I figured it was time to introduce myself properly to the masses. I’m a fanfiction writer: not new to writing, but definitely new to posting.
I’m currently working on a few long-term projects:
🕯️ MCU | Zemo/OC
Ever wondered what Civil War looked like through Zemo’s eyes? The Shape of Obsession explores that perspective, with a healthy dose of emotional damage and morally ambiguous devotion. The first book is in the posting stages. Check it out on AO3 here or start with Chapter 1: Debt.
🧨 Supernatural | OC-centric
This one centers around Dean and Sam’s long-lost older sister, Larkin. Expect family drama, canon chaos, and me gleefully beating canon over the head with a stick. Sacred Sinew is coming soon. See the masterlist below for updates or check out the Sneak Peak: Be Grateful for My Help
I also post one-shots and long fics on AO3 or check below the "keep reading" for my master list. l
The Shape of Devotion (MCU fanfic)
Book 1: The Shape of Obsession (Zemo/OC)
Status: Posting
Find it on AO3
Chapters on Tumblr:
Chapter 1: Debt
Chapter 2: Understanding
Chapter 3: The Shift
Chapter 4: The Beginning
Chapter 5: Fight or Flight
Chapter 6: Nightmare
Chapter 7: Operation... Chíngales?
Chapter 8: El Fuego
Chapter 9: Unspoken
--- 🔥 😇 ❤️ ---
Sacred Sinew (Supernatural scriptfic)
Season 1: Hollow Bones (OC-centric)
Larkin never asked for brothers. Or ghosts. Or grief. But now she's got all three and there is no going back.
Does anyone ever think about how modern medicine is so focused on keeping people alive at all costs that they neglect to think about quality of life? Just me? Cool.
Hello everyone, I know I've been nowhere to be found for the last few months. The truth is that I finished writing The Shape Of Obsession and was too disappointed in the end product to post it. Plus life stuff happened. So anyone who's still somehow following my trainwreck should pop over to AO3 because I just forced myself to post a bunch of chapters. I will be posting the rest of the fic shortly. Then I will be disappearing into the void to completely rewrite it.
New to The Shape of Obsession? Reach chapter 1 here or check out the master list.
This chapter contains untranslated Spanish dialogue. See end of chapter for full translation.
---
Ember paces furiously. Trying to walk off her anxious energy. "God damnit, Zemo! ¡Podrías haber muerto! ¡Joder!" she growls. Sparks flickering in her hair.
Zemo sits on the couch. Freshly bandaged. Calm. Too calm. His hair is a mess, clothes ripped—much to his chagrin.
"Calm down. I'm alive," he grunts.
"Barely! Holy shit! What would you have done if I wasn't there?"
"I would have figured it out."
"With your legs pinned under a rock too heavy for a human to lift?"
Zemo shrugs, leaning back on the couch with a wince.
"If you had died I-" The words catch in her throat.
Nope. Too much. Too real.
"Nevermind. Just- Next time you run in front. Not behind."
Zemo pretends he doesn't realize the weight behind her words. "I don't need to be coddled."
"Don't care. I'm not letting you get hurt again.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Ember gives Zemo one heavy look and walks down the hall to her room.
Bonus Track:
The night drags on. She tries to sleep. No luck.
Tossing. Turning. Fuck.
She sits up. Pain behind her eyes. In her chest. She grabs her journal and moves to the other room. Sitting by the firelight. She writes in her journal:
No así. No debía pasar así. Dije que... que iba a proteger. Dije no que dejaría que lo tocaran. Pero... se lastimó. Mi culpa. Mi culpa. Mi culpa. Dije que lo protegería.
(Not like this. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I said that... That I was going to protect him. I said that I wouldn't let them touch him. But... he got hurt. My fault. My fault. My fault. I said I'd protect him.)
She stares at the page like she's drowning in her own words.
Click. A door. Zemo.
He leans heavily against chair behind her. "You hate being helpless."
"You hate being cared for," she retorts softly.
He doesn't argue. Just lowers himself into the chair beside her.
Close, but not touching.
---
Translation Notes:
¡Podrías haber muerto! ¡Joder! - You could have died! Fuck!
---
AO3 is already on chapter 14! Read ahead here:
The Shape of Obsession - Chapter 9 - FeralPoetrycore - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]
This chapter contains untranslated Spanish and Russian dialogue. See end of chapter for full translation.
