my Helmut, as I had selfishly started to refer to him mentally in the past few moments -just dragged me in closer after his arms were freed, letting his hand drift to the small of my back but not even an inch lower.
Suddenly, though, things seemed to cool. The kisses grew shorter, softer. His arms still held me but seemed to loosen their grip.
“Tell me you want this,” He whispered softly against the shell of my ear, “That you want me,”
Ah. So that’s what this is.
“Helmut, of course I do-“
“That’s not enough,” his voice was laced with a rare seriousness as he pulled away to look at me properly. His brown eyes glowed a million honeyed colors under the shitty, flickering overhead lighting I should have replaced months ago. They flitted from my swollen mouth to my cheeks to my watery eyes as his hand came up to cup my cheeks again. “Tell me this isn’t a mistake or a bad decision you’ll regret the second we finish,”
The rest went unsaid.
(Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me this means something to you, even if it doesn’t mean as much as it does to me. Tell me I won’t wake up alone tomorrow morning. Tell me anything and everything except the cruel reality that neither of us really knows what the future looks like once this is over)
I simply nodded my head, coming in for one closed mouth kiss. “I want this. I want you. Whatever I choose to do next, you’ll be a part of the decision. No more running away,”
Like a shot, we were off to the races again.
It was hard to detach our bodies long enough to give Brutus a treat to quiet him down, harder still to lead him to the bedroom and drop his hand long enough to turn on a nearby lamp, but somehow I managed. For all of the small things I’d forgotten about Helmut in the two years we’d spent apart, his bitten nails and the silhouette of his nose and the sound of his labored breathing as he took in my body with something akin to animalistic hunger, it was easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d always found ourselves in intimately.
His shirt came off first, exposing the soft curve of his stomach. I kissed down from his neck to his chest, letting myself pause on each and every pinkish scar that graced his flesh. I made a mental note to ask him about a few new ones, including a wicked one across his collarbone that still puckered into an inch long divot in his flesh. My fingers followed my mouth, mapping every inch of his flesh. They caught on every soft yielding place he offered, a worship on the altar of his body, dragging his flesh ever so slightly but never enough to leave a scratch or bruise.
I would not mark him any more than the world already had. It was not my purpose to remold him into my image. Instead I would venerate what he was, what he had become.
Helmut had put so much effort into changing himself, rebreaking the things that had never healed correctly and setting them right again. I refused to let him break down to splinters again. Not on my watch.
He shuddered at my attentions.
“Let me see you?” It was a question, not a demand, and how could I deny him when he asked so nicely?
I stood up again, relishing in the feeling of his fingers against the hem of my t-shirt, the gentle scratch of nails on skin as he lifted it over my head. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking at the most precious thing in the world. Usually he was so hungry for it that there was never a pause once my shirt was discarded. My bra would be thrown off with it, then my pants, then my underwear, all in such quick succession that I barely distinguished one article from the next in the order of things. This time, though, he paused, hands just inches from my bare flesh.
“My sweet girl,” he whispered to me like a prayer, a confession, “I don’t think I can hold back much longer,”
Slowly, deliberately, I stepped forward and pressed my body into his awaiting hands. He squeezed my hips once, gentle, and twice. Then they were roaming up to the clasp on my bra with that usual hunger again, freeing my breasts for his attentions. I don’t exactly recall how he manhandled me on to the bed, I was too busy feeling the hard press of his bulge through his crisp dress slacks. The first thing I was fully cognizant of was his hot breath on my sternum as he hovered over me, still standing but bent at the waist, boxing me in with his knees.
“So fucking sweet,” he whispered before taking one of my nipples between his lips and laving his tongue over the hardening tip.
I felt like a live wire. Heat was building everywhere. Dazzling electricity shot through my head and fingers and toes and cunt and gods especially my breasts. They were always my weak spot, and how he knew it, how he knew me. I wanted to thrash against him, to buck and gain his attention where I really needed it, but his body above mine held me fast, keeping me right where he wanted me, vulnerable to him and his specific brand of torture. With a particularly sharp pinch and a well timed suck he had me keening against him, curling into his every move.
How had I lived without him? It was hard to imagine a night not spend here with Helmut, wherever here was, not that that mattered. I was embarrassingly wet. The slickness had gathered enough that I could feel it on my thighs despite my jeans. When I tried to relieve myself, though, the baron caught my hand, tutting softly.
I expected to have to ask permission. Soft begs escaped my mouth. I needed him. I had no patience for games. Instead, though, he lifted up off of my chest and smiled, pulling my hand to his lips. “Let me help you, love,”
There are no words in the human language that could adequately represent the sound that escaped my mouth. I could not even begin to try. It continued even as I lifted my hips to shimmy free from my jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, only ceasing when Helmut was on his knees with his face buried in my cunt. I was making different noises then. Loud. Guttural. If I had any mind left at all I would worry what my neighbors thought, to see me out on my doorstep desperately pawing at a man only to hear the noises we were making in tandem now. Thankfully, any sensible thought I had left seemed to fly out the window with Helmut’s first lick to my cunt.
It was clear that he hadn’t forgotten me, and if he had, the muscle memory was coming back quick. His tongue was deft as it worked its way over my aching nub in a pseudo-figure eight; circling once, twice, and three times before dipping back through my folds. I held him in place this time, though, rocking into his mouth. At some point my hands found their way into his hair. It was so soft between my fingers, so pliable as I pulled against him, desperate for more of him, anything he would good.
Every time he relented to me. Each sharp jolt was rewarded with a kiss against my thigh or a muttered curse in Sokovian, hot breath teasing my glistening mound.
He was so giving, so attentive to my every need. He had always been a generous lover, never leaving me wanting for anything, but this felt… different. The way he sucked bruises into my thighs, relenting to each and every sobbing please that escaped my soft lips, was a new and devastating experience. There were no power games left to play, no lording his sexual prowess over me as he brought me slowly closer and closer to the ever distant goalpost, just his mouth on me over and over and over again as he wrung the first orgasm of the night out of me, then the second in short measure, barely ceasing from one to the next.
By the time he decided I’d had my fill, my legs were a trembling mess against his shoulders and my cunt was a sopping mess.
He grinned a crooked grin at his masterpiece.
“How was that, my love,”
I could barely catch my breath enough to speak. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, thrumming a frantic drumbeat even as the room quieted. “So good- really really good, Helmut,”
Slowly, he rose up from his knees, undoing his belt. “Please say my name again, schatz,”
“Helmut,” My voice was hushed. Reverent.
He undid the button at his fly, pulling at the band of his boxers. “Again,”
It fell from my lips like a prayer. “Helmut,”
His cock bounced free, bobbing as he took a sharp, steadying breath. He placed his hand at the base and squeezed slightly.
“Again,”
“Helmut,”
“Fuck, that’s good,” The trance broke momentarily as I gazed up at him, watching the sweat roll down his forehead in shining rivulets despite the chill in the air. He wiped at them with the back of his free hand and smiled sheepishly. “Scoot back and get comfortable, please. I don’t think I’ll last long,”
I did as he asked, settling against my pillows on the still-made sheets. “Neither will I,”
“Where are your condoms?”
“Bedside drawer, way in the back. I’m on the pill too, so no worries,”
He moved quickly, grabbing a foil package from the small pile I’d accrued, just in case.
It felt odd to have him be the one using them.
There had been a few other men who had been invited here, fewer still that made it to the point that Helmut and I were at now. Every time, though, I hadn’t been able to go through with it, because every time they had finally settled themselves above me, I would close my eyes and, just for a moment, see Helmut in their place. It was unsettling the first time, enough so that I sent the guy home right away. The next time, though, it was more thought provoking than anything. I chalked it up to him being my longest lasting sexual partner and left it at that, but now, watching him roll the condom onto his length and crawl into his position over me, I knew.
I would never get over him, even if I tried for years. My heart had a space carved out in the shape of his own. No matter how long I stayed away, I would never find something quite like what we had. He was it. This was what people dreamed about. And to think, I had almost let it slip away…
He slid one hand into mine, lacing our fingers together in the gentle lamplight. “Are you ready for me?”
“More than ready,” My thighs spread as I canted my hips up.
Physically and mentally and every other possible way I needed him. I was prepared.
So Helmut pumped himself once with his free hand before guiding himself into my wet heat.
It was impossible to last long once we were finally complete.
Feeling him inside me was like knowing the truth of the universe. It was comfortable, and thrilling, and so deliciously enough. He filled me well, finding his rhythm as he swore and released my hand to prop himself up more comfortably. We were linked together like the final pieces of a puzzle. I closed my eyes at let myself relish in it.
There was nothing left to worry over while Helmut was inside of me. All thoughts that weren’t of him were banished. It was something to be cherished, every thrust paired with a whispered confession of love from one of us, a fleeting kiss, a curse, a plea… We laid ourselves bare. I let my legs wrap around his warm, soft hips as he rutted into me, bringing a hand between us to circle my clit once more. Even after everything he refused to leave me behind while he chased his own pleasure. It didn’t take much to send me tumbling over the edge into oblivion.
As always, Helmut followed me down.
His thrusts quickened, then stilled as he came to rest upon me, panting and heaving and begging for breath. I didn’t care much. He smelled of cologne and sweat as I buried my face in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could feel him soften inside of me but I was far too spent to urge him to move.
We only shifted apart when he slipped free of me.
Helmut quickly kissed my forehead and gathered himself up, shuffling to the trash can to discard the used condom and grab a tissue to wipe himself up. I didn’t let myself move an inch. If I moved, would the bliss run away? Would I realize what I’d done? I let myself lay instead, eyes closed, panting in the autumn chill as my lover approached and wiped up our beautiful mess as gently as he could manage. With one last kiss to my thigh, he discarded the rag, opened the window, and crawled back into bed with me.
The process was indelicate, a lot of awkward shuffling of sticky limbs, but we were settled beneath the blankets soon enough. Helmut stroked his fingers down my arm languidly while kissing the back of my neck.
I broke the peace between us.
“I don’t… I don’t know what this means for us,”
He sighed gently. His breath was soothing and familiar against my shoulder. “That’s not something we have to decide at this very moment,”
“But I just don’t want you to think this means something… or at least something more than it does? If that makes sense? I don’t know,”
“Schatz, please,”
“I want to keep my own place, at least for now. I don’t know what that means for when I’ll see you or if we’ll keep doing this,” I gestured vaguely to my nude body beneath the sheets, “or if we’re even a thing anymore, bu-“
Helmut reached his arm around us, placing a quieting finger over my lips and another soft kiss against my shoulder.
“I swear, your mind sounds even louder than mine,”
“Sorry,”
“No reason to be,” His hand left my lips, running down to my stomach and pulling me back towards the softness of his chest. “As for your questions, I shall respect your wishes about distance and housing and labels, whatever they may be. That being said, as long as you’re still up for… this, as you put it, I will never deny you, no matter the distance. I would cross oceans for you,”
A cum-drunk, half-asleep giggle escaped me as he nuzzled in, kissing my ear.
“Thank you,”
“No, thank you,” he matched my laughter with his own, “I believe this is what James would call post nut clarity,”
“Now you ruined it!” I huffed. The faux anger only lasted a moment, though, before I was rolling to face him, cheek pressed to the soft, downy hair of his chest. “I love you, Helmut.”
“I love you too, sweet girl. Now sleep. I’ll get up and deal with the dog once you’re resting,”
For the first time in two years, I breathed in the scent of Helmut’s cologne before lapsing into a peaceful sleep.
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A/N: Thank you for reading! This is my first foray into smut in literal years, and it was literally all written within a 12 hour period, so I hope any mistakes weren't enough to take away from your enjoyment. Comments are always appreciated, but never expected. See you on the next authors note!
#zemo#helmut zemo#baron zemo#zemo x reader#daniel brühl#fanfic#marvel fanfiction#x reader#helmut zemo x reader#baron helmut zemo x reader#daniel bruhl x reader#zemo smut#marvel smut
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Yep. That's right guys. I wish i was sam.
WE WISH WE WERE SAM.
#baron helmut zemo#helmut zemo#zemo#zemo x reader#zemo imagine#baron zemo#baron helmut zemo x reader#baron zemo x you#helmut zemo x reader#sugar daddy zemo#soft zemo#zemo fanfic#daniel bruhl#daniel brühl#daniel bruhl x reader
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Night Ties
Summary: You were a very famous hunter monsters, one day you decide to go after a famous vampier, but he was very aware of that and he change all your life.
Paring: Helmut Zemo Vampire x F!Reader Human
Words count: 3595 words
Warnings: +18 explicit, mention of blood, poor written smut, p in v, spanks, unprotected sex, bitting, ropes, bondage, desk sex, a little CNC, bondage. fingering, dominant/submissive.
Author’s note: Holas, I was writting this long ago, but I kinda forget when I get obsses with Ch.ai and all that, but here it is, I might be writting more of Zemo in the future. Please feel free to write me for any mistake I made or any suggestion.
You had begun to make a name for yourself within the small towns that were frightened by all those over-natural beings. It was many of those people that lived dominated by supernatural beings, whether they were werewolves, witches, vampires, etc. However, among the people they were more feared and dominated by vampires and werewolves.
It was for that reason that you began to gain popularity, you were known as part of the good cause dedicated to killing or hunting such beings. Not only were you doing that, but they were very few, not many survived them, and for that very reason it was that very few wanted to take their lives to kill a few of them. The few people who did so had a reason to simply want to get rid of them.
You did it for revenge, your mother had been killed by one of them, all the people you lived in had been attacked by werewolves, but it was not them who killed your mother, you had managed to flee before they saw them. Deep in the woods when they thought the werewolves could no longer find them, they stayed for a moment near a river to grab strength and find safety, yet their mother heard noises in the distance, afraid that something might happen to you, I took her to a small cave near the river, told her to rest there and come out until there was sunlight. With the ingenuity of a child, he was obvious and did what I ask, when the light came out he called his mother without any answer from her, came out of the small cave, I looked for her by the gunmen until he found her pale and lifeless body.
She wasn’t looking to find the killers who killed her mother, because she knew she’d never find him, she knew it wasn’t human, what killed her, she knew it was what killed her, but again she wasn’t looking for her killer to never happen to anyone else. He was aware that he could not kill each of them, but with his perseverance and courage he could perhaps make more people unite and decide to end the dominance of these beings.
You had come to a small town where it was dominated by vampires, especially a special one. You knew how to deal with vampires, you’d learned from your group, they’d taught you their weaknesses especially. You could say that you were a little popular not only among humans but also within these "monsters", they had divided to hunt these vampires, it was expected that the majority lived in mansions or even castles, were arrogant and presumed most of them, but they were also intelligent, manipulative and persuasive.
You had decided to go ahead, you already had experience you did not believe that something could go wrong, so you had made a plan to get into that castle, which was simple, it was not like vampires had bodyguards or anything. They didn’t watch the whole castle, so you looked for a room that nobody had set foot in many years ago.
That’s how you ended up like this now, kneeling, your hands tied on a short chain that was stuck on the floor. You heard a few steps and saw a man dressed elegantly, his hair well-groomed. —What a foolish, hunter— he sneered, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. —I’m surprised you made it this far. You must be very brave or very dumb— You only stare at him as if you look could kill him. —Don't look at me like that, darling. Who are you to judge me? You are the one trespassing on my home. I could kill you right now for your insolence, if I so desired. But I feel... merciful— He say getting closer to him, in your position you have to look up to him, feeling like so insignificant in that position. —I don't know if you are brave or foolish, or just a bit of both— He was now very close to you, you feel his hand touching your cheek —You intrigue me.—
That took you for surprised other vampires they have just taken all your blood of your body and leave you completely drain. —How can I intrigue you? — Your voice sounds almost sarcastic, but there was confusion there. —Oh, little one, you’re so much more than “just a human”— He leans down and run a finger along your face, gently stroking your chin and jawline. —You have hunted my kind… Even I don’t really care about those ones, is really fascinating to see someone like you murdered that kind of vampires— He takes your chin tilting up so you can his eyes, his crimson red eyes, you could not deny that I cause you to send a chill in your spine. —But that doesn’t take the fact you’re very foolish to come to my home and try to kill me… You’re here not just by coincidence, I bring you here you alone… Ever since I found out about your existence, which wasn’t a year ago, I’ve been watching every step you take, every decision you make, piqued my curiosity, my dear… Of course I had to bring you here with me.—You feel his fingers caressing your chin as he doesn’t let you go, the two of them staring. —M-my friends… They know I’ll come here, they’ll get worried and they’ll come here to help me— Your voice trying sound convinced that they will come to rescue you. —Yes, they certainly would come here and try to rescue you… But let me ask you a question... Do you know how many hunters have entered my domain? How many have existed?… Like I told you, you’re here because I want you to be here alone, I know where your friends are, and I know who are with them, I can make your friends get killed right now, but I will not do that yet…—He says in a threatening voice —B-but there are a lot of people that know me… Th-they will get worried… And they know I’m here— You say with a desperation tone —Hmmm... I'm sure there are many that know you, yes. But what will they do about it, hmm? Come to my domain? The place where hunters never return from? I admire your courage, my love, but I do not think your "friends" are going to come rescue you... And talking about your friends, I know you love them because you see a family in them.— Your eyes get worried and surprised —What if we make a deal… You have two options, you can stay here and we both wait for your friends and I killed them one by one, slowly and painfully in front of you… Or you can save them by submitting to me and save them, but you have to behave or there will be punishments for you for your bad behavior… You’ll have to write a letter to your friends saying that you retired from vampire hunting, that you found love and now you’ll dedicate yourself to staying with him and pleasing him in all his spades… Now take your decision, but we don’t have all day, darling so you better hurry up— You couldn’t believe that not only he have trapped you, now you have to submit to him to save your friends, he’s using them to get you, and he’s achieved it. You don’t have any option. You regret coming alone and not waiting for others to accompany you.
