Summary: You're having trouble sleeping and Zemo helps you settle in.
WC: 1.1K
Warnings: insomnia, fluff
ao3 // tag list
Request: @goblin-king-of-anarchy67 More Zemo requests bc I’m deranged :p What if the reader is a chronic insomniac? Like they have trouble falling and staying asleep. They wake up a lot through the night. They do all the things; drinking tea, using a weighted blanket, listening to ASMR, etc.So what if Zemo is like super attentive and helps them through their nightly routine, reads to them and cuddles them, lots of soft sleepy vibes. Ya boi is a big insomniac and the idea of cuddling Zemo sounds so nice 😩
The city outside your window hummed quietly, the low murmur of traffic threading through the room, but it did nothing to soothe the restless storm in your mind. You lay sprawled across the bed, the weighted blanket tangled around your shoulders, staring at the ceiling. Your mind refused to stop, cycling through worries, memories, and fragments of thoughts like a broken record. You’d tried everything—tea, meditation, ASMR, counting breaths—but nothing coaxed you to rest.
Zemo was already awake, quietly observing, his fingers idly tracing patterns along the edge of the blanket. “You haven't slept,” he murmured softly, his voice low and careful, not a question, not a complaint, just an acknowledgement.
“I… I can’t sleep,” you admitted, voice tight with frustration. “I’ve tried everything.”
He set the mug of chamomile tea he’d brought down on the nightstand, letting his fingers brush yours in a grounding touch. “Then tonight will be about care, not forcing sleep,” he said gently, and began.
He fluffed your pillows just right, tugged the blanket snugly over your shoulders, and drew the curtains just enough to dim the city lights without making it feel closed off. The aroma of the tea filled the air, sweet and warm, and you wrapped your hands around it, feeling the first flicker of comfort.
“I’ll read to you,” he said once you had taken a sip, settling beside you. “Pick something familiar.”
You handed him a book, a safe story, and he read slowly, deliberately, each word a steady current that calmed the edges of your restless mind. When your thoughts scattered, he whispered, “Breathe with me,” counting softly alongside you, the rhythm pulling your heartbeat into a gentler rhythm.
Eventually, he guided you to lie back down, pressing you close to his chest. His fingers threaded through yours, brushing your hair away from your face, pressing gentle kisses to your temple. “I’ll stay with you,” he murmured. “All night if you need.”
Hours passed—or maybe minutes—you didn’t know—but the tight knot in your chest began to loosen. Sleep crept in, slow and hesitant, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone in the dark.
By the second night, a rhythm had begun to form. Zemo had learned your subtle signs of agitation—the fidgeting of your hands, the restless bouncing of your legs, the tiny sighs of frustration. He anticipated your needs: adjusting the room temperature, fluffing pillows, tucking the blanket just so, even brewing your tea exactly the way you liked.
“I brought something new tonight,” he said one night, settling beside you. A soft playlist of ASMR sounds filled the room: distant rain, quiet tapping, faint whispers. Normally, such things would overstimulate your mind, but with him, it was grounding.
He read to you again, letting the words wash over you. When your mind ran away, he hummed low and steady, brushing your hair behind your ear, pressing soft kisses to your temple, whispering small reassurances. You curled into him, pressing against his chest, letting the restlessness ebb away.
By the third week, the rituals had become second nature. He knew your favorite positions: how you liked to curl into him when your thoughts became too loud, which hand needed to be free to fidget, how your body relaxed if he hummed low enough. You began to anticipate his movements too—the perfect tuck of the blanket around your feet, the gentle press of his thumb over your knuckles, the subtle brush of hair behind your ear.
One night, when you woke in the middle of the night, panic fluttering in your chest, he didn’t scold or urge sleep. He simply whispered, “I’m here. You’re not alone,” and guided your breathing, pressing his body against yours so you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart. You mumbled your worries, the jumble of thoughts you usually kept trapped inside, and he listened, patient and calm.
Sometimes, when you couldn’t settle, he mirrored your movements subtly—the fidgeting of your hands, the curling of your legs, the restless twitch of your shoulders—a silent conversation that let you feel understood and not judged. And gradually, you realised it wasn’t the sleep you craved most—it was the closeness, the care, the quiet presence that made the dark hours feel safe.
Weeks passed, and the nights grew richer. He brought small touches of care: adjusting the room’s temperature, massaging your temples as you sipped your tea, guiding you through gentle stretches to ease tension in your shoulders and neck. He whispered jokes or nonsense words to make you smile when panic threatened to return, and sometimes he would nuzzle your hair, letting soft, accidental kisses brush your temple or jawline.
“You make this easier,” you whispered one night, resting your forehead against his chest.
“I just stay,” he replied softly, brushing your hair from your face. “I’ll always be here.”
And indeed, he was.
Months passed, and though insomnia still visited, the nights no longer held the same terror. Even awake, the hours became softer. There was tea, gentle ASMR, whispered stories, hands intertwined, murmured reassurances, humming, light massages, playful nudges, and warmth. Every restless moment became a shared experience instead of a solitary battle.
One rainy night, you awoke yet again, thoughts spiraling, heart racing. Zemo was already awake, watching you, and he reached for your hand. “Hey,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ve got you. Come back to me.”
You let him guide your breath, feel the steady warmth of his body and the rhythm of his heart beneath your ear. Gradually, the storm inside your mind settled. You curled instinctively against him, and this time, sleep didn’t creep in tentatively. It enveloped you completely, secure and gentle, cradled by the presence of someone who had learned to navigate your darkness with patience, care, and unwavering attention.
Even when the sleep refused to come, the darkness no longer held power over you. With him, it became intimacy, trust, and quiet love. Tea sat steaming on the nightstand, blankets tucked just right, whispered murmurs and soft hums filling the silence. He adjusted pillows, pressed kisses to your hair, stroked your cheek, held you tight when thoughts raced too fast, and stayed awake, vigilant, until your restless body finally surrendered.
And you realized, as months of sleepless nights turned into shared, tender rituals, that the insomnia didn’t matter as much anymore. What mattered was this: Zemo, steady and patient, attentive and warm, his presence a tether in the dark, and you, finally feeling safe enough to rest in his care.
“We need to plan something for Carl’s birthday next week. He says that you promised him an xbox, he is very excited… I’m going to bed. I love you. Come home soon.”
Daniel Brühl starring as Helmut Zemo
Deleted Scene | Captain America: Civil War (2016)
All Things WinterBaron, Zemo And Mr Brühl @baronheadtiltzemo - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