New to The Shape of Obsession? Read chapter 1 here or check out the master list.
---
Ember and Zemo stare each other down for a moment more. Tension crackles. Then Zemo turns to the terrified man crouching in a dusty corner.
"Now where were we. Ah, yes. We were about to ask our friend here a few questions," Zemo says smoothly. They approach the Hydra tech.
The man cowers. Then pauses. Opening one eye to look at Ember. "417..." he mutters.
Ember flinches then glares. Her hands glow once more and she steps towards the man menacingly.
Zemo puts his arm out in front of her. Stopping her. "Information first. Then fire." It was not a request. It was an order.
Ember growls, holding his gaze in her blazing one for just a moment. Then stops. Even steps back. But the room still feels like a sauna.
Zemo turns his attention to the tech. "I assume you want your memories to stay private. It's a shame how fire often renders things unrecognizable."
Zemo paces, talking casually to the man. "I heard that Hydra is still doing genetic experiments. How quaint. So tell me, what do you know about them?"
The man shivers, eyes flicking back and forth between Zemo and Ember. "I don't know anything. After 417 I stopped working on the E-Series-" He stops suddenly realizing what he said. His eyes dart to Ember. Terrified.
Ember goes still.
Zemo steps back a pace and murmurs to Ember. "Useful isn't it? Making them talk before they know they've said too much."
Ember doesn't answer. Her eye is boring a hole in the tech instead.
Zemo sighs and returns his attention to their captive. "So you were involved. Then you must know what your colleagues are doing these days."
The man shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.
Zemo clicks his tongue. "Come now. Maybe you'd remember if I showed you this." He slides a photo across the table.
A new hybrid. Someone Ember had never seen before–young, altered, eyes too familiar.
The tech flinches. Zemo smiles with polite menace. "I guess we didn't need you to speak to get our answer."
Ember doesn't wait and Zemo doesn't stop her. The table is instantly blazing. The tech leaps back and presses a button Ember failed to notice.
The building begins to shake. Hunks of concrete fall from the ceiling.
"¡Mierda!" (Shit!) She looks to Zemo in panic, only to see that he is perfectly calm.
"Well that wasn't part of the plan," he comments dryly. "I guess you'll have to burn it on our way out."
The floor shakes harder. Ember burns the tech alive. They lunge for the staircase.
The steps crumble as they climb. Barely reaching the top.
Zemo slips on the final step. Ember catches him. Pulls him through.
"Exit is on the south side," Zemo grunts.
They run. Dodging falling debris.
They make it to the exit tunnel. Walls crumbling rapidly behind them.
CRUNCH! "Пиздец!" Zemo was pinned–concrete crushing his legs. Blood already soaking through his pants.
Ember swivels. Eyes widen. "¡Joder!" She immediately runs back. Kneeling beside him.
She tries to lift the rubble. No luck. She transforms. Arms becoming more muscular. Claws extending.
She tries again. It budges. Lifting just enough for Zemo to drag himself out from underneath.
Ember releases the rock. "Can you stand?"
Zemo nods, trying to get up. But his legs give out.
"Mierda," Ember mutters scooping Zemo up like a princess. He starts to protest but Ember just glares at him. "I don't care about your pride. I'm keeping you alive."
At that she takes off. Sprinting out of the tunnel. The floor burns with each step she takes. By the time they exit the tunnel, the base is up in flames.
"Satisfied?" Zemo asks, watching the plume rise.
"Not until everyone who touched me burns," Ember replies as the base explodes.
Ember's journal entry. Ripped out and thrown in the trash.
¡Joder! ¡Puta madre! 417
---
Translation Notes:
Mierda – Shit
Joder – Fuck
Puta madre – Motherfucker
Пиздец – Russian expletive roughly “we’re fucked” or “this is a total disaster.”
---
AO3 is already on chapter 13! Read ahead here:
The Shape of Obsession - Chapter 8 - FeralPoetrycore - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]
The room is wrong. Familiar, but warped. The walls breathe. The space is shadowed, lit only in dim orange from an unknown source behind the furniture.
A slowed, distorted version of The Emperor’s New Clothes echoes in the background—menacing, like a ritual.
LARKIN stands in the center in her scrubs, but instead of her usual navy blue, they are blood red.