He kneels before you, his head moves to your neck as you can feel his breath, he lift a trail of kiss on the side of your neck —Frist I want a little bite, I want to taste your sweet blood— his teeth and fangs brush in your neck, you can feel the sharp of his fangs on your neck, then you feel how his fangs they break through your skin, you bite your lip trying to not make any noise, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of the sound of your pain. He sucks your blood for a few minutes, you start looking dark circles as you feel more weak until you close your eyes and you remain unconscious.
When you wake up, you were laying on the ground, your hands remain tied, you tried to sit down but your body was so weak, you didn´t know how long you were there locked. You don’t have any other option, so you have to access his deal. He comes back after some time. —Did you take your decision?— He looks down at you, looking deep at your eyes, you only could nod —I’ll submit to you— Your eyes look down as you say that, he smiles at your choice, he kneels and take your chin looking at your eyes. —Good girl. I will untie you, I know you’re weak so you can’t attack me, even if you try you only have your hands to try it, darling.— He takes the handcuffs in your wrists, you don’t even try to do anything, he lifts you up in his shoulder, your tired eyes didn’t even look the way he is taking you, until you feel the soft mattress of the bed, after a few minutes you fall asleep.
You couldn’t believe after years of hunting and killing vampires you end up cleaning the castle of a vampire. You were walking in a corridor and open one of the rooms, you look around and see there were black curtains on the wall, that’s when you notice it wasn’t a wall is a window, you open the curtain and you realize it wasn’t evening yet, you calculated around 4 or 5 pm, that means the sun was still up. You haven’t noticed the time until right now, and after Zemo wasn’t around, you could escape you have a few hours before the sun sets.
You didn’t take too much to find a door that leads to the yard, and for your luck it wasn’t locked. You open the door and go out, you see your surroundings and walk through the yard, it didn’t take you long to arrive in the forest that surrounded the castle, you walk with joy to the forest, without noticing there were two deep eyes looking you walk in the forest.
One of Zemo’s butler have notified about your “escape”. —My Lord, the lady has run away to the forest alone, I think she’s trying to escape, but I don’t think she might go too far after the sun sets… I know the forest is very tricky for someone doesn’t know it— Of course Zemo knows the forest like the palm of his hand.
Zemo looks up at the butler with a sharp look. —Very good, I'll take care of it.— He says, as he stands up from his desk. —Thank you for the information.— Once the butler leaves, Zemo smiles slightly to himself. —Run away, have you, my love? So eager for danger, eh?— He thinks for himself looking at the window of his room.
When the sun went down, Zemo went out to look for you soon enough to find you, you were lost and your solution was to climb a tree to the top and see from above, which clearly did not work and only served to stay trapped in one of the branches, you couldn’t get off and you probably stayed there for a few minutes until I found you —Do you know what a stubborn and foolish creature you truly are, my love? — He gets close to you, but he did nothing to help you. —Can you help me please, sir? — You didn’t have any other option but plead for his help. His cold, dark eyes look down at you. —Why should I help you? You were so eager to leave. To run away. To defy me. And yet now, when you are caught, you beg me for help?— You weren’t in a position to act up and try to get the worst out of him —Don't worry dear, I already have an idea of what to do with you…– You watch him walk away, he didn't come back after some minutes, you were scared and cold, you couldn't see anything in the darkness of the night.—
Of course, he leave you in the damn tree for a few hours and then one of his servants brings you back to your room. You wake up in your bed, one of the servants enters after some minutes to your room, he was very nice to you, he serves you food and make sure you weren’t hurt last night. Until he mention that Zemo wanted to see you in his room after you have eaten, your face goes pale you know the reason why he wanted to see you.
You finish your food and get dressed before to go to Zemo’s room, with a soft knock at the door you make your presence noticeable to him, you heard him talk in the inside of the room, you open the door and Zemo look up to you to meet your gaze. –Do you want to see me, sir? – You asked when you enter into the room –Yes come here, darling– You obey and stand closer to him, he stands up from his chair behind the desk –So, darling… You have a bad behaviour last night, and you know the consequences of your bad behaviour– He moves behind you while he talks, you softly nod when he finishes, feeling his hands on your hips caressing slowly you feel your cheeks getting hot, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you feel his lips brushing your neck, leaving light kisses, You bite your lip as he moves closer to that sensitive spot on your neck, his kisses getting more longer as he was close to that sensitive spot, you almost moan when you know he was about to kiss you there but instead he pats your hips lightly and pull away slightly. –This is a punishment, my dear. I know you're enjoying this and maybe you get a little more if you behave after your punishment… Now bend over the desk. – He says in a commanding tone, you didn't hesitate and do it, one of his hands move to tease your legs, his fingers brushing your thighs lifting slowly the hem of your dress, your face now red for the situation, he saw the way you press your thighs together, his fingers move to pull down your panties slowly until the small fabric falls on the floor.
—Such a pretty thing… See how obedient you can be— You bite your lip when his hand starts to caress your ass cheek, in the unexpected moment he slaps your ass a little to hard to make you moan, Zemo smirk when he gets a reaction from you. You heard one of the drawers open, you couldn’t see what is going on, you just wait impatiently. Then you feel his hands covered in the gloves of leather caressing your thighs –Oh darling we gonna have so much fun– he leans closer to you in a soft whisper, his hot breath against your ear, as you feel his grown erection inside your ass —I want you to count this one, I want you to count 20 and then I’ll stop, but if you don't say it loudly and right I’m gonna start again. — He pulls away and his hand caresses your ass cheek with the glove leather then again he slaps your ass, the leather makes your soft skin sting —O-one… — a soft moan come out of your mouth.
The slaps get even harder when the number gets higher, making you more difficult to count right —I didn't hear you right, sweetheart he has to start again… — You were for the 17 slap after start over 3 times, his slaps get harder every time you make him repeat.
After several times, you finally reach to 20, you couldn’t believe how much your ass sting and hurt, you didn't have to look to see how red it was, as you couldn't believe how wet your inner thighs and folds were, you don't want to admit how turn it on you have get when he spanks you. Zemo look at you with satisfaction, he leans closer to you, a soft moan leaves your lips when you feel the rough fabric of leather caressing your inner thighs —Such a good girl… Already so wet for me, that was supposed to be a punishment not for you to enjoy— He chuckled softly, his hands moving to your wet folds, a soft moan leaves your lips as you feel his finger teasing your folds to your clit making slow circles, making you squirm under him, with a warning he push two of his fingers deep inside of you the leather glove makes his finger more thick, he moves his hands in a slow pace, he was enjoying the way you squirm under him, your little whimpers and moans. —You're so responsive— he murmurs, his voice dark and seductive. —I can feel every pulse, every quiver. You belong to me now, don't you? — His voice possessive close to your ear in a whisper —Y-yes, I’m yours… — You whine, you were so close to your orgasm. —That's what I want to hear— he says, pushing another digit inside you. —You're mine and you'll do as I say. — His fingers thrust into you in a faster pace, filling you up completely.
—You’ll cum when I say you can— With that he continues to finger you, his other hand moves closer to your clit, his fingers start rubbing that sensitive nub. Your walls squeezing his fingers as you were trying to not cum in his hand, not until he tells you that you can. You squirm and beg for him to let you come.
—Cum for me, sweetheart… Cum around my fingers. — And you did, you cum around his fingers with a loud cry, he continue milking your organs moving his fingers in and out while he continues rubbing your clit. He stops when you finally finish your orgasm, he withdraw his fingers slowly, a soft whine comes out of your mouth.
You close your eyes for a few seconds trying to get your breath –Don’t fall asleep already, sweetheart… I'm not close to finish with you. – You try to turn to look at him when you feel the tip of his cock on your swollen folds, he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pushed into you, filling you up with his length. You only could moan loudly and squirm under him. Your tightness around him felt incredible as he began to thrust slowly, taking his time to stretch you out. —So tight and warm for me… — His lips curled into a smile as he felt your pussy clench around his cock. He increased his pace, thrusting harder and faster. The sounds of their bodies slapping together filled the room, punctuated by your moans and gasps of pleasure. You don't want to admit it, but he was making you feel the pleasure you never though you could get. Zemo moves to kiss your neck and shoulders as he continues thrusting in you in a rough pace, his grip on your hips was strong, that's gonna leave you bruises the next day. You cry louder when you feel his fangs break the skin in your shoulder, taking your blood. —So sweet and all mine— he whisper on your ear after take some blood of your body, his hand move to your clit, he moan when he feel your inner walls clenching around his cock, he pick more faster and rougher the pace, you can feel the tip of his cock hitting om your cervix, making you squirm under him, you didn't even think straight in that moment he was fucking you deep and senses that you only moan and whimper, you have lost the count of how many times he had make you cum.
Seeing you all ruin for the pleasure just arouse more Zemo, he grabs your face making you to face him and he takes you in a messy kiss, with a deep thrust his cum inside of you filling you up with his warm seed.
Zemo stays inside of you for a few seconds as he catches his breath, you were laying on his desk, blushing and panting, he pulls out of you, his seed come out of your swollen pussy, dripping on your thighs and floor, your red ass checks just give him the imagination of you that he wants —What a messy girl you are, What you're “fans” will think of you? Their little hunter here on my desk all marked by me, you don't want they find out the truth about you? That you enjoy being my little maid and warm my bed. Don't worry, my love that's not gonna happen, because you're mine and you will stay here by my side—
You try to run away a few more times, but the punishment gets even worse with the time that you start to get used to stay around him, you even start to crave for his touch and his sweet words, you fall in love with him, and now you were tied to him for the rest of your life.
#fanfic#zemo x y/n#baron zemo x reader smut#helmut zemo x reader#helmut zemo#marvel#smut#zemo x you smut#zemo x reader smut#baron zemo#female reader#daniel bruhl x reader#daniel brühl#vampire#vampire zemo#dark!fic#dark!zemo#dark!helmut zemo x reader
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Bensolosbluesaber’s Fic Masterlist (Updated 9/9)
Welcome to my Masterlist! This post was getting out of control, so I’ve recently reworked it to be organized by character. You can follow the links below to access each characters’ individual Masterlist.
Please note that some fics are 18+.
Tag Lists: I am struggling to keep up. If you have requested to be on a tag list and I missed it, I am genuinely so sorry! I’m moving to a Google Form so I don’t miss anyone. If you are on my list, I will leave you there. If you want added, please use the Google Form linked above. Thank you!!
Requests: Requests are semi open. Feel free to submit! I am happy to complete requests whenever I can, but unfortunately I can’t guarantee I will get to yours in a timely manner!
Tipping: Please, please, please do not feel pressured to tip! I'm writing because I love writing. I am grateful if you want to tip; it's a nice bonus for something I spend a lot of time doing. But ultimately I'm here to have fun and write fanfiction not get paid, so seriously no pressure!
Moon Knight System (Marc Spector, Steven Grant, & Jake Lockley)
Baron Helmut Zemo
Poe Dameron
Miguel O’Hara
Nathan Bateman (Coming Soon)
#marvel#moon knight#mcu#marc spector#moon knight spoilers#steven grant#tfatws#zemo#daniel brühl#oscaar isaac#baron zemo#baron zemo x reader#baron helmut zemo#marc spector x you#marc spector x reader#jake lockley fanfic#jake lockley imagine#jake lockley#jake lockley x reader#marc Spector#marc spector imagine#steven grant fic#steven grant x reader#steven grant imagine#my fics#bensolosbluesaber masterlist#fic masterlist#poe dameron#poe dameron x reader
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Life Eternal
Helmut Zemo x F! Reader
My Masterlist
Prequel to Cousin Helmut (Can be read as a stand-alone)
Summary: Helmut Zemo is an Addams. When an Addams falls in love, they fall fast and they fall hard. After the loss of his Heike, he never thought he would love again. Until he saw you.
Rating: M (18+, Minors DNI please)
Warnings/Tags: Smut - Unprotected piv sex; Implied sexual content; Crossover; Darker Zemo; Darker Reader; These two are made for each other; Artist! Reader; Canon-typical Addams Family elements, such as casual discussions of and attitudes towards murder, violence, and poison; Macabre; Possessive Behavior; Love at first sight; Implied Dom/Sub; Implied breeding kink; One mention of exhibitionism; Brief mention of bondage; Some references to polyamory; Slight Canon divergence
Word Count: 9.1k
A/N: It only took a year, but it’s finally time for the long-promised Cousin Helmut prequel. This is officially my longest one shot I’ve posted, which I’m rather proud of and I really hope you enjoy. Have a very happy Halloween!
Being in prison had given Helmut a lot of time to think and to remember. He didn’t have much choice. He was alone with his thoughts and there wasn’t much else to do in solitary confinement, besides working out, sleeping, or reading books and newspapers, so he spent his time reminiscing.
One of his first childhood memories was of his mother. They were sitting eating breakfast, which Oeznik brought them — Oeznik had been his mother’s companion for as long as Helmut could remember and he had always looked the same.
Helmut watched her add something, which he later realized was arsenic that morning though sometimes she favored cyanide instead, to her tea, stir it, and breathe it in with contentment. His mother’s dark red lips curved into a small smile that contrasted with her dark hair and black dress. His father was out of town that weekend, so she was wearing her favorite hemlock berry lipstick that she said made her lips tingle. She only wore it when his father was traveling because it was too strong of a poison for his resistance levels and his father could never resist kissing his mother, poison lipstick or not, so there would have been some unfortunate trips to the hospital.
Helmut was a child and wanted to do everything his parents did, especially his mother, so he asked for some for his juice. His mother laughed, her chuckle low and mesmerizing, before smiling at him.
“Oh, my Helmut. You are not ready for arsenic yet. I’ve only just started you on corn cockle, my little monster. We have to work our way up to arsenic, cyanide, and belladonna. Now drink your juice, and we will learn more about the Plague. We’ve reached the picture portion of the lesson, isn’t that exciting?”
He smiled and eagerly drank his juice. He loved his mother’s lessons. It was only later in life that he realized most children were not served poison by their parents and that most mothers did not teach their children about the Plague, about wounds, or how to use all manner of weapons before they reached the age of 10. Fencing and swordplay were always his favorite, and he enjoyed practicing with his Uncle Gomez whenever he and his Aunt Morticia came to visit. However, his mother was not a typical mother. She was an Addams and that made all the difference.
Helmut Zemo was only half Addams and it was a well-kept secret in Sokovia. The Addams Family had a bit of a reputation throughout Europe, and his mother had wanted him to keep his heritage hidden as something of a trump card.
His father was a normal man and a Baron of Sokovia, who fell in love with a beautiful woman that he met at his parents’ funeral. As his mother told it, she had been on vacation and after visiting some family buried in the graveyard and having a lovely séance, she had seen the funeral and decided to attend. She loved funerals and didn’t want to miss what looked like a delightfully unhappy one. As his father told it, even if she had been uninvited, she had bewitched him at first sight. He had fallen madly in love and asked her to marry him within weeks. To the surprise of the rest of the Addams clan, she accepted and Helmut was born a few years later.
Looking back, his childhood had been idyllic, full of mayhem and his mother’s lessons in how to be an Addams. He only wished there had been more murder involved. He excelled at his mother’s lessons and wanted to put them into action, so when it came time to choose a career, he chose the military without a second thought. It was expected of him as a Baron’s son to serve in some capacity, but he went outside the norm and chose to join a covert kill squad after training. It let him indulge his Addams’s side in the best ways. The danger excited him, giving him a thrill when he almost died and even more so when he killed. He enjoyed what he did, relishing in the thrill of the hunt and the joy of leaving no survivors.
