discipline.
| zemo x reader | smut |
requested. one shot about him like the Bucky and Loki safeword fic
cw: spanking, mentions of pain, use of safeword
a/n: I love this one 🤍
“You’ve made me incredibly angry with your behavior today.” Zemo’s words hung heavy in the air.
You wouldn’t even look at him, your gaze fixed on a point in the Baroque painting hanging on the opposite wall. You sat silent, your arms crossed over your chest in defiance.
Zemo’s emotion was pouring off of him in waves, the steam practically visible. You didn’t care how angry you made him, you were in a terrible mood and you wanted it to seep out and spill over everything. Your emotions were screaming inside of you, and you wanted to be destructive. You wanted to make Zemo as angry as you felt.
“Look at me when I am speaking to you!” Zemo grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him.
You instinctively raised your hand to strike him, but he caught your wrist in a tight grip just before you could hit him. Your heart stuttered when you saw the look in his eye, and you knew you’d overstepped your boundary.
Zemo’s patience with you was nearly unending. He put up with a lot— far more than any other dom you’d ever heard of. It took significant effort to rile the sokovian, but once you did, there was no going back.
“Zemo,” you started, the word coming out broken from your strained voice.
“You are never to strike me. We do not use violence to communicate, do I make myself entirely clear?” Zemo’s tone was dangerous, burning through you like acid.
You felt sick.
“Yes, sir,” you answered meekly, suddenly very ashamed of yourself and frightened by his tone.
A sharp sigh left him, brown eyes holding an intense gaze on you. His expression was filled with disappointment and anger, and he wrestled within himself to keep from lashing out.
“Why have you acted this way?” Zemo finally settled on the question, silently waiting for your answer.
“I don’t know,” you muttered, and he tilted your chin up.
“You’re really going to test my patience?” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I just feel bored and annoyed and I wanted to get under your skin,” you confessed, knowing from experience that honesty was the best route to take with Zemo.
“You’ve intended to antagonize me?”
So many questions. You hated being interrogated.
“I expect an answer.”
“Yes,” you sighed, exasperation edging at your tone.
Zemo was floored by the amount of disrespect he was receiving from you. It was out of character, but you were going to extremes today. Usually when you decided to act bratty, a single swat would take care of the behavior.
Now, you’d surpassed being a brat and Zemo was overwhelmed by your behavior. He held his will, trying not to show how much you’d managed to get to him.
You stood in his office, where you’d interrupted his work, and he was leaning against the edge of his desk, standing in front of you.
Both of you jumped when the door opened, breaking the suffocating tension between you.
“Sam, James, is it terribly important?” Zemo asked, his tone impatient.
“Yes, we need to talk about the reintegration strategies,” James nodded, earning a sigh from the baron.
“Y/N. Sit in that chair, and do not move.” He pointed to a brown leather chair in the corner of his office, and you gave him a sullen look.
After a brief hesitation, you obeyed, sitting down. You listened to them for a while, completely lost on what was being discussed. Zemo kept eyeing you as you shifted and squirmed, restless and anxious.
You felt trapped under his gaze, and you were fed up with being made to sit through the meeting. You stood, avoiding eye contact with Zemo as you left the office, blatantly disobeying his command.
He didn’t make a scene, not in front of the two men. Your sex life and dom and sub dynamics were kept private. Of course, living together, the men knew, but Zemo tried to limit those interactions when you had an audience.
Zemo watched you leave the office, fighting to contain himself and his frustration. Both James and Sam looked uneasy, but Zemo just ignored their discomfort, sending the tension between the two of you.
Once the meeting was done, he sat at his desk for a moment, gathering himself. He cleaned up his work before going to search for you. He found you at the table on your laptop, and he reached over you and closed the screen.
You stopped breathing for a moment, knowing you were finally about to face the consequences of your actions.
“Come with me,” his voice was low, and his hand went to your back, pushing you to stand and walk with him.
“Are you sorry for the way you’ve acted, or are you just sorry that you’re being punished?” Zemo asked when you murmured a nervous apology.
“Both.”
“Undress.”
He locked the door to your suite, ensuring you wouldn’t be interrupted by any unwelcome visitors. He slid his jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down before turning to watch your dress fall from your figure. It pooled around you at your feet, and you earned a hard stare as he waited for you to finish stripping.
“What’s your safe word?” Zemo asked as he closed your wrists together in leather cuffs.
“Draga.”
He tugged you forward by your bound wrists, causing your body to fall against his broad chest.
“You understand I am not doing this to be cruel?”
“Yes, sir.”
He bent you over the edge of the table, the glass top freezing against your skin. Your hands pressed against the glass under you, your head resting on the tabletop. It was just too high, your toes barely finding footing on the ground, leaving your entire backside on display and not awarding you any protection.
Zemo stared at you for several minutes, allowing you to grow even more uneasy. He saw goosebumps ride over your skin at the sound of his footsteps. You weren’t afraid of him, but you dreaded being punished, even though you knew that’s where you’d end up. You needed it, you couldn’t deny that, but it was always miserable.