A SHADOW flits across the wall. She spins. Nothing.
A flapping noise. A single feather drifts down in the corner of her eye—black, iridescent like an oil slick.
She reaches for it. It dissolves into smoke in her hand.
LARKIN
Who’s there?
No answer. The music pulses ominously.
MUSIC (V.O.)
Mortal kings are ruling castles...
The SHADOW flickers across the wall. LARKIN spins. Nothing.
MUSIC (V.O.) Welcome to my world of fun...
Another flicker. Closer now.
MUSIC (V.O.) Liars settle into sockets...
She backs away. The walls stretch like funhouse mirrors.
MUSIC (V.O.)
Flip the switch and watch them run...
She reaches her desk—just as the beat drops.
MUSIC (V.O.)
Oooh yeaaah oooo-ooo-ooo-oooh...
The sound fades out, distorted and stretched like a dying echo.
Silence.
A LETTER sits atop the desk. Old parchment. Sealed with wax that glows faintly gold.
The voice echoes in her mind—layered, and inhuman. It feels like it’s coming from the walls.
LETTER (SHADOWY FIGURE V.O.)
Be grateful for my help.
She gasps—and wakes.
---
Author's Note:
Yes, this is SPN related. All will be revealed in due time. Trust the process.
This is a scene from the pilot episode of my upcoming Supernatural scriptfic. I wanted to try something different with format and tone—think dream logic, and divine mischief.
Sacred Sinew Season 1: Hollow Bones is coming in February 2026
Hey everyone! I know I fell off the train with Baronovember at the end. I lost my hyperfocus. This one-shot was supposed to be for day 28, but I didn't get anything written for today and saved it.
CW: blood kink, mature content, explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, minor injury, blood play via claws, unprotected piv sex
---
Ember's claws glint red in the dim light of the moon, eye glowing gold like something wild caught in a headlight.
Zemo twirls skillfully, blood spraying from his final opponent and soaking his usually pristine coat.
They lock eyes. No words. Ember leaps forward, grabs him by his collar, and drags him into the nearest alley. She shoves him up against the wall.
He grunts, eyes dark. “Are you going to interrogate me now?” He smirks.
“Only if you beg, Barón,” Ember purrs, licking a stripe up his bloody cheek.
“Never,” he groans, though his eyes betray his desire. It's the game they always play. Predator against predator.
“Then I guess I'll just have to make you.” She grabs his crotch and squeezes, causing a pained whine to escape his throat.
“Is that the best you've got?” he groans defiantly.
“What was that?” She squeezes harder, giving his pant-clad flesh a twist.
Zemo gasps, trying to maintain composure under the onslaught, although he can do little to hide his arousal.
“I said, is that the best you've got?” he grits out.
“Ooh, cheeky today.” Ember traces a bloody claw along his jaw. “Let's see how long that lasts.” She shoves his coat off his shoulders, leaving it to pool at his feet.
Her eyes roam his body for a moment, drinking in the way his breath comes in shallow puffs, his hair mussed and crusted with drying blood.
“You should see yourself now, Barón. This is hardly the dignified look of royalty.” She lifts his sweater and presses the hem into his mouth. “Don't drop it or there will be consequences.”
Zemo does as he's told, closing his lips around the soft fabric as Ember trails her claws along his torso. His favorite, and she knows it.
She nips at his chest, letting her fangs draw small dribbles of blood that she licks up like it's ambrosia.
Zemo groans, the sound muffled by the fabric in his mouth as she rakes her claws down his side, leaving shallow gashes across his pale skin.
“You're so pretty like this. Red suits you,” she murmurs. “But I think it's time I get what I want.” She places her hands on his shoulders and pushes him down to sit on the concrete against the wall.
Zemo's eyes widen as he watches her divest herself of her pants right there in the alley. There was no game left between the two, just pure need as she straddles his lap and frees his throbbing cock.
Zemo gasps as she lowers herself onto him, causing his sweater to fall from his mouth. “Oh God… Ember…” he groans, arms reaching out to guide her movements.
The next few minutes are a blur of pressing flesh, and tangling tongues—blood on each of their lips.
It doesn't take long for her to spasm, clenching down on him as he spills inside her. They both go limp for a moment—a tangle of limbs and heavy breath.
After a moment, Zemo catches his breath and speaks. “You were gorgeous when you tore that man's arm off, draga.”