Then, he met Heike. She was a doctor at the hospital, where he brought an injured member of his squad, and when he met her she was covered in blood. It appealed to his baser instincts with the smear on her cheek being particularly lovely in contrast to her eyes. She had been and still was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. While Helmut’s last name might have been Zemo, he was an Addams through and through; when an Addams fell in love, they fell hard and they fell fast and he was no different.
He still chuckled to himself when he thought of Heike’s reaction to his gifts of flowers after they started dating. It took him a while to realize that she wanted roses with flowers still attached. His mother had always cut the blooms off and Helmut preferred them that way too. The thorns were the best and most dangerous part of a rose after all. Yet just as his father had learned to gift his mother bouquets of poison plants, Helmut learned to gift Heike bouquets of actual flowers.
They married within the year and Carl followed soon after. It was quickly apparent to Helmut that Carl was normal. He had not inherited the Addams constitution, traits, or ability to cheat death, so for the sake of his son he reined in his Addams side and played at being a normal man, a normal father. And he was good at it, even as it chafed at him. His mother had prepared him for this too. He always excelled in his childhood acting lessons. If he wished sometimes that he could go commit a nice murder, then he stopped himself with the thought that Heike needed him. That Carl needed him.
Then, they died along with his father. They went where he could not follow, at least not yet. His mother had been on a “trip” at the time, hunting down a serial killer, so she was not there to protect them. To save them. He knew that he had only survived Sokovia because he was an Addams and that his family did not have that benefit. Oh, how he wished they had.
He called his mother with the news, knowing that she would help him in what he had resolved to do, and let his facade disappear. It was time to let his Addams side out to play again, the side that relished violence and was good at it — the one that would help him get his revenge, no matter the cost. Hiding did not matter anymore, not when you lost practically everyone you cared about all at once.
His mother helped him with his plans, which came to fruition in exactly the way he hoped. Well, besides his death of course. He had been ready to die, ready to join Heike six feet under in a matching coffin. He wanted to rot next to her for all eternity, but he would face the keen torment of living for a while longer it seemed, biding his time in prison.
He had a visitor today. It had been so long and as he opened his eyes and caught sight of the Winter Soldier, he smiled a devilish grin that he hid using the shadows and began to speak. Longing…
His escape from jail was exhilarating . It was nice to stretch his legs again and engage in some casual violence, though the guard had barely put up a fight. How disappointing. He wondered what his Uncles would make of it. After all, he hadn’t had to kill anyone or set off any explosions. He left the guard alive to avoid suspicion and to curtail the scale of the manhunt for him, and he had a feeling that Uncle Fester would deduct points for that.
It was a pleasure to see Oeznik again, looking the same as the last time he had seen him. Helmut had never asked Oeznik what he was because it wasn’t his business, though he had ruled out whatever Lurch was. Oeznik had served his mother and now Helmut faithfully for many years and he knew that he would continue to do so for many more, so what did it matter?
----
Ah, Madripoor. He had missed it, the people, the lights, and most of all the aura of danger that permeated the air. This was his kind of place. He only wished that they had been there for pleasure and not on a mission. Surely, there were plenty of people here that no one would miss. Oh well, he would do what was necessary. Having any additional fun would draw both Sam and James’s suspicions.
Sharon Carter and her stately residence had been a surprise, but now that they were here he was determined to enjoy the party. It had been too long. Prison had kept him from his vices, and now it was time to indulge.
He surveyed the room from the bar, feeling the presence of James and Sam alongside him. He would start with a drink, then maybe a dance. If he were lucky, then he’d get to use the knife he’d pilfered from the plane. He had plenty of practice blending in and even as every fiber of him wanted to cause “trouble”, he would resist it. Somewhat. A little trouble wouldn’t hurt anyone. Much. His mother had chosen his middle name of Tribulatio for a reason.
But then as he glanced towards the artwork, Helmut Zemo spotted you and froze. He never thought he would feel this way again, not after Heike, but there you were in all your glory and beauty and he fell. He fell as an Addams did — hard, fast, and with no regrets.
He began to approach you and as his Uncle Gomez’s words ran through his mind on how to woo a woman, his walk turned into more of a prowl and people unconsciously got out of his way — scattering like prey in the presence of a predator.
You hadn’t wanted to attend this party but Sharon Carter, one of your few friends in Madripoor, had insisted. She thought that you spent too much time working and not enough time having fun, so here you were. You would rather have been home, preparing for the week ahead or painting, but you figured that since you were here that you might as well admire the artwork. Your attention had been drawn by one of your favorite paintings, Artemisia Gentilischi’s Judith Beheading Holofernes, which was supposed to be in The Uffizi at the moment. The music and the other guests had faded away as you stood entranced by the painting and its use of chiaroscuro.
You almost jumped when you heard an accented voice speak close to you, “A beautiful painting, isn’t it?”
You turned your head to look at the man next to you, only to stop short. He was more handsome than you’d expected him to be and now that you were looking at him you couldn’t seem to stop, taking in the details of his clothes and the angles of his face until you met his amused eyes. He smirked at you, having noticed your appraisal, and tilted his head towards the painting.
You cleared your throat. “Yes, I’ve always thought so, though I don’t find many others who do. Many find it too gory for their tastes.”
He turned his face away from you to look at the painting, giving you a view of his profile, which was just as handsome as the rest of him. You wished you had your sketchpad with you in order to capture this man and his features. You hadn’t felt this inspired in ages.
“I find the moment that the artist has captured and the way she has depicted the women compelling. They are front and center, determined, strong, and in control. They have chosen to do this deed and are unafraid of getting bloody while doing so. They are powerful.” His voice seemed to linger over the word bloody.
You nodded along, listening to him voice what you had always thought out loud. “Exactly. You do not find it frightening? It was considered so for its time.”
He turned back to look at you, stopping his scrutiny of the painting, and smiled with a small upturn of his lips. “It is often the so-called horrors of life that are the most arresting. It is a beautifully depicted scene, but not as beautiful or bewitching as you.”
“As me?” Your voice showed the surprise you felt.
“I found myself enchanted by you from across the room and knew I had to approach you. That I would not rest until I had.” He stepped a bit closer to you as he spoke and you enjoyed his increasing proximity.
You stared at the man in shock. If this had been anyone else, then you would have found his comments and closeness a bit creepy. Yet for some reason, you didn’t. You found him as compelling as he apparently found you.
“I find you handsome as well. Striking. It’s been difficult to keep my eyes off you.” Your voice was hesitant as you spoke because you weren’t sure how he would take that. This was new territory for you and not at all what you had expected for tonight.
“Perfect. Then, you feel it too.” He smiled and stepped closer, while reaching out a hand. “Would you dance with me, draga?”
You placed your hand in his and were unsurprised to feel slight gun calluses. This was Madripoor after all. You could tell that he either wore gloves while handling a gun or it had been some time. You knew you were one of the few, who didn’t have them, at least not from a gun. Knives left different calluses. You had refined your skills with a knife after arriving in Madripoor. The streets were dangerous and you needed a way to protect yourself that was more dangerous than attempting to stab someone with a paintbrush. In your old life, you never would have considered that you would enjoy the feeling of a knife in your hand so much.
“Ah, but before we do, I have gotten ahead of myself. I am Helmut Zemo, my beauty. And you are?”
You were embarrassed to think that you hadn’t even thought about exchanging names, too consumed by his presence. You gave him yours and enjoyed the way it sounded in his voice as he repeated it.
“Now, we may proceed.” Helmut was smirking as he gestured towards the dancing crowd and he seemed to relish in your laugh.
You walked hand and hand to the dance floor, where he proceeded to make you laugh harder than you had in a long time with his moves. He then pulled you into what you vaguely recognized as a waltz without a care that it didn’t match the music and was causing the people around you to stop and stare. He was going to be Trouble. You followed his lead and forgot about everything else.
After you danced, you walked the gallery together, looking at the paintings and talking about anything and everything. None of the paintings prompted a similar amount of attention from either of you as Judith Beheading Holofernes, but that was to be expected. Nothing was as arresting, when your attention was fully devoted to Helmut and his to you.
As he watched you smile at him, Helmut spoke to you about what he had done to avenge his family, watching your face change to a serious and thoughtful expression. He wanted you to go into this with your eyes open. He also wanted to impress you, even if most people would not have been impressed by murder and arson, but he couldn’t help but want to show off. He knew the Addams side of his family would have been impressed.
He expected you to be horrified as any normal person would be. He was prepared for you to run from him. As though he would let you. He did not expect the look of intrigue that came over your face. It was not difficult to read and he wanted to see that expression directed at him again. He told you why he did it of course — about Sokovia, Carl, and Heike — and you understood and admired his resolve. He had done it for love and he had succeeded. What was more attractive than a competent man, who would do anything for his loved ones? What would he do for you if you were counted among their number?
You told him more about you and how you ended up in Madripoor. It had been because you had no choice, not really. Due to the Blip, you had nowhere else to go and you felt like you needed to be there because that was where the real art was. It was how you’d become friends with Sharon, visiting her gallery and falling into conversations with her about the different pieces. Yet something else about Madripoor had drawn you in and once you were in its claws, you couldn’t have escaped even if you wanted to. Which you hadn’t.
Helmut devoted his full attention to you, admiring the way your eyes lit up while discussing the art and your fascination with the city before responding. “I understand the appeal of a city like Madripoor. I do. The savagery is beautiful here. People are in touch with their base natures in a way that I find compelling.” Here Helmut paused and grasped both your hands in his and looked deep into your eyes. It almost felt like he had hypnotized you with both his eyes and his voice. It wasn’t hypnosis per se, but his mother had taught him a few skills to gain and keep someone’s attention that he’d never forgotten. “But would you leave here? Would you come with me?”
“Come with you? We’ve only just met, Helmut. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought as you looked at him. It didn’t feel like you’d only just met. It felt like you had known each other for lifetimes.
“My beloved, does that matter? You know me and I know you. I do not want another.” Here he paused and pulled you closer, your breasts pressing against his chest. You wondered if he could feel your nipples through your dress, and had conflicting desires where you both hoped he couldn’t and that he could. That he would touch you there in front of everyone. In ways you had never let anyone else do in public. There was no room for self-consciousness, not with a man like Helmut. Everything he did seemed to arouse and attract you. Like a true apex predator.
He swayed the two of you to music he must have been hearing in his own head and whispered in your ear — his voice rough and deep, “I have been yours since I first saw you across the room, admiring one of my favorite paintings. I do not know what spell you have cast over me, but I belong to you now. Are you mine?”
You pulled back slightly to scrutinize him. You ran your eyes over his attire and his body then finally his face, meeting his deep brown eyes.
What did you know about this man, really? That he was handsome and that you could listen to his voice for hours. That he had killed before and was likely to do so again. You only knew what he had told you since you met, but you couldn’t imagine never seeing him again. Something told you that you had found a kindred spirit. A man who wouldn’t shy away from your skills with a knife or your more gruesome paintings — you wondered what he would think of the ones where you used some rather unconventional pigments. A man that you wouldn’t mind belonging to as long as he was yours in return. He had already assured you with his words and actions that he was, and you in turn wanted to be his. And his alone.
While you deliberated, he continued to watch you patiently.
“Yes, my villain. I am yours.” The nickname had come out without thought, but it seemed fitting.
His face looked exultant for a moment, almost mad with ecstasy before he hid whatever that had been back behind his calm mask. It would have made anyone else have doubts and regrets for their decision, but you — it only made you more enthralled by him.
“My love.” He leaned in and kissed you passionately in a way that made you feel like he was trying to devour you, to consume you. And you wanted to do the same to him as you reciprocated and lost yourself in the kiss. It could have gone on for hours, the outside world with its loud music and party goers having faded away, when you heard a throat clear awkwardly behind you.
“Zemo. Zemo. Zemo!” The voice sounded impatient.
As Helmut pulled away from you with reluctance, even as you tried to pull him back, you wondered how long the man had been trying to get his attention. For all you knew, it could have been hours. Even after that one kiss, you knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your life kissing Helmut Zemo. You didn’t want to let him go. Ever.
He kept his hand in yours as he turned you both to face the other man, who stood behind him with a look of both impatience and confusion on his face. He caught your scrutiny and gave you an awkward smile, even as you caught the veiled suspicion in his eyes. You smiled back and gave him a casual little wave, acting as though you hadn’t been caught kissing an escaped convict.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” He didn’t sound that sorry, but he stepped closer and stuck out a hand. “I’m Sam.”
You shook it and told him your name, and watched as Sam lost his smile when he turned to Helmut. “Zemo, we have to go. Sharon found who we were looking for.”
Helmut nodded, though he was sure that he looked somewhat exasperated as he willed you to stay in front of his body for a few more moments while he calmed himself down. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“You better not take too long, Zemo.” Sam’s tone was full of warning as he addressed Helmut before he turned to you and smiled again, even as confusion on why you had been kissing Zemo continued to show in his eyes. “It was nice meeting you.”
Sam walked over to where you could see Sharon and a man whose hard stare was focused on Zemo, and was that a metal hand? How fascinating. You turned to face Helmut, knowing this was goodbye. At least for now.
“I’m afraid that I must go, draga. But I will call you before we leave and you will meet us, yes?”
You nodded as you gestured for his phone, inputting your number and thinking of what you wanted to take with you from your small apartment.
“Yes, I’ll meet you at the airport. I just want to pack some things up first. Don’t take too long, Helmut.” Your tone turned teasing at the end. “I won’t wait forever.”
He smirked at you and kissed you again, and as you pulled him closer the effect you had on him was obvious. The same effect he had on you, so it was nice to know that it was reciprocal.
“If I am not there, then Oeznik will take care of you. You can trust him with your life. Goodbye, my love.”
“See you soon, my villain. My Helmut.”
He gave you one last lingering look that promised things to come and went to join his companions. You watched them leave the party, giving Sharon and Sam a wave and cheerfully smiling at the stoic man with the metal arm, who was still staring at you as they left. You blew Helmut a kiss and watched him smile, an actual smile this time, before walking away. That was just as nice a view from the back as it was from the front.
You roused yourself from your small daydream of seeing Helmut’s body and especially his butt unclothed and left the party, knife in hand. You never knew who you would encounter on the way home in Madripoor and you had a date tomorrow that you were not going to miss.
You arrived at the airport and were met by a man, waiting outside of what you assumed was Helmut’s private plane, on the tarmac. Oeznik seemed to be a wonderful person, who had only fond things to say about Helmut. Now as you got settled into one of the comfortable plane seats, all you had to do was wait.
You’d taken out your sketch pad and were drawing Helmut from memory when you heard men’s voices bickering back and forth with Helmut’s accented voice standing out to you with more familiarity than it should have. He was here. As they entered the plane, you ignored Sam and the man who had been staring at you last night in favor of focusing on Helmut. He looked tired, but no worse for wear. As he laid eyes on you, they lit up in a way that neither of the others seemed to notice.
“You came. My beloved.” He stepped closer as if to embrace you. He smelled like fire. You stepped closer in return, but were interrupted as you went to answer.
“Who the hell is she, Zemo? Why is she here?” The voice came from the man you had yet to hear speak.
Zemo reluctantly faced him, who was still staring at you. Sam had already settled into a plane seat and was looking at you as well, though he too looked confused about why you were here.
“She’s with me, James, and will be accompanying us to our next destination. I vouch for her.” Helmut’s voice sounded proud when he said she’s with me and it gave you a thrill to hear it. You were with him now. His tone begged James to contradict him.
“This isn’t a vacation, Zemo. Why is she here?” James’s voice was hard and he was still staring at you, his blue eyes intense.
Sam also spoke up, “Your vouching for her isn’t likely to make us trust her, Zemo.”
By now, Helmut had settled himself in the seat next to yours and grasped your hand seemingly without a thought. He went to speak and you squeezed his hand before speaking up yourself, “I needed to get out of Madripoor, James. It was not safe for me there and Helmut was gracious enough to offer to help me. Aren’t you heroes? Isn’t helping people your job?”
You had thought Sam looked familiar last night, even without the wings and goggles, so you’d looked him up online and figured out that he was the Falcon. James also had to be some kind of hero if they were traveling together and based on his dislike of Helmut and what Helmut had told you last night, there was some history there. Either way, a little manipulation never hurt anyone.
Based on Helmut’s tightened grasp of your hand, you might have been a bit too blatant but what could you do? What had been said couldn’t be taken back.
James continued to stare at you before finally settling into a seat. “It’s Bucky.” His voice sounded resigned.
Sam spoke up, “Bucky, give it a rest. We can’t bring her back now and we can’t just leave her here on the tarmac, not with everyone coming after us. We have to go.” He then nodded at you. “And if she needs help, then she needs help.”
You knew that both Sam and Bucky would be watching you. You would do the same in their place. It was a good thing that you had nothing but the best of intentions. At the moment.
