To Feel Human (Helmut Zemo x OC)

Summary: A moment of compassion turns into something neither Riva nor Zemo had anticipated, but what this means for them now is complicated to say the least.

Word Count: 1,037

Warnings: Touch Starvation, Lightly Referenced Smut

The blaring sun streaming in from the narrow basement window hit Riva's eyes as she tried to open them. Pulling the covers over her head to block it out gave her pause. She always closed the curtains in her bedroom, so why was the sun so bothersome this morning? The answer to her question came in the form of the body shifting beside her under the sheets. She was not in her own bed. Pulling the covers back, she squinted against the light and rolled over where the sleeping, peaceful face of Helmut Zemo greeted her. Just as she’d feared.

Even with the offensive light at her back now, Riva's head pounded. The night before her came back in pieces. Zemo complaining about his captivity, saying that staying under her care was no better than prison had been. She had argued with him at the time, but had also seen his point at being constricted to a highly secured basement all day and night. As she focused on the memory, it began to come back more clearly.

"There’s a club down the block," she’d informed, her own version of extending an olive branch, trying to prove that she wasn’t the bad guy here.

"That is nice," Zemo remarked with a nose in a book. He was not taking the bait, yet Riva knew he could tell what she was doing.

Riva heaved a irritated sigh. "If you promise to behave, I’ll take you."

Zemo's eyebrow quirked. "You mean that? No tricks? No secret agenda you’re not informing me of?"

"I mean it. The whole point of my mission isn’t to keep you cooped up in a secure underground facility. It’s to integrate you back into society. And a club…wouldn’t be the worst test run."

"Much appreciated," Zemo thanked, though his words were laced with a light dose of sarcasm to them.

When they arrived, Riva sat at the bar, leaning back against it and keeping her eye on Zemo as he ordered a drink and went out to enjoy his freedom, however long it would last. He danced, and despite her intent to remain serious and uncaring, she couldn’t quite help but laugh. It wasn’t that he was awful, but he wasn’t great either. It just struck her as funny to see him in that context. When Zemo caught her smiling in his direction, he’d taken it as an invitation to approach and try to persuade her onto the dance floor.

She protested, but her heart wasn’t entirely in it. Surely she could keep watch of him and have a little fun herself. That decision was what had started it all. She danced with him for several songs. He bought her a drink. Then two. Then three. Finally, she was having fun. Real fun. Fun unlike any she'd had in years. She’d been so dedicated to her work for so long that it felt good to move freely, to indulge herself without having to think of every detail and its potential consequences.

Only she should have thought about the consequences. It was late when they left, or early, depending on how one views time. It was just after two o'clock in the morning when they made it back home on unsteady legs. Zemo was bright eyed and alive, the happiest she’d ever seen him. And maybe that’s why she lingered in his underground bunker with him when she delivered him back to it. Maybe that’s why she’d let him kiss her.

She shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But his hand had cupped her face so gently, so tenderly that she couldn’t find it in her heart to turn away from him. She melted into his kiss, the taste of his lips a mix of brandy and Turkish delights, which she always kept well stocked for him. And that’s when her memory blurs again. Clothes came off, hands glided across skin and he was soft, so soft with her. She didn’t think him capable of such gentleness. And yet here, asleep right next to her, she could believe it wholly.

Her headache persisted, dull and draining, yet the pounding at least had subsided. She closed her eyes, still too tired to get up despite her own advice to herself about leaving before Zemo should wake to still find her there. She was too alert to be able to fall back asleep easily, so she laid there, contemplating her next move.

Another rustle of sheets came but a moment later as Zemo groaned and stretched. Riva hoped for him to continue his slumber so as not to have to face him, but she was unlucky.

"Good morning, dumpling," he rasped, voice heavy with sleep, but nonetheless as teasing as she’d always known it to be. A cheeky smile played on his features, and Riva had to go before she fell for it again.

"Don’t call me that," she snapped, turning away from him, trying to conceal her true emotions with anger. It was a play she'd made many times so she was good at it.

But she didn’t plan for Zemo to reach out and grab her wrist. "I’m sorry," he apologized, sincerely, she recognized when she caught the look in his eye after turning back to him. "Will you stay?"