He went to a box that kept your sex toys and various instruments inside, pulling it from the closet. You squirmed on the tabletop when you saw what he’d selected.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped, pushing yourself up with your hands.
“Get back down,” Zemo ordered sternly, completely fed up with your shit.
You were already in over your head, and you obeyed, not wanting to push the baron into torturing you further than necessary.
“No,” you choked as he unscrewed the jar he held.
His hand came down hard on your ass, just at the top of your thigh, pain blooming under the impact.
“Unless it’s your safe word, you will keep your mouth shut.”
You nodded meekly, biting back a cry of pain as he rubbed capsaicin cream on your sex, making you feel like you were being set on fire. He reserved it for your severe transgressions, knowing it hurt instantly and would leave you crying until he cleaned it off of your skin.
Your breathless gasp of pain hurt Zemo, and he was thankful you weren’t looking at him when he physically winced. He was serious about respect, and you needed to be punished, though he hated seeing you in pain, especially when you didn’t want it.
You flinched as he struck you with the leather strap in his hand. It was far more forceful than when he was spanking you for pleasure, the leather biting into your delicate skin. There was power behind his aim, practiced so he didn’t leave you injured, but enough to truly instill his discipline.
You dragged your fingers against the glass under you as he delivered several blows in fast succession. You felt like the burning in your skin was swallowing you, the pain receptors in your brain screaming. You forced yourself not to cry out, your breathing hard and unsteady. Tears slid down your cheeks and collected on the glass under your head as pink welts rose on your skin, white hot pain streaking through the skin as he hit the same spots.
Zemo swallowed thickly as you finally screamed, the burning on your clit and sex becoming so intense that you couldn’t contain the expression of pain. You writhed each time he hit you, physically unable to remain still.
You didn’t want him to be disappointed in you. You regretted your behavior, and you felt small and weak underneath him as he disciplined you. The pain scared you, fraying your nerves. You waited until it started to numb, but it never did.
“Draga!” You shouted, the word sharp in Zemo’s ears.
He set down the strap and immediately cleaned the capsaicin cream from your skin, the burning subsiding on your sex. Your ass and the back of your thighs were still horribly painful, red welts raised over the rosy, bruised skin that was hot to the touch.
“I’m going to untie you in a second, my love, just hang on for me,” Zemo said softly, his tone soothing.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you started to sob, the dam breaking. You folded in on yourself, weeping as Zemo gently rubbed your tender skin with pain relief gel.
“It’s alright, my love. I need you to breathe, you’re okay,” Zemo helped you stand, making sure you were steady on your feet before unbinding your wrists.
He held your face in his hands, and you leaned into his touch, gazing up at him with tearful eyes.
“I won’t disobey you like that again, please don’t hit me anymore,” you begged, your voice raw from crying. His heart broke at your words, though he knew it came from your subdrop, and you were confused, stuck in a cloudy head.
“I’m not, my love. We’re done, you took your punishment so well. I’m not angry, I just want to hold you. Will you let me?” Zemo asked, and you nodded, letting him pick you up. He was careful not to touch you anywhere that hurt, carrying you to the couch in the corner of the room.
He settled with you on his lap, your head buried in his chest. His arms snaked around you, holding you securely and gently rocking you, trying to calm you down.
He relaxed when your breathing evened out, and your eyes brightened. He handed you a glass of water, quietly encouraging you to drink. Your hands were no longer so shaky, and he brushed hair from your face.
“How are you feeling?” Zemo asked, setting the glass aside when you handed it back to him.
“Sore.”
“I’m sorry, love. I never meant to take it too far. Is there any way you could forgive me?”
You offered him a soft smile, knowing he feared truly hurting you. You touched his face, leaning up and giving him a kiss. Your fingers traced the curve of his jaw as you quietly told him that you loved him, and you were okay.
“I love you, more than anything. I hate to show you anything less than adoration.”
“I know. I won’t make you have to,” you promised, earning another kiss from your boyfriend.
The kiss slowly deepened, and you parted your lips, moaning softly. His tongue grazed yours before it became more sensual. His hand slid between your legs, gently stroking through your folds, replacing the discomfort with soft pleasure. He swallowed your tiny moans, easing two fingers past your tight ring of muscle as his thumb toyed with your clit.
“I want to make you feel good,” Zemo hummed, kissing down your jaw and throat. His lips pressed against your skin, making your arousal grow in a tight knot. Zemo’s fingers stroked your g-spot, knowing every inch of your body, expertly drawing pleasure from you.
“Zemo,” you whined into his neck, your face squeezing in as you felt pricks of electricity run through you.
“Let go, baby. I want to hear those beautiful sounds,” he hummed, his voice low. Your fingers gripped his white shirt and you came with a shudder, endorphins replacing the pain signals in your mind. You melted into Zemo, mewling softly as he continued to slowly finger you until you’d stopped shaking.
“Feel better?”
“Yes,” you sighed, laying your head in the curve of his shoulder.
“How about we clean up and have some dinner?”
You nodded, letting him carry you to a hot shower.