Everyone settled into their seats and began to talk about what they’d discovered in Madripoor. You tuned them out and focused on Helmut’s thumb that was caressing your hand. You felt him lean closer to whisper in your ear.
“Well played, draga. Though a bit heavy handed on the manipulation. Don’t worry, I’ll help you refine your techniques.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder and whispered back, “I look forward to it, my Hel.” You got comfortable and with the scent of smoke and something uniquely Helmut in your nose, you fell asleep.
Helmut breathed in the smell of your hair as he told Oeznik to set the plane’s course for Riga. He was glad you were here, that you were with him. You would not be leaving him again. Not if he had anything to say about it.
You woke as you felt the plane descend, your head still on Helmut’s shoulder.
You lifted it and turned to pull up the window shade to look outside. “Where are we, Hel?”
“Riga. It’s the next stage of our endeavor, and I have a place that we will be staying.”
You turned to face him, noticing that it looked like he hadn’t slept. You decided not to mention it. “You have a place here?”
“I used to come here when I was young with my parents. My mother in particular was fond of the city, though if it has fallen into some disrepair like I expect, then I believe she would be even more fond of it now.”
You filed away the fact that his mother was still alive for later. He stood up. You hadn’t even noticed the plane landing as you listened to him speak. You loved his voice. He offered you a hand and helped you stand.
“I believe you will like it here, draga. There is a bathtub that I hope we can put to good use.” With that, he smirked at you and you laughed even as you couldn’t help but anticipate that very scenario.
----
Helmut watched your face as you entered the apartment behind him and Sam. You had taken everything in, but your eyes kept coming back to the stained glass windows. Understandable, those had always been one of his favorite parts of this apartment. As he directed Sam to one of the bedrooms and moved towards the room he always used when he stayed here, his last glimpse was of you stepping closer to the windows and pulling your sketch pad out of your bag.
He settled everything in his room and stepped out. “I’m afraid there aren’t enough bedrooms for all four of us to have our own, my beloved.” His voice was teasing because while you’d be able to step into the hallway and see that he was telling the truth — both you and he knew that he wanted you in his room and in his bed. Nowhere else.
“There aren’t?” You turned to face him and tilted your head to the side with a grin on your face. “What a shame. Whoever shall I share with? Should I ask Bucky?” You paused and let your grin become even more mischievous, almost devilish in a way that appealed to Helmut more than he would admit out loud. He was pretending to be somewhat normal after all, though he hoped one day that there would be no pretending necessary. At least not with you. “Or is Sam the better option? He seems to like me.”
He let a growl escape as he stepped closer, cupping your face in his hand and kissing you. The pressure of his lips against yours was light before increasing due to your eager response. His lips shifted into a small smirk that you could feel against yours as you opened your mouth to his.
His voice when he murmured your name was deep, causing you to let out a soft moan as his hands slipped down to grasp your butt, pulling you closer. You bit his lip teasingly, first lightly then harder causing him to let loose another growl and for his eyes to go wild as he pulled back. “Don’t tease me, draga. You would not like what I would do to Sam if I thought you had even the slightest interest in him.” He kissed you again before pulling away. “I would kill for you, my beauty. And to keep you. Just as I would die for you. And I would do it all with a smile on my face.
You shivered and tried to pull yourself together because each kiss with this man got better every time. That was also the hottest thing anyone had ever said to you. He was so beautiful to you and he got more beautiful by the minute as he showed himself to be more dangerous.
As Helmut began to fill the tub, you let your eyes rove over the bathroom and your attention was caught by the intricate tiles on the walls before you heard clothes begin to drop to the floor behind you.
You turned your head and watched as he settled into the tub, noting that the reality of his body including his butt, was even better than all your imaginings.
He caught you looking and chuckled, his voice husky, before smirking. “Well, aren’t you going to join me? There’s more than enough room for two.”
You thought that might have been the first time you heard him laugh and you wanted to hear more of it, especially in this context. You sat down to pull off your boots, knowing that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.
After taking your time and feeling the intensity of his gaze as you removed each item of clothing with deliberate slowness, you approached the tub and looked into his eyes. They were dark with want and an emotion you weren’t ready to name.
It wasn’t the largest tub in the world, but as he helped you enter it you decided it didn’t matter. It would only allow you to be closer to him. As you settled into the tub, your back to his chest, you sighed in contentment. You relaxed together, feeling his warmth against your back and the muscles of his thighs under yours.
Helmut began to run a washcloth over your body, taking his time to caress your arms and hands. He washed your stomach, ignoring your squirming that you couldn’t quite contain. You closed your eyes in bliss as he reached your breasts, lingering on them a bit more than needed to get them clean. You felt hot and involuntarily leaned back even closer to him, feeling him hard and thick against the small of your back.
You gasped, “Hel…”
He continued to caress you. You could feel his breath against your ear, “Yes, draga? You teased me and now I get to tease you. Quid pro quo.” He was attempting to sound unaffected, but you could hear the rasp in his voice and you felt just how affected he was against you. He continued to run the washcloth over your stomach before dipping it in between your legs and replacing it with his fingers. He circled his thumb over your clit and you gasped, rocking back against him without a care if water fell on the floor. It would serve him right.
You turned and kissed him, straddling him and running your hands through his hair as his fingers worked over you and inside you. He gave as good as he got as you rocked back and forth on his lap, pulling your hips down harder and bucking up against you. You couldn’t take it anymore, crying out and clenching on his fingers — you needed him inside of you and you wanted to feel it. His length was hard and hot in your hand and as you grasped him and sunk down on him with a moan, he groaned.
“You’re so tight. And wet. All for me.” His pupils were blown wide and his hair had fallen in front of his eye, causing you to reach out a hand and push it back. Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone tenderly and he reached up to grasp your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. You smiled at him and laughed as more water fell onto the floor as you both began to move again. He laughed too before speaking, “Draga, we must be quiet. Sam is right outside. Do you think you can do that?” His voice was rough and close to a growl.
You nodded even as your eyes began to close, feeling him thrust up into you as you rolled your hips.
Helmut grasped your chin. “No, you will look at me. I want to see your eyes — every expression on your face as you come for me.”
You lost count of how many times you fell apart. Let’s just say that you hoped Sam was not too close to the bathroom because your endeavor to keep quiet failed more than once.
----
You laid in what was left of the bath, lazy in your satisfaction, watching Helmut tend to his hair while naked. You looked at the small half moon marks and scratches your fingers had left from digging into his back with no little amount of possessiveness. He was Yours. You had wanted to mark him and you knew he had wanted it too. After all, you had marks of your own. Just as you were His.
He smiled at you in the mirror and turned. “I will wear them as a badge of honor and hope for more in the future.” His eyes were alight with his own satisfaction and possessiveness as he took in the marks he had left on your body in return through the now clear water. “Beautiful, draga.”
Helmut pulled on a robe, before offering you a towel to dry yourself with. Then, it was his turn to watch you.
“I would do this every day. With you.” His statement had the tone of a question. Did you feel the same?
His robe gaped at the top, leaving his chest hair and necklace exposed and you already wanted him again, even knowing that you didn’t have time right now. Sam was outside and Bucky would be back soon.
You had taken too long already.
You turned to him, dropping the towel and stepping closer. You watched his eyes linger on your body, before focusing on your face.
“If every day is like today, then I’m going to want you all the time.”
As he helped you into a matching robe to his, he brushed his thumb over your nipple teasingly before whispering in your ear, “Oh draga, we didn’t even have a bed. Imagine what it would be like in our bed… The things I would like to do to and for you.”
You tied the robe and turned to kiss him, which he cut short. “Come on, my beloved. We musn’t keep Sam and James waiting.”
With that he strode out the door in his robe, towel in hand.
He was so dramatic and you loved it.
You took more time coming out of the bathroom, changing into an extra pair of jeans and a sweater that you’d left on the side. Not everyone had Helmut’s uncaring attitude when it came to wearing a robe in front of strangers. Then again, it was his house.
You exited the bathroom, only to see Helmut rummaging through the kitchen cabinets and rolling his eyes at something that Bucky had said. You waved in greeting to Bucky and gave Sam a smile before focusing back on Helmut, who apparently had killed a man in Madripoor.
Typical. He’d probably looked good doing it too. And did he have a cookie on his finger? This man.
You shook your head and settled into one of the chairs at the counter, watching Hel pull out what looked like candy as the men talked about Sam’s Titi and a funeral for someone important in the community.
Little did you know that Helmut was making sure that this was the non-poisonous Turkish Delight. His mother had liked to make the candy and fill it with all types of different poisons. It had been a game for him as a child to try and guess the poison. By the time he was teenager, he won the game every time. The cyanide Turkish Delight was particularly good with a quite enjoyable flavor. While it was tempting to have you try one of the poisonous ones and begin your acclimation to poisons now, it wasn’t the time. There would be time for that later.
The men discussed heading out into the city and seeing if they could find where this funeral was going to be. You knew even as you ate one of Helmut’s so-called irresistible Turkish Delights that you weren’t invited. That was fine. You’d rather do some sketching anyway.
Helmut had changed back into his clothes, coat included. You loved that coat and were looking forward to getting to try it on for yourself, preferably with nothing on underneath. He kissed you and caressed your cheek before bidding you goodbye.
You watched them leave, worrying about Helmut, yet looking forward to some time alone to draw. As you settled on the couch, beginning to focus on the contours of the skull you were drawing in loving detail, after the excitement of the last few days it didn’t surprise you when your eyes began to close.
----
You awoke with a jerk as you heard what sounded like glass hitting the wall. You sat up, head foggy only to see Bucky facing Helmut whose back was to you. Based on their postures, that must have been Bucky who threw something.
You went to stand and watched as Sam deescalated the situation, even as Bucky and Helmut were still staring at each other.
You held in a laugh at “ the stupid head tilt thing” because you knew Helmut wouldn’t like that he had any tells, but the way Sam phrased it was funny. And also accurate.
Sam left the room and Bucky walked away after saying no to the cherry blossom tea, leaving you and Helmut alone. It was then that you spoke up.
“I’d like some cherry blossom tea if you’re offering, my villain.”
Helmut turned to you. “I am sorry we woke you, draga. Yes, of course.” He poured you a cup and presented it to you. “Here cherry blossom tea for my sweet blossom. Or should that be my thorny blossom?”
You laughed, glad that you hadn’t drank any tea yet, before taking a sip. “Really, Hel? That wasn’t as smooth as normal.”
He joined you on the couch. “I thought you might need a laugh. As do I. Interacting with the children brought back memories.”
You watched him before reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Of your son?”
At his nod, you continued, “Tell me about him.”
He cleared his throat and you were prepared for him to turn away and leave, but to your surprise he spoke, “Carl was… Carl was good. In a way that I have not been nor will ever be. He loved the outdoors and he loved to play video games. He was a good boy and a good son, and I wish that I had gotten to see what he would become.”
His hand clenched tightly around yours, almost to the point of pain, but you said nothing.
“And your wife?”
“Heike was beautiful, both inside and out. When I first met her, I thought I would never see anything more arresting. Her bloody hands as she stitched up my men. Until I saw you, standing in front of Judith Slaying Holofernes. I thought Heike was the love of my life and though she still is and always will be, I have realized that we may be lucky enough to have more than one. She would have loved you. Just as I do. I’m excited for when you’ll meet in the afterlife. All three of us together will be glorious.”
You disregarded him talking about your potential deaths for another time. “You love me?”
He turned his head to look into your eyes, “I have loved you since I first saw you, but do understand if it’s too early for you to know your feelings.”
You didn’t hesitate, “I love you too, my Hel.”
The three men returned from the funeral and you ran towards where Helmut was being supported by both Bucky and Sam.
“What happened?” You looked to Sam as you helped them situate Helmut on the couch.
“Walker happened. He hit him in the head with the shield.”
You moved to the kitchen and ran cold water over a washcloth for Helmut’s forehead.
“And he’s your Captain America?”
Bucky scoffed, “He’s not my Captain America. He shouldn’t even have the shield in the first place.”
Sam sighed, “Here we go again.”
You tuned out their bickering as you tended to Helmut. He had been fine this morning, telling you that he loved you, and now he was hurt. What if he never told you that he loved you again? You watched him carefully and were surprised to see his eyes fluttering. You leaned closer and saw him smirk and put a finger to his lips. You smiled. He wasn’t as bad as you thought. He was going to be okay.
For his part, Helmut had been knocked out but had woken up about halfway back to the apartment. His cousin, Wednesday, hit much harder than John Walker. Even Pubert hit harder than John Walker. This injury was nothing to an Addams but he was planning to play it up for as long as possible, especially if it would get Sam and James off his back for a few hours and give him a little time to plan his escape. Well, his and yours. He would not be leaving you behind for any reason.
----
Walker burst into the room, causing you to move closer to Helmut who had stood up with his whiskey still in hand. You didn’t want to take your eyes off of Walker, the threat in the room, but you couldn’t help but let them admire Helmut in his shoulder holsters. He looked good. As always.
You watched Sam stand up for Helmut and listened to Walker, who unsurprisingly made you angry with his attitude. This was the man who had hit your Hel in the head with a shield? What an asshole. You stepped closer to Walker, reaching to pull the knife that you always kept in your boot. No one was looking at you, too consumed in the interactions between Sam and Walker. Or so you thought. You felt a hand on your arm and Helmut gently pulled you back, shaking his head as you looked at him and motioning for you to come closer. He offered you some of his whiskey, smirking as you shook your head no. He wanted to pull you into his arms and press a kiss to your forehead, but resisted. He knew you both might need your hands free for what was to come.
It was enjoyable standing next to Helmut as he casually sipped his whiskey and you watched avidly as the Dora Milaje fought Walker. They were amazing. As Bucky and Sam joined the fight, you glanced at Helmut to see if he was enjoying this as much as you were. He had an interesting look on his face and as he put down his drink and grabbed your hand, you had a feeling that you knew where this was going. He led you to the bathroom and had you step in front of him as he subtly closed and locked the bathroom doors.
“Time to escape, my villain?” You whispered as you watched him fiddle with the tub.
“Time to escape, draga. It should be just here. Ah, yes.”
The tub began to move, leaving a sewage grate exposed in the ground. You helped him lift it and each of you went through one by one. Helmut helped you down the ladder and kept hold of your hand once in the tunnel.
“Come, my love. I have a place we can go.”
“You always have a place we can go, my villain.”
You enjoyed the time that you got to spend alone with Helmut in one of his family’s properties, not far from where Sokovia had fallen — even with the knowledge that it couldn’t possibly last. That Sam or Bucky or both would eventually catch up with you and send your Hel back to prison. It had been blissful and satisfying here as though you and Helmut were in your own little world, cut off from everything.
You had never known another partner, who could satisfy you the way that Helmut could. You had lost count of the variety of different ways and places that he had made you come. He anticipated your needs in a way no one else had and he knew the perfect balance between pleasure and pain. He began to teach you the same and you were a diligent student, looking forward to those lessons with anticipation.
Flashback:
You were reading in the library when he stepped in, wearing one of his many robes. You knew that he did it on purpose to entice you and it got your attention as always. He sat across from you and let the robe gape open, leaving his chest exposed. You couldn’t help but stare at him, taking in the necklace and chest hair, your interest in the book lost. Helmut acted oblivious, picking up one of the books on the table and beginning to read.
You closed yours with a snap and placed it down.
“My Hel.”
He hummed absentmindedly, keeping his eyes on the book even as he hadn’t turned any pages yet. He wasn’t fooling anyone. “Yes, draga?”
“I would like to try something new today, Hel.”
“Hmm?”
“I would like you to be the one restrained this time, my villain.” You leaned in close and grasped his chin, tilting his head up. His eyes were dark. “Would you like that, darling?”
“Yes, my love. Please.” It came out as a gasp.
“Do you have everything prepared?” You assumed he did because that had to have been his intention coming into the library, looking like temptation personified, in the first place.
“Yes.” His voice was giddy with anticipation.
You smiled at him and caressed his cheek before walking away with the expectation that he would follow. He always did.
“Such a well behaved villain. You deserve a reward. Meet me in the bedroom.”
You smirked to yourself as you heard the chair hurriedly push away from the table.
End Flashback
You never wanted to give him up. You wanted to be by his side forever. In life and in death. But it was not to be. Your time together was coming to an end. Helmut would be going to the Sokovian Memorial to await Bucky’s arrival and leaving you behind.
“You will be safe here, my beloved. No one, save Oeznik and my mother, knows of the existence of this house.”
You nodded as you let the tears that you were trying to hold in flow.
“I promise that I will see you again. Nothing shall keep me from you, even in death we will be together. Always. With my Heike too of course. She will adore you. Just as I do.”