Ember hums in agreement. “Not as gorgeous as you were under that spray of blood.”
They chuckle breathlessly and get up, collecting their clothes.
“I need a shower. I'm all kinds of sticky now,” Ember comments, pulling her pants back on.
“Perhaps you'll let me join you?” Zemo smirks, adjusting his coat collar.
“You're just fishing for round two.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” He winks at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he guides her down the alley.
She doesn't answer right away, just leans into him, letting the silence speak. “No, not at all.”
New to The Shape of Obsession? Read chapter 1 here or check out the master list.
This chapter contains untranslated Spanish dialogue. See end of chapter for full translations.
---
Ember’s eye is still a little bloodshot when she walks into the room the next morning.
She doesn’t mention the nightmare.
He doesn’t ask. But when he gestures to the data pad, she doesn’t hesitate.
She’s already flipping the switch.
"We'll call this Operation Carpathian. Topography 's distinct, and Hydra's code tags the region in the old logs," Zemo tells Ember. His tone doesn't leave much room for discussion, but Ember doesn't care.
"No. Se llama Operación Chíngales," she counters without missing a beat, a mischievous grin on her face.
Zemo glances up. Suspicious. "What does that mean...?”
Ember's smile grows wider. "Operation... Fuck ‘em," she declares proudly.
Zemo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course it does."
Ember just chuckles. Eye blazing.
Ember draws the Hydra base on fire in her journal, leaving it open on the table for Zemo to see. It's labeled Chíngales.
Zemo glances at the sketch.
“You’re serious about this name, aren’t you?”
Ember doesn’t look up. “Deadly.”
2200 hours that night. Outside the Carpathian mountain base under cover of dark.
"Now remember, just because it's supposedly abandoned doesn't make it safe. Keep your head on a swivel," Zemo warns.
Ember nods, already scanning the area for threats. "I go first." She doesn't wait for permission and slips into the shadows leading up to the door. No one.
She snaps her fingers—telling Zemo to join her now that the coast was clear. He had gotten the access code courtesy of a contact whose loyalty was questionable at best.
The door opens with a hiss and they make their way inside. Ember stops. Tastes the air. "Heat. That way." She points down the East corridor.
"There's an old lab that way. Must be something still there." Zemo follows Ember for a few paces but soon stops her. "Hidden entrance. I saw it on the blueprints."
He opens a trap door that leads to a dusty staircase. Ember coughs, exhaling a tiny puff of smoke before crawling down into the space.
Even with one eye missing, she could see in the dark better than most with two. Hydra made sure of that.
"One man. Still here."
She sees the man. Huddled. Shaking. Weak.
And all she feels is rage.
"Kill," Ember declares, fire already forming in her hands.
Zemo stops her. "Not yet. Information."
Ember glares like she wants to kill him instead now. But she doesn't. She slowly lowers her arm. The fire dies—but the heat lingers in the air between them.
---
Translation Notes:
Se llama Operación Chíngales - It's called Operation Fuck ‘em
---
AO3 is already on chaper 12! Read ahead here:
The Shape of Obsession - Chapter 7 - FeralPoetrycore - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]
Writer culture is squealing in pure joy at seeing a single kudos more on your fic in the morning and then falling into depression the same evening because you only got a three more that day
As Ember is cleaning one evening, she spots an old worn photo album, tucked away in an untouched corner. Unable to quell her curiosity, she lays it open on the coffee table, sitting on the couch to inspect it.
Inside, she finds a picture of a young Sokovian woman in a gorgeous white gown dancing gleefully with a young Zemo. The caption underneath says “Heike and Helmut wedding day: first dance.”
Zemo walks in from the other room, immediately spotting the album on the table.
“Does it bother you?” he asks softly from the doorway.
“You mean Heike? Of course not.” Ember glances at the photo again. “She loved you. We have that in common. If anything, I'd like to thank her for loving you in until I could. My only regret is that I never had the chance to meet that version of you. The young soldier.”
Zemo sits on the couch next to her. “I was a very different man. Losing my family changed me in ways that cannot be taken back.”
Ember takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. “I know. Should I put the album away?”
Zemo shakes his head. “No, it's been years since I lost them. Perhaps with you here I can finally face them.” He releases her hand and picks up the album, flipping to the beginning.