The question took her by surprise. They weren’t dating, they weren’t friends, and even on their better days the best they could manage was a cool civility. Yet he wanted her to stay? And she was actually thinking about it. "Please," he added, sensing her hesitancy. Was he really this lonely? Was she?

Riva let out a breath, not quite a sigh, and slunk back into bed. Zemo put his arm around her shoulders and let her sidle up to him, head on his chest. They didn’t speak. No words that could be said seemed right for their situation. Laying there, skin on skin, under the comfort of sheets warmed by their shared body heat, they silently appreciated one another's company. What this would mean for them going forward was undecided. In the moment they didn’t want to make any more of it than it was. Now, they were just two people in need of human touch.

Riva Braun: @adrianas-ocs-and-such, @dollvi3e, @borg-queer, @chickensarentcheap, @smutember

Curiosidades das Copas: Em 70, Itália e Alemanha fazem 'o jogo do século'

Lance Lance Alemanha e Itália são duas das maiores potências do futebol. Ambas são tetracampeãs, o que comporta dizer que oito das 20 edições de Copa do Mundo tiveram uma das duas com o troféu. Confrontos entre elas figuram na lista de mais marcantes da história, como a final de 82 e a semifinal de 2006. Mas nenhum deles se equipara em emoção e quantidade de gols ao que valeu vaga na decisão de 1970. No dia 17 de junho daquele ano, as equipes duelaram no estádio Azteca, na Cidade do México, em condições físicas díspares. Os italianos vinham de tranquila goleada sobre os anfitriões mexicanos por 4 a 1, ao passo que os alemães chegavam exauridos da "revanche" de 66 com os ingleses, passando por virada de 3 a 2 após ficarem em desvantagem de dois gols. E, detalhe, apenas na prorrogação. Na semifinal, a Itália abriu o placar logo aos oito minutos, com Boninsegna, e, dada a melhor condição física, dava pinta de que resolveria a parada facilmente. Mas do outro lado estava a Alemanha, famosa pelas reviravoltas e grande nível de competitividade. O empate veio nos acréscimos da segunda etapa, com Schnellinger, forçando o tempo extra. O que viria nos 30 minutos da prorrogação seria uma alucinante partida, que rendeu o apodo de "jogo do século", com placa e tudo na frente do Azteca. Saíram incríveis cinco gols e a Azzurra venceu por 4 a 3, classificando-se à decisão contra o Brasil. O detalhe é que Franz Beckenbauer, que seria o símbolo do título em casa quatro anos mais tarde, atuou desde os 25 minutos do segundo tempo com uma tipoia. O jogador deslocou a clavícula e o técnico Helmut Schön já havia feito as duas substituições, o limite permitido à época. A imagem inseriu ainda mais drama à peleja.

Benckenbauer Lance Beckenbauer atuou com uma tipoia em boa parte da semifinal de 70, contra a Itália (FOTO: Reprodução) FICHA TÉCNICA ITÁLIA 4 x 3 ALEMANHA OCIDENTAL Local: Estádio Azteca, Cidade do México (MEX) Competição: Semifinais da Copa de 70 Árbitro: Arturo Yamasaki Maldonado (MEX) Gols: Boninsegna (8'/1ºT - 1x0), Schnellinger (45'/2ºT - 1x1), Gerd Müller (4'/1ºT p. - 1x2), Burgnich (4'/1ºT p. - 2x2), Riva (14'1ºT ´p. - 3x2), Gerd Müller (5'/2ºT p. - 3x3) e Rivera (6'/2ºT p. - 4x3) ITÁLIA: Albertosi; Burgnich, Facchetti, Cera, Rosato (Poletti), Bertini, Mazzola (Rivera), De Sisti, Domenghini, Boninsegna e Riva. Técnico: Ferruccio Valcareggi ALEMANHA: Maier; Vogts, Patzke (Held), Schulz, Schnellinger, Beckenbauer, Overath, Grabowski, Seeler, Müller e Löhr (Libuda). Técnico: Helmut Schön Read the full article

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To Feel Human 🧸🫦💧

A moment of compassion turns into something neither Riva nor Zemo had anticipated, but what this means for them now is complicated to say the least.

Angst = 💧 Fluff = 🧸 Suggestive = 🫦 Explicit = 🔞 Dark = 😈 Humor = 🃏 Pregnancy = 🤰🏼