He proceeded to give you instructions for what to do after he’d gone, which you committed to memory. You knew that while he did not want to go, he was ready to leave. If he didn’t leave now, then he didn’t know if he’d be able to do so. You kissed him desperately and as his hands grasped your waist, pulling you closer, you ground against him. He pulled back in admonishment.
“I know what you’re doing, draga. It will not work. I must go.”
Even so, he was the one to lean back in and reinitiate things. He couldn’t resist you. Not in this. By the time you were in the bedroom and Helmut was inside of you, he had forgotten why he had protested in the first place. He made desperate eye contact with you and held you close, committing every detail to memory. It was slower than normal, tender, and as you came you gasped his name. He picked up the pace and followed suit, hoping that you didn’t notice his worshipful gaze on your stomach and the hidden hope on his face.
He would never be over Carl’s death. Never. Carl was His. Yet he wanted another child with you, one that you had made together. One he hoped to teach about poisons and the best way to kill a man, just as his mother had before him. One he could introduce to his mother as an Addams, just as you now were. He wanted it with a quiet kind of desperation and a secret yearning. You would look so beautiful carrying his child.
----
You kissed him again before he left, and you didn’t make any attempt to stop your tears this time.
“Don’t cry, draga. All will be well. You will see me again soon, and I will count the days until you are once again in my arms. You won’t even have time to miss me.” His voice was teasing, but rough as he held in emotions of his own.
You humored him with a watery laugh. “Good bye, my villain. Don’t torture yourself in prison, Hel. That’s my job.”
“Oh, my love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He gave you one last smile before getting into the car with Oeznik behind the wheel.
You stood in the doorway until you couldn’t see the car anymore before letting yourself give into your tears. You didn't know how long you sat there sobbing, but some time later you began to carry out Helmut’s instructions. This would not be forever, not if you had anything to say about it.
It was time to take a trip to 001 Cemetery Lane and meet your new family. Something told you that you’d get along just fine.
Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!
A/N: This goes right into Cousin Helmut if you’d like to read the fic that started this little crossover series. Hope you all enjoyed this, and please let me know if you did!
I do have ideas for a sequel, where the whole family breaks Zemo out of the Raft which I think would be a lot of fun.
Many thanks to my beloved @clints-lucky-arrow for giving me a much needed confidence boost, for your feedback, and for beta reading 💜 And to the lovely @lafemmedezemo for being a big supporter of Zemo as an Addams since the beginning and for requesting this fic’s moodboard -- you’re both the best and ily!
My Masterlist
#Zemo x reader#Helmut Zemo x reader#the addams family#addams family#Zemo x you#Helmut Zemo x you#Baron Zemo x reader#Zemo is an Addams#crossover fic#halloween fic#Baron Zemo x you#Zemo x f! reader#zemo fic#Zemo fanfiction#Zemo fanfic#Daniel Brühl x reader#Zemo#helmut zemo#baron zemo#crossover#nocapeswriting
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Our Sokovian Cousin --
(A FranticFanfic collaboration!)
So I was hanging out with my buds @maximoffwxnda and @fairyysoup last night, and after a fun round of FranticFanfic (which, if you write fic, you should definitely either look into playing solo or with your friends at franticfanfic.com), we were digging back through some of our older rounds, and I found this little gem from like? summer of ‘22?? I asked the other two if they were okay with me posting it, and just thought I'd share it here for funsies ✨
for those who don't know how it works, basically you set a time limit (three minutes or five or more or less depending on how much of a masochist you are) and after everyone throwing in some character suggestions at the beginning, you pick two out of the proverbial hat, and start to write a fic. it's then an exquisite corpse situation where you're randomly shuffled someone else's fic where they left off and write as fast as you can, and then after three switches, the fics are finished and shared and everyone reacts and votes and has a gay old time. it can be played with blorbos or OCs, and obviously in this case, we used both! it's a blast seeing how everyone reacts to weird character combinations, as well as getting to play with your friends' OCs for a few minutes like the beloved barbie they are (and seeing how well they know yours is just!!! a whole other kind of love omg 🥰). we usually play with our friend @bigtiddythanos in the mix too, and it’s always a fantastic evening 🖤
I'll tag the places where we switch off -- but at the end of each section, so if you want to guess who's who ahead of time, feel free. :) I think we were working with around three minutes apiece here?
and, if you haven't read either @fairyysoup or @maximoffwxnda before, definitely go give them a look!! we all met in the Zemo fandom, but they've both covered a plethora of characters since then across multiple fandoms, including Stranger Things, The Alienist, Peacemaker, and Moon Knight, among others, and they're all *mwah* Quality. 🤌🏻🥰
soup's masterlist is here.
wanda's masterlist is here.
this isn't super long, but it is near and dear to my heart 💜 all under a cut so I don't throw off anyone's flow!
Maxi squints at the man who just stepped into the antechamber of the House, dressed in an overly heavy coat for the hot Louisiana weather.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Hector asks, whispering from behind his hand in the most non-confidential way possible.
Maxi thinks for a moment before he makes a note of the oddly close resemblance he has to the man. "Oh, it's our cousin from Russia or whatever."
"Sokovia." Their cousin, Zemo, glares caustically at the two men as he closes the front door. "Your cousin from Sokovia, thank you. It appears the House hasn't changed much in the twenty years I've been away. Not a bad look, but still, it has that rustic charm you never could get rid of."
Maxi's eye twitches. "Why are you here, exactly?"
(this was by @fairyysoup!)
"And what's with the coat, man?" Hex laughed.
Zemo fixed his icy eyes on him.
Unlike with most people, Hector refused to shrivel under the force of his gaze. "It's like a million degrees out there."
"Some of us know the meaning of fashion. I like your… shirt."
Hector looked down at his t-shirt and scoffed. "Whatever. I'm gonna bother Rora. Lemme know when Moneybags McGee leaves," Hector said over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.
"Now… Why are you here?" Maxi asked once more with thinly veiled frustration.
"You've heard of James Barnes? The Winter Soldier?" Zemo asked conversationally as he pulled off a set of leather gloves.
Maxi shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.
Zemo tilted his head at his cousin. "Then surely you've heard of Captain America."
Maxi had. Everyone had. Anyone who hasn't was living under a rock. Or dead. Speaking of which… Maxi had a body currently waiting in the basement. It was in rough shape and needed to be disposed of.
While Zemo had seen and caused his fair share of corpses in his life, he didn't need to know his extended family's secrets.
"Well then, The Winter Soldier and Captain America are currently on their way. I suppose I should've led with that."
(this was @maximoffwxnda!)
Maxi blinked, trying not to let the utter drop in his gut show too much on his face. "Uh, you fuckin' think? Jesus Christ, man," he turned back towards the basement door. "You're family, you know what kind of operation we run around here. You couldn't've just shot me a text as soon as you heard?"
Zemo arched an elegant brow. "I much prefer to handle these things in… person."
"Well that's fantastic for you!" Maxi let his full exasperation shine through. "You're not the one who's got a corpse in the fuckin' basement!"
"This is a mortuary," Zemo waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure it's not that out of place."
"Look," Maxi took his glasses all the way off, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off an oncoming stress migraine. "What the fuck do you want? Why are you here, and are you actually gonna help with any of this?"
"I'm more than happy to distract them," Zemo said in a way that would've been soothing and not condescending on anyone else. "Though I do wonder why your affairs aren't more… in order. If I remember," he cast a gaze over the room. "My uncle ran a rather… tight ship. Vincent, I believe?"
Zemo wasn't used to people suddenly shoving a scalpel against his throat unexpectedly, or for it to glow a blazing red to match the eyes of his cousin.
"Give me one good reason not to add you to the assembly in the basement," Maxi muttered, his voice layered with something that wasn't quite human.
Zemo's eyes, after so long, flickered with their own light - a deep, ominous amethyst. "Because," he murmured, his voice velvet and low. "The last thing we want to do is deny They Who Provide one more potential heir. Don't we, Maximilian?"
Maxi blinked, admittedly looking caught off-guard. "Since when did you--"
They both stopped, turning with wide eyes as a singular knock seemed to echo through the vast foyer.
They looked back to each other with a frown.
(aaand obviously this was me -- it's two years later and I just noticed I shifted into past tense out of habit instead of present, lmao. :'D)
anyway! I'm in a space where Zemo and the Morvants each have control of half my brain right now, so this was right in the sweet spot of what I needed, lmao. thanks again to my friends for letting me post this little snippet, and looking forward to writing more with y’all soon!! ✨🥰
#baron zemo#helmut zemo#maximoffwxnda#fairyysoup#frantic fanfic#maxi morvant#hector morvant-casares#hex morvant-casares#morvant mortuary#slasher ocs#southern slasher ocs#necromancer ocs#daniel brühl fc#diego luna fc#gwen!! ♥️✨#rose!! 🖤🥀
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Playing around with Werble to add a little movement to my illustrations for my collaboration with @spintwinwb, When in Brooklyn. 😍
#tfatws#helmut zemo#daniel bruhl#the falcon and the winter soldier#daniel brühl#winterbaron#bucky barnes#sebastian stan#blorbo from my shows#james bucky barnes#when in brooklyn#creator collaboration#ao3 fanfic#ao3fic#james buchanan barnes#sergeant james barnes#the winter soldier#baron helmut zemo#zemo#seargent barnes#werble
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Strawberry Champagne
Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Original Fem!Character (or you can insert yourself if you want)
Summary: After Madripoor, Zemo thinks Lydia should stop drinking. This is the result. (set post episode 3 FATWS)
Warnings: Swearing
Word Count: 2.4k
A/N: Lydia, my character, has like this fire magic thing that HYDRA implanted in her. She has a lot of scars because of all of the experiments and the injections, but she covered them all after she got out with different tattoos. Another thing, her hair does this thing where streaks of it will turn into like a brighter red / ginger than her regular hair color [kinda like Tonks is a good way to describe it] when her body temperature goes up. The language that is occasionally spoken is Serbian, but it’s supposed to be Sokovian, and I heard they were similar. Anyways, feedback and stuff is always accepted, given this is the first thing I wrote officially. Enjoy!
Lydia was sitting in bed, wearing an oversized Metallica hoodie with her knees close to her chest. Her dull, red hair was a mix of slightly messy and living hell. She thought about everything she had just witnessed in the past couple of hours with one arm wrapped around her legs and the other holding champagne. Lydia sat in the same position for about an hour or two, either thinking, spacing out or drinking. A sudden knock on her door made her jump in surprise.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?” she heard Zemo ask on the other end.
“Um, yeah, sure,” she said quietly.
He opened the door and stepped inside. He raised his eyebrows in slight shock seeing her so distraught.
“Are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m over the moon,” she said sarcastically.
“I apologize, I probably should have warned you ahead of time what we were getting into.”
“Yeah, you think? I can’t really blame you though, I should’ve expected all of that. I mean, it’s you, Sam, and Bucky, how could it have been any different? Anyway, it’s more my fault for agreeing to get into all of this shit again.”
“It’s not-”
“No, wait, that’s right! It's not my fault. It’s you three that dragged me back into this shitfest. Why am I blaming myself? I guess I agreed… regardless! Why am I the one to fix your guys’ messes, huh?”
“Ok, that’s enough champagne,” Zemo said as he grabbed the glass from her, sensing her getting mad.
“I wasn’t done with that yet,” she said sternly, reaching for the glass.
“Yes. You were.”
Lydia glared at him, and Zemo rolled his eyes out of annoyance, grabbing the champagne bottle from the side table next to her. He went into the bathroom and poured the rest of it into the sink.
“Why do you have to ruin my fun all of the time?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Zemo raised his eyebrow and said, “I’m not. I just think you would rather not have a hangover first thing in the morning.”
“How would you know? Tomorrow hasn’t happened yet,” Lydia cockily stated.
“Trust me, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh, you’re trustworthy now?”
Zemo gave her a death stare and Lydia looked down, realizing she might’ve hit a nerve.
“Sorry,” she murmured, playing with the edge of her sleeve.
Zemo softened his gaze a little and leaned on the doorway of the bathroom. He noticed the tattoos near her wrist, each one a different pattern or idea than the other.
“What are those for?”
Lydia quickly put her sleeve back down and said, “Nothing.”
Zemo titled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at her but shrugged it off.
“Where did you find that champagne?” he asked.
“Um, I may or may not have stolen it from that club...”
Zemo’s face lit up in amusement, and he asked, “You stole two thousand dollar champagne?”
“Possibly,” Lydia said with a smirk.
“Impressive.”
“I can be spectacular sometimes.”
Zemo laughed breathly but didn’t say anything. Lydia wanted to thank him for helping her out when the shooting broke out, but she didn’t know if now would be the appropriate time or not.
Well, it couldn't hurt.
“Um, I wanted to thank you. For helping me out back there. It really means a lot to me, I mean, I know that I’m not your favorite person in the world, but-”
“What gives you that impression?” Zemo asked.
“You’re kidding me, right? You’ve shut down half of the ideas I had about how we were going to execute Madripoor, and look where we ended up!”
“I knew it better than you did.”
“Apparently not! We could’ve died, Helmut.”
“If we would have done it your way, that fate would have been met sooner.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And neither do you,” Zemo responded.
Lydia cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. Raising her eyebrows at Zemo, she went into the bathroom to grab something from under the sink. Lydia also noticed that some streaks of her hair lit up, but she hoped that he hadn’t noticed.
“What are you doing?” Zemo asked.
She answered him by holding up another bottle of champagne with a strained smile on her face as she was walking out of the bathroom. As she was about to open the bottle, Zemo grabbed it and put it on the bathroom counter. Lydia gave him a mock pouty look, and he rolled his eyes.
“You need to stop drinking, I’m serious. You giving me that look isn’t helping you,” he said.
“You sure?” she asked as she emphasized her look.
“Lydia. I’m serious.”
Her ears burned at the way that he had said her name, and she could only pray that her hair hadn’t betrayed her now.
“And,” Zemo continued, “For the record, I don’t hate you or anything like that. To be honest, you’re the only one I can stand out of the ones I’ve met.”
Lydia raised her eyebrow slightly, and he quickly added, “Not that you’re the best of the worst, it’s just, how should I put this… I guess it’s more around the lines of ‘you’re smart and they’re not.’”
“Wow, harsh,” Lydia said with an amused look on her face.
“Well, it’s true,” Zemo said with a smirk on his face.
“Well, if I’m so smart, then that means… my plan was the best.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t go that far.”
Lydia rolled her eyes playfully at him and walked back into the bathroom, but Zemo stopped her by closing the door halfway.
“Lydia,” he said with a warning tone.
Now, Lydia could see her hair quickly turn into a brighter red color, and she cursed herself in her head silently, hoping he didn’t notice, but she wouldn’t bet on it.
“Does your hair always do that?”
God damn it.
“Do what?”
“Change color like that when your name is said.”
“Um, no. Not to my knowledge, no,”
Zemo narrowed her eyes at her while his attention seemed to turn to her hair. Lydia felt slightly embarrassed by his staring, but this only led to it turning brighter again. He smiled a little and said, “It’s a nice color; it suits you.”
She could feel her face burning mainly out of embarrassment and something else she couldn’t describe. Lydia jumped a little when she felt Zemo touch her arm. She felt her skin burn up, and he said, “I apologize, but I recognize this one.”
Zemo went to touch her arm again, but before he did, he asked, “May I?”
Lydia nodded, and he lifted her sleeve, intently scanning the dragon on her forearm. He carefully traced the outline of it, and Lydia felt her skin heat up with each trail he left. The way that he was looking at her tattoo sent shivers down her spine, but surprisingly, it was a nice feeling, considering she hasn’t felt anything cool in a long time.
“Змај,” (“Zmaj,”) Zemo whispered.
“What?”
“Змаj, correct?”
Lydia nodded, and Zemo hummed, “Yeah, I remember that story. My parents used to tell me that all the time.”
“My parents weren’t into the whole legend thing, they always said it was just a bunch of lies people tell to poison our minds, but I have heard it a few select times.”
“Your parents were quite the people, huh?” He laughed.
She laughed with him and said, “Yeah, they were definitely something, alright.”
“Well,” Zemo started as his hand traced bits and pieces of her tattoos before stopping at the palm of her hand, his fingers slowly intertwining with hers. “They raised well.”
Damn you.
She felt her skin heating up with every second, but she tried to contain it as much as she could. She looked over at the bathroom mirror that was mostly covered by the door, but she could see that dozens of streaks of her hair were lit up bright orange like crazy. He glanced back at her hair, and his smirk grew.
“Does it usually change when people touch you as well?”
“A-again, not to my knowledge, no.”