On the page is a young woman–bow in her hair–standing next to a young soldier. “This is Heike and I before we got married.”
Ember traces the edges of the photo reverently. “You look so happy.”
“I was. She was my everything in those days, then we had Carl and my world became even brighter.” He flips another few pages and shows another to Ember–a young Zemo with a small boy on his shoulders. Both are smiling brightly like they're sharing the best joke between them.
Ember's heart clenches. Even on their best days, she'd never seen him smile like that. “He definitely took after you.”
He just nods, eyes shining slightly with unshed tears. Ember notices and takes the album from him, closing it gently and setting it aside.
“That's enough for one day.” When he doesn't respond, she takes his hand in her own, tracing his knuckles with her thumb until he calms down.
“I apologize. I thought I was ready, but I suppose not.”
“It's okay, Helmut. You're allowed to hurt. You're only human.”
He squeezes her hand in response, and they sit there for a while—letting the painful, beautiful memories linger just a little longer.
So I have had no motivation to do Baronovember stuff for like a week now and I'm sorry for that. My peace offering is spoilers. This is a rough draft of a chapter of The Shape of Obsession that is kicking my ass.
---
“Hydra made weapons, not people,” Zemo spits, looking over the Winter Soldiers he just massacred.
Ember pauses, doubt flickering in her eyes. Her breath quickens. She thought he was the one person who saw her as more than a weapon, but it's clear she was mistaken.
“Is that what you think I am? A weapon?” She pulls back, retreating in on herself like covering a wound.
Zemo freezes, staring at her completely dumbstruck like he'd never seen her before. He'd been so blinded by revenge he didn't even think about how it might affect her. He knows she had been withdrawn lately; he thought she was just focused, but this… Oh, God.
He reaches out hesitantly, but she retreats further. He takes a shaky breath, looking between Ember and the dead soldiers. He hesitates and finally murmurs, “They chose this. You didn't.”
Ember lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding and finally meets his eyes. In them, she sees pain and regret, the Zemo she used to know, before he turns stoic again, clearing his throat as he turns away.
It isn't much, but it is reassurance enough that she isn't just an asset to the only person she ever dared to hope cared for her.
This chapter contains untranslated Spanish dialogue. See end of chapter for full translation.
New to The Shape of Obsession? Read chapter 1 here or check out the master list.
---
The safehouse was quiet. Too quiet. Dust coats every surface as Ember pokes her head into each room. Looking for exits. Looking for traps.
She can't stay still–checking every corner like the silence might bite.
She eventually runs out of places to look and sits on the couch by the fire.
Zemo is in the nearby armchair reading a book. Something snobby probably.
She shifts and repositions repeatedly. Never managing to calm down.
"Would you like something to calm your nerves? Tea perhaps?" Zemo asks without looking up.
Ember shakes her head, fists clenching and unclenching on the couch cushion.
She seriously doubts that leaf water would make her feel better. But she appreciates the thought.
Eventually she decides that a nap might help her relax, so she grabs a blanket off the back of the couch and lays down. Wrapping it around her like a cocoon.
She closes her eyes, finding it difficult to sleep with blood pounding in her ears, but eventually her exhaustion wins and she drifts into a fitful slumber.
Suddenly there is a bright light overhead. Blurring her vision. She tries to move. But something is holding her down.
Her breathing becomes rapid as she struggles weakly against the restraints. She's been drugged.
She can hear voices. Male mostly. Words like "E-417" and "tissue sample" drift into her ears.
Metal clinks from somewhere near her head. She tenses. "No," she croaks. Her vision blurring further.
"Hold still," says the male voice. A scalpel enters her line of sight.
"Por favor. No. No! NO!" she screeches as the hand moves closer.
There's a sharp tearing pain in her right eye. A scream rips from her throat.
Her skin burns. Her blood curdles. Her world goes white–then red.
BOOM!
Fire. Everywhere.
Engulfing everything.
Her eye suddenly snaps open and she bolts upright. Breath ragged. Heart pounding.
The couch. The fire. The safehouse.
She pats her face.
One eye there. One eye gone. Like always.
Zemo–still sitting in the chair–looks over at her. He marks his place in his book and sets it in his lap.
"You survived," he says. Soft. Almost gentle.
"I destroyed it," Ember pants
"They're gone," he agrees.
Silence settles between them. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just there.