Zemo hummed again and began tracing the tattoos on her other arm before grabbing her other hand and running his thumb over her wrist. He carefully moved his hands up her forearms, tracing the shapes of her tattoos more fully this time, while pulling her closer to him. Lydia’s heart picked up even faster, not that she knew how that was possible. To her, it felt like they’d been spending an eternity standing in the doorway, but at the same time, it felt like no time had passed at all.
“Lydia?”
She took a breath in, and looked up at him, asking, “Yeah?”
It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how close they were to each other. Zemo’s breath lightly fanned her face, and his hands let go of her arms, slowly wrapping them around her waist instead. Lydia swallowed discreetly from his stare, and Zemo tilted his head to the left slightly and smirked at her.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“N-no, why would you? I could beat your ass into next year if I wanted to, what would I have to be nervous about?”
“I don’t know, you tell me. I’m sure your hair doesn’t light up around other people every time you stand next to them, or they talk to you.”
He pulled her closer and leaned his head down just enough so that he was only inches away from her face.
“Unless… it’s something else that makes your hair light up whenever I'm around.”
After he said that, he backed up a little and looked at her hair. Several streaks of it were brightening up, lightly illuminating the aura around her head. He smiled and laughed lightly through his nose.
“If I remember correctly, ‘Miss Vesta’s abilities cause her physical appearance to change as well. Her hair will change into different shades if she has any sort of strong emotions, including, but not limited to: anger, stress, sadness, and attraction.’ Does that sound right?”
Lydia squinted at him in confusion, and Zemo chuckled, saying, “SHIELD’s not very good at hiding things like they think they are.”
Lydia sighed and looked to her right and then down at her feet.
“So, again, I must ask,” he started. “Lydia…”
He removed one hand from her waist and lifted her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Do I make you nervous?”
Lydia licked her lips and said, “...no.”
Zemo leaned in closer, guiding her face to his slowly. He stopped centimeters before her face, just like before, and she could smell his expensive cologne radiating off of him.
“Are you sure? Your skin is burning.”
‘Копиле.’ (‘Bastard.’)
“Maybe I shouldn’t-“
“Ох, забога.” (“Oh, for God’s sake.”)
Lydia put her hand in the back of his neck, pulled him down, and their lips met. Zemo’s grip on her waist tightened, and moved his hand from her chin to the side of her face, the extreme heat of her skin slightly burning his hand. He furrowed his brow and backed her up onto the doorway, allowing him to close any distance between them. The smell of strawberry champagne intoxicated his senses, and he couldn’t get enough of her.
Lydia could feel every part of her body start on fire, whether she knew that’s what was actually happening to her or not. Her heart felt like it skipped ten beats at once, and heat filled her chest. She felt magnetized to him, and every break for a quick breath of air filled her with a sense of longing for more. Lydia thought her knees were going to collapse from underneath her, and she was grateful for the doorway behind her. She felt ripples of chills go up her spine for the second time that day, and the sensation of his thumb grazing her cheek only made it harsher. She felt her fingers become white hot, and she quickly retracted her hand to his shoulder, not wanting to burn him. She felt every bone and muscle in her body become the same temperature, and she felt the texture of the material of his shirt change. She removed his hand from her cheek and pulled away from him, catching her breath.
“I-I’m sorry. My skin… I can’t-”
Zemo shrugged and said, “To be honest, I never liked this shirt anyways.”
“No, you don’t understand, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Zemo tilted his head and raised his eyebrows quickly. He looked down and put his hands in his pockets, taking out the pair of gloves he was wearing earlier that day and putting them on. After he did that, he put his hands up and smiled at her.
Lydia lightly laughed and said, “I appreciate the gesture, but that’s not gonna do you much good. I’ll just burn-”
Zemo cut her off by saying, “I’ll take that chance.”
He kissed her gently, not wanting to make her skin burn back up again.
A sudden knock at her door caused Lydia to jump and separate from him, turning her head towards her door.
“Lydia? We need to discuss the plan for tomorrow. Have you seen Zemo anywhere?” Bucky asked through her door.
Lydia turned back towards him with a devilish look on her face. She whispered, “Play along,” and quickly pushed him away from her, a glare forming on her face.
“Yeah, he’s trying to steal my champagne.”
Bucky opened the door to the pair glaring at each other with murderous intent.
“You mean, I’m trying to take away the champagne that you stole from the club,” Zemo quickly countered, getting the message.
“Well, it’s mine now, isn’t it?”
“Alright! Look, she can keep the champagne, it doesn’t matter,” Bucky said.
“James, that was worth probably around two thou-“
“I don’t care,” Bucky said while giving Zemo a death stare before continuing. “We don’t have time for this anyway. We have to figure out the plan for tomorrow, come on.”
He left the room, and Lydia turned towards Zemo, raised her eyebrows, and dramatically put her hand out. He rolled his eyes and took the champagne bottle off of the counter and gave it to her.
“You’re only getting this because he likes you more than me.”
“And who’s fault was that?” Lydia retorted.
Zemo gave her an annoyed look as she laughed, and they both walked out of the room.
#marvel#mcu#helmut zemo#falcon and winter soldier#imagines#original work#baron helmut zemo#zemo fanfic#tfatws#helmut zemo x original character#helmut zemo x reader#original characters#original female character#bucky barnes#bucky makes his grand debut#zemo is soft#but he’s still a smug bitch#fire magic#serbian language#daniel brühl
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Daniel Brühl MASTERLIST
Helmut Zemo :
Headcanons:
HeadCanons Soft!Zemo x Reader : Zemo comes to you for comfort, so you read to him.
HeadCanons ZemoxReader fluff, You show Zemo Bubble tea.
Dark!Zemo obsessive stalker
Soft! HeadCanon : Pregnant!reader married to Zemo, who’s friends with Sam and Bucky
HC ZEMO x reader selling ice cream
Laszlo Kriezler:
HC Laszlo Kreizler x Moore reader, bumping into each other and chatting at the engagement ball.
mini series:
Violin Doll:
part 1
part 2
#fanfics#fanfiction#fanfic#helmut zemo x reader#helmut zemo#baron zemo#zemo#laszlo x reader#laszlo kriezler x reader#daniel brühl character#daniel brühl
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Chapter Six: Communication
Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x fem!OC (Alice Greene)
Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a workaholic. Between teaching university courses, running the Kreizler Institute, and minding Stevie -his ward-, he does not have time for relationships. That is until he meets Ms. Greene, Stevie's English teacher, at open house. Can he open his heart to the possibility of love?
Word Count: 4,060
W: mentions of bullying/hazing, sexually suggestive content
A/N: I have been enduring unending struggle after struggle this semester, so I'm sorry this took a while.
previous chapter
Golden light filtered through Laszlo’s office window. One of Rachmaninov’s symphonies played softly over his computer speaker, and he graded student essays with a fine-tipped red pen. A soft knock on the door broke him from his focus which he did not mind given the poor quality of the writing. Alice stood in the doorway, two coffees in hand, and a smile a mile wide.
“What a surprise.” He pushed the stack of papers away and leaned back in his chair.
She shut the heavy door. Her hips shimmied in a way Laszlo knew was meant to entice him. It worked. “I thought you could use a little afternoon pick-me-up.”
“From you? Always.”
Alice handed Laszlo his coffee, no cream or sugar, and sat on his desk. She crossed her legs, her skirt riding up her thighs, and took a sip from her drink. Laszlo looked up at her, admiring everything he saw, and set his coffee to the side. He didn’t need it when he had her.
His hand ran along her calf prompting her to re-cross her legs. Laszlo’s eyes flicked back and forth, torn between the mischievous glint in her eye and her plush thighs. Alice leaned down, her chest eye level with him, and cupped one of his cheeks with her hand. Her fingers played with his beard, and he nuzzled into her touch. He took a deep breath smelling her floral perfume, his forgotten coffee, and the old books in his office. Divine.
She kissed his forehead, and then she leaned back on the old oak desk. Entranced, Laszlo stood. He was a sunflower yearning for the sun. She spread her legs, and he stood between her thighs clasping her waist. Standing, he was a touch taller than her, changing the angle between them. He kissed her, tasting the cinnamon sweetness on her tongue, and searching for more.
“Oh, Laszlo,” she pulled away from his kiss, but her hand laid on his chest over his heart. “Are you sure? Anyone could come into your office, and I would hate for us to be interrupted.” Alice played coy, but Laszlo knew better. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“Darling, you’ll be the only one coming in my office today. I promise.”
Laszlo pushed down the turtleneck of her sweater and kissed her neck. Impulsively, he wanted to leave a mark she would need to hide with another sweater. He cupped her breast, feeling the faint outline of lace under the knit, and he tugged on her sweater. It came loose from being tucked into her skirt, and he moved his hand under it. His thumb grazed the delicate lace, and he let out an appreciative chuckle.
“Please, Laszlo” she whispered in his ear, “more.”
He clicked his tongue. “Greedy girl, aren’t you? Patience, and I will give you more.” Laszlo sank to his knees, and he guided her glorious thighs over his shoulders. He tugged at her lace underwear, and he wondered if it matched her bra. Alice giggled above him and wove her fingers into his hair, pulling him ever closer, not that he needed any encouragement. He lazily kissed each of her thighs, intent on leaving marks there too—
Laszlo woke with a start. Sweat clung to his flushed skin and shirt despite the late fall chill in his room. He was sticky with precome and tangled in the sheets. Laszlo groaned and ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. He didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to know the meaning of a sex dream.
A cool breeze blew the long linen curtains, and a pale morning light filled the room. Glancing at his alarm clock, because he preferred the old-fashioned alarm clock to his phone, he knew he had a few minutes. For a moment, he thought about finishing the fantasy. Laszlo could easily imagine the ending, lapping at her until his beard was soaked with her, but he hesitated.
With a groan that Stevie would certainly tease and call “an old man’s groan”, Laszlo left his comfortable bed. He rummaged through his bedside drawer for the pack of cigarettes he unsuccessfully hid from himself and shrugged on his warm robe. Laszlo didn’t have sex, but he still craved a cigarette. Only one, he promised himself, then he would shower and dress for the day.
“Cheers!” Bitsy and Alice clinked their glasses together. Adorable, tiny rubber ducks floated in their mimosas, and despite the restaurant’s warning about a dollar charge for taking the ducklings, both women fully intended to slip them into their purses before leaving.
“It feels like forever since I saw you! How was your trip?” Alice set her phone to the side and clasped her hands in front of her. A few weeks back during one of their planning periods, Bitsy booked the excursion. Alice joked she was planning, just not lessons or teaching. Over the three-day fall break, Bitsy and Lucius went upstate to a bed and breakfast, with the best reviews and amenities.
“Amazing,” she sighed dramatically. “I’m so glad we did it. You know how everyone talks about going somewhere to see the leaves change colors and go apple picking?”
Alice grinned, imagining the leisurely autumnal weekend. “Yes, of course.”
Bitsy spilled all the details while they waited for their food. They took a gorgeous vintage-styled train upstate much to Lucius’s delight. She showed pictures and videos of the views and laughed recounting their apple-picking and cider-making misadventures. Apparently, both were more difficult than they seemed. Their bed and breakfast was a quaint cottage with a main hall for meals, and a precious elderly couple hosting. She raved about the cider donuts Linda made and passed the recipe along to Alice.
“And you? How are things with the doctor? Or does he prefer the professor?”
“Please, you know I call him Laszlo.”
“Uh-huh, I just like to tease you, and by default him. So, how are things with you and Laszlo?” The waitress brought over their food, so Alice waited until they were settled to answer.
“Well, without getting my hopes up,” Bitsy rolled her eyes, “it’s wonderful.” Alice blushed and not because of the mimosa.
On their first date, he picked her up from her apartment with a bouquet of camellias. As soon as she commented they were cat-safe flowers, meaning she could place them on the coffee table without worrying about Georgie eating them, Laszlo produced a bag of cat treats from his coat pocket. He didn’t want Georgie to feel left out, he explained. Alice noted his thoughtfulness and attention to detail.
Laszlo took her to dinner, as he promised at the conference, at Delmonico’s. Alice had never been, but Laszlo assured her it was his favorite restaurant. She could tell when the owner and the waitstaff greeted him by name, asking if he wanted his usual table, and bringing a complimentary bottle of wine. Alice was prepared to pay for her meal, but Laszlo insisted saying he should since he invited her.
Alice gently moved her drink from side to side to see the rubber duck move. “It feels silly to say, but I think we’re courting rather than dating.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you date an older man,” Bitsy giggled, taking another sip of her drink.
“Shut up,” Alice couldn’t hold back a laugh either, “you know I have a type, but I’m serious. He’s been such a gentleman. Like he always brings me flowers or chocolates or coffee or something. And he brings something for Georgie too, I swear he has more toys and treats than I’ve ever bought him.”
“So how has he topped your first date?”
Alice responded when she finished chewing her latest bite. Her sandwich was almost too good to put down, but she wanted to answer. “We’ve done a few more dinners, some after an event or some just because that’s what we could schedule. You know that cute little art museum a few blocks from here? We did that and had lunch last weekend, and he wants to go to the history museum soon too.”
“Wow, the history museum. Sexy.”
“You’re laughing, but it’s so sexy when he reads the little placards and stands there analyzing it, rubbing his beard in thought. Then he asks me what I think and we talk about it before moving on. And, Bits, museums mean he always dresses nice, too, like suits or sweaters.”
“Listen babe, I tease you, but you seem genuinely so happy. Better than I’ve seen you in months, easily. It sounds like he treats you well, and he should continue to do so if he knows what’s good for him.”
“He does, he really does. Did I tell you what happened when we left the art museum?”
“No, what?”
“Well, I stupidly didn’t check the weather that morning when I got ready, but obviously he did because he brought this giant umbrella. Laszlo left it in the lobby while we walked around, and of course when we went to leave it was an absolute downpour. The restaurant we wanted to try was only two blocks away, so we planned to walk.”
“Of course,” Bitsy commented between bites.
“So he gets out his umbrella, and it’s big enough for the both of us. Laszlo held it, and we walked arm in arm down the street in the rain. I felt like I was in an old Hollywood movie and we should start singing in the rain.”
“Adorable, and you should have.”
“Well,” Alice demurred, “we were so close together, arm in arm so you know we were kinda pressed against each other. I could smell his cologne, and Bits, I swear to God it felt like pheremones to me. We made out under that umbrella until the rain stopped.”
Laszlo knew he sounded like a technology-hating curmudgeon, but he preferred calling to texting. Of course, with their busy and ever-changing schedules, texting was far more convenient. However, Laszlo savored anytime Alice called him and he could hear her voice.
Typically, they talked after he ate dinner with Stevie and while she cooked her meal. Laszlo chided her for eating so late, but the timing was convenient. He could slip into his room or his office when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket without arousing undue suspicion.
“What are you cooking tonight?” Laszlo heard the steady hum of a stovetop ventilation fan and a beeping timer.
That was another advantage of the phone, or even better, FaceTime. There was so much more ambiance when he could hear or see. Sometimes he could spot Georgie or hear him meowing in the background. Laszlo felt he was there, despite the distance, and he could get a glimpse of her evening. It was almost domestic.
“Pasta, hence the fan, and some chicken in the oven. I think it’s almost done, but I want to give it a few more minutes to be sure.”
“Be careful,” he cautioned, “I know you’re worried about undercooking it, but you don’t want dry chicken either.”
“Yes chef,” she teased. “What about you? When are you going to cook for me instead of giving me advice?”
Laszlo leaned against the balcony railing and hummed in thought. He wondered that himself, but he didn’t have an easy answer. “I’m not sure, with Stevie, I-”
“-It’s okay. I would love to have you cook for me sometime, but I know with Stevie it’s more complicated. We can take our time.”
“I appreciate it. Maybe I could cook for you in your apartment? We could have a nice night in.”
“I’d like that.”
By now they had a routine. Laszlo would tell her about his day while she ate, and once she finished she would tell him about hers. They laughed at the similarities between her high school freshman and his college freshman.
“Do you know what I heard today?” His students always assumed he couldn’t hear them, a fallacy of their youth.
He could hear her setting her dishes in the sink. “What?”
“One of them said I must have ‘gotten laid recently because there wasn’t as much of a stick up my ass’.” Alice snorted, trying not to laugh. “It’s okay; it’s funny. You can laugh.”
“Mine told me something similar, but not like that. They said I must be in ‘looooove’ because I’m smiling more.”
Laszlo rocked on his heels. “What do you think?”
“I-” she hesitated, and Laszlo instantly regretted his question. He was known for prying and pushing, and he feared it was too soon.
“-You don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked-” Laszlo pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyebrows.
“It’s okay, Laszlo. You didn’t push me too much.” He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t say I’m in love, yet, but I know I’m happier. What about you?”
“I feel the same.” Laszlo was glad she couldn’t see his cheesy smile.
November was chilly, even with a proper jacket. Stevie shivered and waited outside by the car line for Laszlo. Being late was unusual, so after fifteen minutes Stevie texted him. No response. At half an hour, Stevie called him.
On the last ring before going to voicemail, Laszlo picked up the phone. He immediately apologized, saying he didn’t realize what time it was and he was in the middle of an important meeting.
“Will you be here soon?” Stevie glanced at the already fading sunlight and emptying parking lot. Laszlo paused, and from that alone Stevie knew the truth. “If you can’t, can you send Mr. Moore or Ms. Howard?”
“I need to get back to my meeting. Try Moore first, and again, I’m sorry.” Laszlo hung up quickly, barely giving Stevie time to think. He huffed a sigh and pulled up Moore’s contact information. Stevie decided to text him first: Doc’s in a meeting. Can you pick me up?
As Stevie waited for a response, he rubbed up and down his arm to warm up. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he eagerly checked. I can, but it could be half an hour to forty-five minutes. Is that okay?
Stevie thought it was better than nothing. He texted back that it was alright, and he thanked him. Since there were still cars in the parking lot, Stevie bet there were still teachers or other staff inside the warm building. He wandered down the main hallway, wondering if he should sit right there, in the library, or find an empty classroom. As he debated this, someone called out his name. His head flicked up, trying to find them.
Ms. Greene stood at the door of the teacher work room with a stack of papers in hand. Stevie relaxed, knowing she wouldn’t get onto him about loitering around the school like some of his other teachers would.
“What are you still doing here?” She gestured to him with her pack of copy paper.
“Waiting to be picked up. Doc’s in a meeting so…” Stevie trailed off, not wanting to admit he had been forgotten.
She nodded once, understanding what he said between the lines. “Why don’t you hang out in my room?”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you if you were about to head out or anything.”
“Please,” she scoffed, “there’s always something I can be working on. Don’t worry about it.”
Ms. Greene set her stack of papers on her desk and sat at her desk. Stevie slung his backpack off and put it by his desk. He looked around thinking how rarely he saw the room empty. It was normally packed with people, every desk was taken, and Ms. Greene would have to dodge backpacks and lunchboxes to walk around the room. By the end of the day, the desks were crooked and out of place, so Stevie started straightening them up.
“When you finish, do you want to clean them?” Stevie froze, not realizing she was paying attention to him. “There’s Clorox wipes in that cabinet.”
“Sure, yeah.” Stevie was used to tidying up at the Institue when he was bored or restless, so he continued in her classroom. They talked while he worked making the time pass quicker. She asked about school and what other assignments he was working on in the week. He had a history paper coming up, and they were supposed to do another lab soon in biology. Stevie wasn’t worried about the paper, Laszlo taught him how to write an essay over the summer, but he was nervous about the lab. Biology wasn’t his strongest subject, but he liked Ms. Sussman’s class.
Stevie crouched to pick up an errant highlighter, and when he heard Coach Connor’s voice cut the momentary silence he stayed where he was. In the corner, behind a group of desks, he wasn’t immediately spotted. He moved so he could see between a crack in the desks and watched.
Ms. Green recoiled, almost retreating into her desk corner. Stevie recognized her discomfort as she crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. Her eyes flicked to where he hid and back to Coach Connor. “What are you doing here?” she questioned.
“I saw your car was still in the parking lot.” What is he stalking her? She stayed quiet prompting him to keep speaking. “I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind since the conferences.”
She sighed, clearly at her wit’s end with him, “Patrick, I said no, and I meant it.”
“Are you sure-”
“-I’m sure. I have a boyfriend now, and I don’t appreciate your insistence. It is not professional or appropriate, especially while at the school.”
Boyfriend? Stevie wondered if it was Doc. They certainly seemed to hit it off at the open house, and it would explain his weird behavior and change in mood. He would keep observing.
Coach Connor’s face flushed red, he grumbled an apology under his breath, and he turned on his heels. Once assured he was gone, Stevie sheepishly stood up from behind the desks.
Ms. Greene’s face was in her hands. “I am so sorry about that. I don’t even know what to say…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Stevie shrugged. “Clearly, you didn’t want him here either.
“I noticed you stayed hidden there. Has he been bothering you, too?”
Stevie sat on the desk, fiddling with the highlighter in his hand. “Yeah, kind of. He’s harder on me in P.E., that kind of thing.” He was quick to reassure her. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Are you sure? He shouldn’t be treating you like that, and I know you don’t want to be a snitch or anything, but it’s important to speak up.”
Stevie knew he should, but he didn’t want to create any problems. Doc was happier, possibly because of Ms. Greene, but this afternoon was a reminder of how much he juggled. Stevie would feel guilty adding anything else.
In the meantime, he could deal with Coach Connor yelling at him or making him run more laps. He could stomach the football players' stupid jokes and isolation, done on Coach Connor’s orders, no doubt.
“I’m sure,” he answered.
While Alice tweaked her slides for the week, Stevie worked on his homework. He sat at his desk for class which she chuckled at. A classroom of empty desks and students will naturally pick their own desks. Alice enjoyed having Stevie there and providing a safe space for him to wait for his ride, but she also wanted to go home. She was tired and slightly cold, and she wanted to change into a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt.
“Hello hello.” Alice looked up from her laptop. A tall, well-dressed man with dark hair paused in the doorway. “John Schuyler Moore, and you must be Ms. Greene if the sign outside your door is correct.” He extended his hand for her to shake, and she took it.
“Yes, I am. You must be here for Stevie.”
“I am, and hopefully he hasn’t given you too much trouble,” John winked.
“No, he’s been wonderful-”
“-Oh, you thought I meant Stevie, no, no, I meant Laszlo.” He laughed, and she bit her tongue to keep from doing the same. “You’re the one who has to deal with him as a concerned parent.”
Alice smiled. “He’s been wonderful, too. Very communicative.”
Stevie packed up his bag slowly, keeping an eye and an ear on their conversation. Alice was conscientious that everything she said was being analyzed.
“It was so polite of you to let him sit in your classroom. You could’ve gone home an hour ago, enjoyed your evening, and yet here you are.”
Alice didn’t miss the way he said enjoy your evening. It was a clear innuendo that she glossed over. “It was no trouble at all. Stevie’s a good kid, and you’re a good friend to come pick Stevie up.”
“I would do anything for a friend like Laszlo. I’ve known him for almost twenty years, and I know he would do anything for me in return. He’s like that, you know,” John shrugged, “he seems tough, but he would give someone the shirt off his back if they needed it.”
“I’m sure he would.” Heat rushed to her cheeks, briefly imagining Laszlo without a shirt and the dark chest hair she would find there, and she cleared her throat. “Stevie, please, don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. And Mr. Moore, have a good afternoon.”
***
At around nine, Alice got a text from Laszlo. She had just laid down in bed, ready to get warm and comfy for the evening, with a book and a mug of tea. She set her book aside on her nightstand and checked her phone.
Darling, I am sorry for being so inattentive today, and I want to thank you for letting Stevie stay in your room. I appreciate it.
Alice’s thumb hesitated over the Facetime button. She hoped Laszlo would pick up and that he didn’t text her and immediately set his phone aside. She didn’t look her best, her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her face was still red from washing it, but she wanted to see him.
“Hey Laz,” she smiled at him, but she was concerned. He sat at his desk, dark circles under his eyes, and creases deep in his forehead. She could see a stack of papers spread out in front of him, and he held a fountain pen in his hand.
Laszlo smiled back at her, and it made her heart skip a beat. “I missed you today,” he drawled. “An emergency case came up, and they needed me at the courthouse and at the juvenile facility, and I have to read all this paperwork for tomorrow morning… But I needed to hear your voice and see your face.”
“Aww,” she blushed, but she knew her face was already red and he probably couldn’t tell. “Thank you, baby. It’s okay to be busy and do what you need to do.” He took a sip of what she assumed was coffee. “I just appreciate a heads up or something if you’re going to be unavailable. I could even plan to keep Stevie for a while or something if you let me know.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“But I must say, it was nice to finally meet one of your friends.” Laszlo groaned in embarrassment, and Alice giggled. “He was very complimentary of you.”
Laszlo set down his pen and ran his fingers through his hair. It was nice to see him relax and not think about work for a moment. “What did he say? You know he’s never going to tell me.”
Alice mocked offense. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you either?” He huffed a sigh and chuckled. “It’s admirable, really, the way he spoke about you. He would make a good wingman if you weren’t already taken.”
“John means well, obviously, he just doesn’t know everything yet.” Yet. She wondered when she would meet his friends officially, and he would meet hers. They were still in the beginning of their relationship, but she assumed since she told Bitsy, Laszlo must have told his friends something. Soon, she thought, but hopefully not too soon. Alice liked existing in their secret little bubble.
taglist: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @groovyponypatrollamp @to-fat-to-give-a-crap @kateris-world @eli-the-thinker
#daniel brühl fanfiction#daniel brühl fanfic#laszlo kreizler fanfiction#laszlo kreizler fanfic#the alienist fanfiction#the alienist fanfic#modern laszlo kreizler#daniel brühl
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Shadow
A dark!hypnotist Brühl x Fem!Reader AU
Summary: His phantom still lingers. His shadow is always with you.
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including heavy dub-con/non-con sexual intercourse); explicit language; social anxiety; manipulative character; morally irredeemable use of hypnosis; reader trauma & distress afterwards; seriously, this is dark
A/N: Before my Sam Neill character spiral continues, wanted to get this one finished! Please heed the warnings on this one - there is very little redeeming about this one.
"Just one more look at you, my heart has been hypnotized"
- "Hypnotized", Years & Years
His voice still haunts you.
Despite the doctor's reassurances. Despite the mind-numbing medication. Despite your husband's insistence.
His phantom still lingers. His shadow is always with you.
“You’ll never get me out. You’ll never let me go.”
A shudder courses through you even though you’re safe under the covers of your bed. Cold rain sluices in sluggish waves against the window, and grey light paints your bedroom in shrouded colors. The warmth of your bed covers does little for the pallor of your cheeks, though.
How could it when his fingers still whisper against your skin? When the hellfire of his touch still sears and brands you?
“Oh, my angel. When the devil wants to dance, do you think you can refuse him?”
You close your eyes against the persistence of memory.
The party dragged on for hours now. Even before marriage to your society-pages husband, you found the endless parade of formal events in stuffy mansions tedious. Fortunately, your husband didn’t insist that you stay on his arm all evening, and you could escape to find quiet moments of reprieve. Moments where you could breathe and try to reign in the anxious nerves that always made you uneasy during large social gatherings.
You’d never been able to explain why crowds made your skin crawl and your heart race. But your parents had heard none of it, and your husband wasn’t willing to listen, either. So instead, you found your own refuge. The heavy mahogany doors of the host’s library were open when you found them, but you closed them swiftly behind you. Mercifully, the din of the party beyond faded, and you reveled in the silence around you.
The gentle crackle of a dying fire along the opposite wall soothed you as you took deep, calming breaths. For the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe. Taking steps into the cozy, shadowed room, you scanned the imposing collection of leather-bound volumes, stately bookcases, and plush furniture designed for hours of mental pursuits. A smile tugged at your lips - your first genuine one of the evening. If you could spend all of your evenings tucked away in such a room, you would want for little else.
You walked up to a bookcase opposite the fireplace, running your fingers along the textured spines. The warmth of the fire danced along your skin as you breathed the comforting scents of old leather and musty paper. All of it soothed your unease, bringing a sense of calm peace that you hadn’t known since arriving on your husband’s arm.
The heavy door whispered open on a silent hinge, but dark movement caught in your peripheral. You withdrew your hand from the books, ready to make your fearful apologies to the host. You weren’t a thief, and you weren’t snooping - hopefully the host would understand. Except… the man half-veiled in shadow wasn’t the host.
Honestly, you didn’t recognize him, and you couldn’t discern too much about him. He wore a dark, formal suit as befitting the party, and well-coiffed brown hair crowned his head. The flickering firelight cast handsome, intriguing shadows across his visage, but his glittering brown eyes were worlds unto themselves.
A fearful shiver raced down your spine as you forgot how to breathe, how to move. “I-I’m sorry - please, I wasn’t prying.”
He shook his head dismissively. “You needn’t apologize to me. This is not my home.”
You fought the urge to wring your hands under his unnerving stare. “I know, but I… I-.”
“You also needn’t be so nervous.” He walked further into the room, the dark fabric of his suit melting into the surroundings. “In fact, you look positively stricken, and - if I’m being honest - you have all evening.” His voice carried a mellifluous cadence with a lush, deep rasp, and it wrapped around you like velvet. “I would love to help you, if I may.”
His sharp gaze held yours with focused intensity, and your mouth went dry. You wet your top lip, fumbling for words against a growing fog in your mind. “How did you even know that I was here?”
The illuminated corner of his mouth lifted, and you instinctively recognized its sinister edge but your body continued to relax as he spoke. “Any man would notice an angel of your beauty taking her leave.”
Heat flared on your skin despite the weight of your wedding ring that suddenly felt like lead. “I-I’m a married woman.”
“Then, it is most telling that I found you here while your husband did not.”
Your head swam and you knew you should leave, but your feet refused to move. You drew another deep breath, unable to look away from him. “If you knew him, then that wouldn’t surprise you.”
He hummed, the sound low and enticing. “I do know him, and this does not surprise me.”
His mesmerizing gaze continued to bore through you, and the creepy severity of it flickered in your mind before evaporating just as quick. “Well… I-I don’t know you.” You said, taking a breath of the unnervingly thick and cloying air. “W-who are you?”
His mouth upturned in fleeting dismissal as he waved an elegant hand, the motion spidery in the dancing firelight. “I am no one of consequence, and my name is… irrelevant.” He took a step forward, staying half-concealed in the shadows and backlit against the fire. “Especially when there are far more interesting pursuits for the course of our conversation.”
Fear crawled up your spine but you were powerless to heed its warning. You gasped for breath, heart pounding and impossibly dizzy as the fire’s heat burned your skin. What was wrong with you? Had you fallen ill?
Another discomforting shiver raced through you.
He shook his head gently, the shadows playing over his pale skin. “But this simply won’t do.” He beckoned you forward with a gentle wave of his hand. “Come closer, my angel.”
Your feet moved without your permission as your eyes saw only him. You shouldn't - you knew that you should run for the door as the scent of his intoxicating cologne filled your nose - but with each passing second, that knowledge faded into oblivion. And the weight of your wedding ring vanished.
Up close, glints of amber sparkled in his dark eyes. Golden shards that flayed you open and stripped you bare. The force of the thought floored you, warring with a different heat growing on your skin and burning between your legs.
His mouth curled with an insufferably pleased edge as he continued to look at you. “And now, my angel.” His voice dropped to a low octave, thick and enticing with poisoned honey. “Tell me why this evening has you so unsettled.”
A drunken haze clouded your thoughts, and you couldn’t summon the will to resist. “I’ve… never liked being around so many people.”
“And why is that?” His words purred so close to your ear, and his cologne suffocated you.
“I-I never know what to say. Afraid that I’ll say the wrong thing, afraid that I’ll….”
His fingers brushed your arm, the touch scorching and electrifying and… wrong. "You may be able to hide from everyone else, but not from me." His breath burned the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Tell me.”
“... A-afraid that I’ll say too much, and… people will judge me for who I am.” You cringed at your admission and the unrelenting, dizzying presence of him. Your body continued to betray the dying protests of your mind, heating under his touch with the ache of arousal.
Disgust rippled through you but you couldn’t break free. Revulsion flared in your gut as his hand continued to trail up your arm even though your core smoldered with liquid heat. Words formed in your mind to call out for help, but they choked in your throat.
His lips danced against your ear, his rumbling voice bypassing the last vestiges of your sanity. “The divine does not fear the judgment of mortals, my angel.” A strong hand fell to your waist, drawing you closer, and you inhaled sharply as his words continued to pour into your ear. “Flowers bloom with no regret. Flowers bloom with no fear. And, so should you.”
The world spun, and you lost your feet. Your back pressed against the plush cushions of the couch under his enveloping weight as the breath knocked from your chest. His touch felt too hot, his skin too soft, his lips too rough. His kiss consumed you, and you struggled to respond. Feebly, you raised a hand to his shoulder, pawing at the fine fabric of his suit. He groaned, the sound captivating and numbing.
A tear stung your eye as you tried to push him away with deadened movements. Your tongue felt impossibly thick in your mouth as you whimpered. “Please… d-don-.”
“Oh, my angel,” he rasped with smug satisfaction as the heavy weight of his hand settled to your thigh and crept under your dress. “When the devil wants to dance, do you think you can refuse him?”