They don't speak. They just stay.
And for once, that's enough.
---
Otra vez. El metal. El dolor. El fuego. Mierda. Duele. Duele. ¡Boom! Monstruo.
(Again. The metal. The pain. The fire. Shit. It hurts. It hurts. Boom! Monster.)
---
Translation Notes:
Por favor - Please
AO3 is already on chapter 11! Read ahead here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Sometimes I read a really good fic and then look at my own work and just die a little inside. I know I'm improving. The Shape of Obsession is my first real project in a decade, but damn when people talk about 3-6k word chapters and I'm looking at my 600-word chapter, it hurts.
Trying to write sex scenes is so aggravating because honestly describing sex is pretty boring. It's mostly just people putting bits of themselves on or inside other people's bits so you run into a lot of "they walked to another room" type problems where you can get caught up in just describing where everyone's limbs and shit are. What really makes smut interesting and hot, in my opinion at least, is sensory description but that's also hard because you'll be sitting there trying to find a new way to say "they were feeling sexual pleasure and it felt pretty good". Then you also have to figure out how to write dialogue that doesn't sound completely ridiculous and hackneyed. Really makes you want to just write "they boned down real good and it was totally hot trust me, it was definitely the kind of thing you'd want to jerk your shit to," and have done with it.
This was supposed to be smut, then Zemo begged and suddenly I had feelings. Oops.
Also, this is only like my second attempt at smut.
---
If someone had told either of them they'd be in this position eight years ago. They'd have laughed in their face. Zemo especially would never have imagined himself begging for pain. Not like this. Not with her.
But here they are, and Zemo… Well, he's the one asking.
“Please, draga. I need this,” Zemo murmurs, leaning back against Ember.
Ember cocks her head and extends her claws. “You really want me to scratch you? I've heard about this kind of thing, but I've never tried it before.”
Zemo nods. “The pain can be… grounding. Amongst other things.” He takes her hand and presses it to the growing bulge in his pants.
Embers eyes widen for a moment, then darken. “Shouldn't we have a safeword? I heard that's important.” She can't help but massage his crotch a little as she says this.
Zemo nods, biting back a moan. “Yes, I suppose we should. ‘Crown’ perhaps.”
“Works for me,” Ember hums, her eyes glued to the way his breath quickens under her touch. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Try not to leave any marks I can't hide. I trust you.”
That gives Ember pause. She never thought he'd let her see him like this, but now she can't look away. She leans down and kisses him deeply as she glides her claws lightly up his stomach and under his sweater. The pressure is just enough to leave pink lines in its wake without drawing blood.
Zemo moans into the kiss. “Harder, please draga. I need to feel it.”
Ember presses harder, experimentally drawing a tiny droplet of blood.
Zemo groans loudly, his hardon straining against his pants. “Yes, like that.”
Ember smirks, finding a strange satisfaction bubbling inside at the sight of the typically composed man writhing in her arms.
“I hope you're not attached to this outfit,” she murmurs, slicing through his sweater with a flick of her claw.
Zemo gasps in surprise, eyes blown as the fabric tears from collar to hem. His mouth opens and closes like he wants to protest but can't seem to formulate words at the moment.
“Ooh, you liked that,” Ember teases, trailing her claws up his abdomen, watching in fascination as his muscles twitch beneath them.
“I- Uh- Perhaps…” he pants, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Ember's gaze grows more intent with each moment, circling his nipple with her claw as her hot breath fans across his neck. The sensations cause him to shudder and her to groan from the sheer eroticism of the moment.
“You know,” she drags her finger lightly along his collar bone, “I wasn't expecting to enjoy this so much…”
Zemo whines, his usual sarcasm completely gone as if his brain had short-circuited.
Zemo groans into the kiss as her hand closes around his cock.
“Sh, I think that's enough for today, amor,” Ember whispers, covering his lips with her own as she retracts her claws and snakes her hand down his pants.
“Let go for me.”
With a strangled cry, Zemo falls apart in her arms, panting heavily and slightly out of it.
Ember kisses his hair softly and maneuvers them into a more comfortable position as Zemo starts to come out of his haze.
“Thank you, draga,” he murmurs weakly, eyes full of adoration as he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles.
“Anytime, amor. I think you just awoke something new in me.” She smiles softly, cradling him against her chest. “Now rest.”