Another whimper passed your lips as his fingers branded your inner-thigh on his journey upward. His groan washed over you in a wave of delirium, and his voice fueled the haze in your mind. “How have you bloomed for me, my angel?”
You whimpered, shame flaring in your chest as he teased through your dripping folds. He stroked you several times, coating his fingers and letting you feel how thoroughly your body had betrayed you. When he started to stroke with maddening, circling pressure, your hips rocked unbidden into his touch.
The corner of his mouth lifted, dark and predatory. “No regret, no fear - remember?”
Another tear stung your eye as his fingers found a delicious rhythm, sending sparks of dark promise up your spine. With each pass, your core ached for satisfaction, drunk on his touch and lost to his words. You didn’t recognize your voice as you moaned for him and clutched his broad shoulders.
The pressure mounted inside you with alarming speed, but his fingers disappeared all too soon. You gasped for breath, whimpering as you bit back the urge to beg him for more. You didn’t want this - you didn’t want him - you didn’t want his pleasure pulsing through you.
… Right?
“Open your eyes, my angel.” His words commanded your obedience, and you squinted against the sharp firelight.
His beautiful eyes shone black with hunger, his face dark with wicked sin. The flickering golden light caught on his fingers that glistened with your aroused slick. Shame washed over you at the evidence of your unforgivable desire. As if in a dream, you watched his eyes fall to his wet fingers and draw them to his lips. He moaned, savoring your taste for a long moment before he purred with deep-seated satisfaction. “Ripe with such sweet nectar. Divine as I knew you would be.”
His damp hand moved to yours, bringing it between his legs to press against his straining erection. You gasped as revulsion crawled down your spine. Sluggishly, with arms that didn’t feel like yours, you tried to pull back, but he pressed your hand tighter against him to draw a low moan from his chest before he spoke. “But I am not so callous as to satisfy my own thirst at the expense of my angel’s.”
Your hand fell limp back to the sofa and the distant shuffling of clothing sounded over the dull buzz in your ears. After all, without his voice, what else was there to hear? He braced himself, pressing against you, and the thick, imposing weight of his cock settled against your soaked entrance.
He swallowed your cry as he pushed inside, the stretch of him stinging and burning with pained pleasure. Your world reduced to the thick pulse of him inside you, touching the deepest parts of your being. You drew a shaking breath, trembling against his lips. “Oh, God….”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Call me God - for surely, being inside you must be heaven.”
His hips rocked back before he surged forward, searing you from the inside out. Your mind splintered and your soul fractured as your body reached new heights with each thrust. Numbly, you clutched at him, and helplessly, you listened to him. “You’ll never get me out.” He growled, filling your body and clouding your mind. “You’ll never let me go.”
And blindly, you surrendered to him - shattering around the deep press of him in devastating rapture.
Even now, almost two weeks later, you don’t know how long you had stayed on the sofa afterwards until your husband found you. He said you were stunned and slurring your words, babbling as if drugged. He said you were assaulted, and pressed you for any information about your attacker. He said you were in shock from trauma, and with time, you would find yourself right as rain again.
But how can that possibly be true? When every time you close your eyes, you see those glittering drops of amber in dark brown seas? When all you hear is his enthralling voice in your mind? His sickening words that roil your stomach and churn shameful arousal in your core?
You can’t explain it. Perhaps you never will be able to. It’s impossible to understand how one man has so effortlessly taken you apart and rebuilt you in the memory of his shadow. His shadow that lurks at the foot of your bed, beside you, inside you as the medication takes hold.
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Slain (Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo/Vampire!Reader) THE MASTERPOST
A/N: Welcome! This is gonna be the home base for all of the chapters of Slain on Tumblr. If you prefer to read on AO3, you can find the fic here. I can't wait to finally share this story with you <3 If you want to be added to the taglist for this fic or all of my Zemo fics, just let me know. My hope is to get one or two chapters out a month, but as of now, due to my current work schedule being variable, I don't have a set upload schedule in mind.
Synopsis: Sokovia is destroyed. Some say it fell to Tony Stark's bomb. Others say something much darker tore the country to shreds. Something supernatural. Something that had to be covered up by total destruction. Helmut Zemo doesn't care about the how, though, or the why; He cares about revenge, and he will stop at nothing to rid the world of those who live to harm it, even if that means going toe to toe with the ancient vampire who killed his father.
Tags: Vampire!AU, Enemies to Lovers to Friends, Angst, Vampire Hunter!Helmut Zemo, Morally Grey Characters, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut
Rating: E (+18) for later chapters
Current Word Count: 9,900~
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Chapter One: No Compasses, No Maps
Synopsis: The world undergoes change. Helmut Zemo finds new residence and perspective on his journey for revenge.
Rating: M
Word Count: 9,900~
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Chapter Two: Thirst
Coming Soon!
#jac rambles#zemo#helmut zemo#baron zemo#zemo x reader#helmut zemo x reader#fanfiction#baron helmut zemo x reader#daniel brühl#fanfic#masterpost#no y/n
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Smut Prompts for the Danny Bunch!
27 for Laszlo <3
thank you for this!! here's a short drabble for Laszlo x gn!Reader [AO3 link]
smut prompts - 27. “I’m too busy.” “I’ll be quick, I promise.”
minors DNI 18+
You were in a playful mood tonight, and as you walked into Doctor Kreizler’s spacious study, you grinned when you saw him seated behind his huge wooden desk. There were papers strewn about on its surface, and Laszlo looked like he was focused, reading something intently with his glasses on. Oh, you’d have to do something about that.
“Hello, darling,” you greeted, walking up to his desk. Laszlo glanced up briefly in acknowledgement, but then he immediately went back to reading. Hm. You walked around to where he was seated, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek, your fingers dancing along the collar of his shirt. Laszlo inhaled sharply at your touch, although he didn’t pull away.
“I’m too busy,” he protested, although a slight blush had risen to his cheeks. You grinned, knowing exactly how to fix this.
“I’ll be quick, I promise.” Before he could protest, you dropped to your knees and slid slightly underneath the desk, positioning yourself between his legs. You chuckled when you heard him gasp again.
“Shh, darling,” you shushed, unzipping the fly of his nice trousers. “I’ll take care of you. Meanwhile, you can continue to work…if you’re so busy.” Laszlo looked down at you then, and you just grinned up at him mischievously. The man was still holding a paper in his left hand, and his glasses were perched on his nose, as if he truly intended to continue working through this.
Without further adieu, you tugged down his briefs and gently grasped his arousal in your warm hand, causing Laszlo to let out a muffled moan. It pleased you that he would finally have a reaction to this, and you wanted to earn more of those strangled sounds of pleasure from him.
“Schatz, I, I need to keep working–” Laszlo cut himself off with another groan as you began stroking him. Oh, how wrong he was to refuse the two of you a nice, long, pleasant evening together.
“Hush, I promised I would be quick,” you said, intending to make good on your words. “And I never back out on a promise.” Doing your best to maintain eye contact, you took him in your mouth, not allowing him time to tell you differently. You bobbed your head, using your hands and tongue and everything you knew that would drive him wild, to the brink the quickest. Laszlo was making the most beautiful noises, whimpering and gasping. A gorgeous flush had risen to his cheeks and had climbed its way to the tips of his ears.
You hummed around him, enjoying the feeling of Laszlo shuddering beneath you. Somehow, he still was holding onto that oh so important paper of his. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, and a lock of hair now fell over his forehead. So much for working.
Before he knew what had hit him, and before he could warn you, Laszlo was coming. Stars flashed behind his eyelids as he rode out the waves of ecstacy, and you hummed your approval. When Laszlo finally recovered, he opened his eyes to find you buttoning up his trousers, almost as if nothing had happened.
“See? Quick,” you said, winking as you stood up. “Come see me when you finish your work, Doctor Kreizler. Maybe we can work out a longer session. If it fits into your busy schedule, of course.” You turned and walked away, up to your bedroom, leaving Laszlo to gaze longingly after you. With that promise, it looked like he didn’t have that much work to do after all.
#my fanfic#laszlo kreizler#the alienist#daniel brühl#daniel bruehl#daniel bruhl#daniel bruhl fanfiction#laszlo kreizler x reader#laszlo kreizler x you#laszlo kreizler x gn!reader#laszlo kreizler fanfiction
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Born to be wild - Chapter 21
Synopsis: Joining F1 as one of the first female drivers you knew was going to be a challenge but you weren’t prepared to deal with one particular asshole on the tracks. With the urge to win so strong within each racer, will romance pave the way? Or will it destroy everything?
Word count: 1.5k
Previous chapter: You and Niki had a trip out, though you still had doubts in your mind about what James had told you. Niki took it on himself to try and convince you to let them go.
A/N: Sorry
Warnings: Sexism
Navigation
Born to be wild masterlist
Previous Chapter
You kicked your legs, looked down at your nails and sighed. You glanced at your wristwatch and sighed again. Your fingers fidgeted with your engagement ring as you looked briefly around the kitchen in Niki’s apartment. The Weiner schnitzel dish you had prepared half an hour ago lay on the table. The smell of it now lingered all over the apartment. Some flowers you had placed on the middle of the table drooped. It was a depressing sight to you.
He said he would be back half an hour ago.
Another sigh left your lips as you glanced back down at the watch. Shaking your head, you stood up from the counter stool. You grabbed your leather jacket, which hung over your chair's back, and collected your keys. Leaving the apartment, you jumped onto the back of your motorbike, already mapping out in your mind the quickest way to the Ferrari garage.
As you drove, you noticed dark clouds covering the sky. You groaned as the first few spits of rain landed on your face and ran down your skin. You could have turned back now and avoided the larger storm likely to follow, but you were more determined to drag Niki’s ass back home.
As you pulled into the Ferrari’s car pack, the rain picked up and limited your vision field. The garage was covered in mist, and you had to squint to see if you could see anyone.
You pulled your jacket over your head and tried to shield yourself from the downpour of rain as you ran to the garage. Usually, where Niki stayed was empty, so you pulled open the door to the backrooms. You were hit with a wall of warmth. You shrugged your jacket off your shoulders and shook your head to dispel the droplets in your hair. Your steps echoed around the abandoned hallway as you looked into every room to find where Niki had hidden from the rain.
Walking deeper into the garage, you heard men chatting and laughing. It grew louder and louder. The corner of your lips curled as you detected the Austrian accent amongst the Italian ones. You reach the room where you can see the light through the window. When you looked in, you could see the mechanics standing and sitting around sofas, many mugs piled around them. As you peered through the window, you could see Niki standing with one mechanic to the side of the room.
You grabbed the door handle, ready to open it and pull Niki away when you froze. The door was thin, and the words came through clearly. You could hear what they were all joking about, but the window was small enough that none of them had noticed you. And for a good reason, for what they were talking about made your body freeze like stone.
“So what’s she like, eh?” the mechanic next to Niki asked as he nudged Niki in his side.
“A good fuck?”
Niki looked to the ground, the faint traces of a blush on his cheeks, and he let out a few chuckles.
“Well, you know what they say about women like her,” he replied, looking around at the mechanics as they all laughed and nudged each other, gesturing with their arms.
“You will not keep her around, though? When you’ve learnt all you need from her, you’ll leave the bitch behind. She won’t stay in f1 long after that.”
Niki looked around at the mechanics before speaking, his awkward smile still plastered on his face.
“Maybe,” he paused, “once I win the championship… I won’t need her….”
“Yeah, show her where she belongs!” one guy you couldn’t see added in, and the other men around Niki agreed.
You shook your head, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. You brought your shaky hand up to your cheek and tried to swipe it away. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, rushing at one hundred miles an hour.
“She’s probably fucking that, Hunt. He can’t keep it in his pants to save his life. It’s what everyone says, even this Mclaren mechanic I was talking to the other day. He said he saw them together, and she was on her knees, if you know what I mean.”
The awkward smile on Niki’s face slipped; a grimace replaced it as his tongue poked against his cheek. He exhaled, looking at the floor.
You took one step back, then another. Your eyes were still fixed on the window and not where you walked. As you took another step back, a sharp pain shot through your back. You walked into a cabinet, and the screwdriver that had been placed on it clattered onto the ground, the sound making you wince.
You saw through the window as Niki looked up, and his eyes locked onto yours.
You turned and ran.
You could hear him shout after you. You continued to run. As he continued to call, you could hear the door slam open. You continued to run.
You run out of the building and felt the heavy rain drench you. It was pouring. Your shirt clung to your body, soaked, your jacket remaining in your hand. Your legs carried you forward, eyes latched on your motorbike, which you had parked far away from the building.
As you charged towards it, you felt a stiff hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you to a halt.
“Y/n, wait.”
“Let go of me, Niki,” you snapped, refusing to look behind.
“Not until you listen to me.”
You could feel the moment it fractured. It had been slowly crumbling the moment the first words left Niki’s lips, but at that moment, you felt your heart separated in two. In a messy, bloody explosion in your chest.
“No! You don’t get to say things like that and expect me to listen to you again,” you hissed, turning around and looking at Niki. His curled hair was drenched and stuck to his head. His skin was wet, glimmering in the garage lights. As the rain fell, his suit got darker. He frowned, eyes piercing into you. His hand was still on your wrist, and you felt your arm become numb from the contact. Hating the feeling of his skin touching yours, you wretched your wrist out of his grasp.
“You don’t understand I-”
“Oh, I understand plenty, Niki. You were using me. God, I should have seen it. Why was I so fucking dumb?” You paused, your chest heaving as all the memories flooded your mind. “Even James saw it! And you lied to me!”
“I didn’t lie,” Niki spat out. His lips curled, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped towards you.
“Stop fucking lying!!”
You could feel wetness drip down your cheek, but you were too far gone to tell if it was from the rain or your eyes.
“Our entire relationship was a lie. Every moment,” you sobbed, your chest heaving as you tried to rub away the tears from your eyes.
“Everything was a lie,”
Niki’s stare hardened, and a scowl appeared on his face.
“So that’s what you think, then? That I’m a liar?”
“Of course you are! Saying those horrible things about me in there, I can’t- I never thought.”
You looked away and then back to Niki, shaking your head.
“I never thought someone like you could swoop so low. You really are an asshole.”
Niki’s eyebrows raised, and he scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked at you in disdain.
“You’re so quick to fucking judge me, huh? But that’s not it, is it? You’ve been looking for a way out for a while, ever since James fucking spoke to you. Fucked you as well. You needed a reason to dump me so you could fuck him without guilt.”
You stepped forward towards Niki, feeling the anger surge through you. It burned, scorching through your veins and your heart that lay at the bottom of your chest. Your hand is raised without you thinking about it. Niki stepped forward, looking down at you, only inches apart.
“Slap me.”
You hesitated.
“Go on, do it. If that will make you feel good about everything you’ve done.”
You dropped your hand and shook your head. Taking a step back, your hand tugged at your finger, pulling at your engagement ring. When it slipped off, you threw the ring onto the muddy ground by Niki’s foot.
“Fuck you, Niki.”
You turned and stormed off towards your bike. Niki doesn’t stop you. You jumped onto the bike, grimacing at the wetness of the seat. You rev the engine and pull out of the parking lot, thinking about what hotel you could stay at for the night. As you got to the entrance, you paused. Your mind is screaming not to do it, but the last piece of your heart is begging. You look behind.
Niki stood still for a moment, his head looking to the ground. Then Niki kicked the ring laid by his feet; it flew into the air and then scattered into the mud below, sinking into the ground. He shoved his hands into his suit pockets and turned around, walking back into the garage. He doesn’t look back.
You let out one more sob as you look away and accelerate out of the garage.
-
TAGLIST: @lieutenantn @lorna-d-m @cable-kenobi @zemosimp05 @edencherries @hofficoffi @somethingthatsaysbubbles @vverliebte @shadowycollectiveduck @scuttle-buttle @rumblelibrary @nyx2021 @fictionlandslanddreams @darksxder @liadamerondjarin @daniel-bruhhl @aedeluca @trashbin246 @livvyshmiv @black-mistress-of-evil @laura-naruto-fan1998 @stilltoomuchafangirl @hannahbal-the-fannibal @hungrhay @hexedeslichts @transias @jesslove23 @saltysilv @janine-007 @cat-r @libsybum @linkpk88 @realmoftheelemental @brxghtlelune @kp9983 @f1yogurt @antheina @bear-bone-berries @i-am-dead-inside-666 @panickinanakin1 @mybisexualheartbeatsforzemo @ultraintrovertedgryffindor @xourownsidee @thatakwerdperson
Taglist
Edit: my tags didn't work you guys 😭 now I've fixed them
#niki lauda x reader#niki lauda fanfic#niki lauda fanfiction#niki lauda#niki lauda rush#niki lauda fic#niki lauda rush 2013#niki lauda x you#daniel brühl#daniel bruhl
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