Summary:Y/N anxiously prepares for Helmut Zemo’s return, holding a secret—she’s pregnant. When he arrives, they share an emotional reunion, and he’s overjoyed at the news of their growing family.
Paring: Baron Helmut Zemo x reader
Words count: 2594
Daniel Brühl Masterlist | Masterlist
The soft hum of the rain tapping against the windows filled the quiet apartment, adding to the warm, cozy atmosphere Y/N had tried to create all day. She had spent hours preparing for this moment—cleaning, cooking, and nervously adjusting everything in the living room a dozen times.
The smell of dinner—a mix of Zemo's favorite dishes—lingered in the air, and soft music played in the background, trying to mask the excitement and nerves building within her. Y/N checked her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her eyes darting to the time.
He should have been home by now.
Helmut had been away on a mission for weeks, leaving her with nothing but sporadic, cryptic messages that barely hinted at when he might return. But today was different. Today, she was certain he'd be home. She had received a brief text earlier that morning, "Coming home tonight. Don't wait up."
Of course, she couldn’t just go to bed, not with the news she had been holding close to her heart, a secret she had been dying to share with him. She glanced down at the little box in her hands, flipping it open and shut nervously. Inside was a tiny pair of baby shoes—white and soft, with delicate lace around the edges. She smiled softly to herself, a rush of emotions threatening to spill over.
She had found out a few days after he had left. The initial shock had been overwhelming, but the idea of them starting a family had slowly taken root, filling her with a joy she hadn’t expected. Y/N could already imagine Helmut’s reaction, the way his eyes would light up, the way he’d pull her into his arms, overjoyed at the news.
The rain picked up, drumming harder against the window, and she glanced outside. The city was dark, a few lights flickering through the sheets of rain, but there was no sign of him yet.
Minutes felt like hours, and the worry she had tried to suppress started to creep in. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was hurt? But no, she pushed those thoughts away. Helmut was too skilled, too careful. He always made it back to her, no matter what.
She placed the baby shoes back in the box, setting it on the coffee table and rubbing her hands together nervously. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm glow over the room, but it did little to soothe her nerves.
Then, finally, she heard it. The unmistakable sound of keys jingling at the door, followed by the soft click of the lock turning. Her heart leapt into her throat as the door slowly creaked open, and there he was—Helmut Zemo, soaked from the rain, his hair tousled, but very much alive and home.
“Helmut!” Y/N exclaimed, rushing to him before he could even close the door behind him. She threw her arms around him, ignoring the dampness of his clothes as she buried her face in his chest.
“Schatz…” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was a softness in his tone as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, as if grounding himself after weeks away.
“I missed you,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She had missed him terribly, every moment he was away felt like an eternity.
“And I missed you,” he replied, pulling back slightly to look at her. His dark eyes were tired but filled with love as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, meine Liebe.”
Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection for this man she had chosen to spend her life with. But she could see the weariness in his expression, the way his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of whatever he had gone through. She knew better than to ask about the mission, not right away. There would be time for that later.
“You’re soaked,” she said, her voice tinged with concern. “Come on, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”
He nodded, allowing her to guide him toward their bedroom. She helped him out of his coat and boots, and then he peeled off his wet shirt, tossing it aside. His body was as strong and lean as ever, though she couldn’t help but notice a few new bruises marring his skin.
Y/N frowned, reaching out to touch one gently, but Helmut caught her hand, bringing it to his lips instead.
“It’s nothing,” he assured her, his voice low. “Just a few scratches.”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowed with worry, but he gave her a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was trying to protect her, as always, but she could see through the façade. He was tired—emotionally and physically—but he was here, and that was what mattered most.
“Come on,” she whispered, tugging him toward the bathroom. “A hot shower will help.”
Helmut didn’t argue, and soon the sound of water filled the space as steam began to rise around them. Y/N stayed by his side, helping him rinse off the grime of whatever battle he had been through. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch as she ran her fingers through his wet hair, massaging his scalp gently.
They didn’t speak, the silence between them comfortable and intimate, a reminder of how connected they were, even after all these years.
Once he was clean, she handed him a towel, watching as he dried off and wrapped it around his waist. His gaze softened as he looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he pulled her into his arms once more.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, his voice filled with a deep, unspoken gratitude.
Y/N smiled against his chest, her heart fluttering with love for this man who was always so strong, so capable, and yet so vulnerable in moments like these. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him.
“I made dinner,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Your favorite.”
His eyes lit up, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “You spoil me, Schatz.”
“Only because you deserve it,” she teased, leading him back into the living room where the food was waiting.
They settled on the couch, plates in hand, and for a while, they just enjoyed the meal in comfortable silence. But Y/N could feel the weight of the secret she was holding, the news she was so eager to share. She glanced at the small box on the coffee table, her heart pounding in her chest.
Helmut noticed the shift in her demeanor, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is something on your mind, Y/N?” he asked, setting his plate aside.
She hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. But then she took a deep breath, reaching for the box and holding it out to him.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.
Helmut’s eyes widened in surprise as he took the box from her hands, his expression curious as he opened it. His gaze softened instantly as he saw the tiny baby shoes nestled inside, his breath catching in his throat.
“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he looked up at her, his eyes searching hers for confirmation.
She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m pregnant, Helmut. We’re going to have a baby.”
For a moment, he just stared at her, as if trying to process the words. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—a smile so full of joy and love that it took her breath away.
“Meine Liebe…” he murmured, setting the box aside and pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped the back of her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she clung to him, feeling his love and warmth enveloping her completely. “I was so nervous,” she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”
He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands and looking into her eyes with a seriousness that made her heart skip a beat. “Y/N, there is nothing in this world that could make me happier than this news,” he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “You and our child…you are everything to me.”
She smiled through her tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his love. “I love you, Helmut,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
“And I love you, more than anything,” he replied, pressing his forehead against hers. “Thank you…thank you for this gift.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, holding each other close, their hearts beating in sync. The rain outside had slowed to a gentle drizzle, the soft patter against the windows a soothing backdrop to the moment they were sharing.
Finally, Helmut pulled back, a playful glint in his eyes. “I suppose I’ll have to be extra careful on my missions from now on,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “I have more than just you to come home to now.”
Y/N chuckled, wiping away her tears. “Yes, you do. And you’d better keep that in mind.”
He smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly, his lips lingering against hers as if savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with a tenderness that made her heart swell.
“We’re going to be a family,” he repeated, his voice filled with awe as if he was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. His hand moved gently to rest on her stomach, his thumb tracing small, tender circles over the place where their child grew.
Y/N placed her hand over his, the warmth of his touch sending a wave of comfort through her. “Yes, we are,” she whispered, her voice full of love and certainty. “Our little family.”
Helmut’s eyes shone with emotion as he stared down at her, his usually composed demeanor softened by the weight of this new reality. He had faced countless challenges, confronted the most dangerous of foes, and yet, this moment—this simple, beautiful moment—was enough to bring him to his knees.
“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family of my own… I never thought it would be possible after everything that’s happened. And now, here we are…”
Y/N smiled, her heart breaking and healing at the same time. She knew his past was riddled with pain and loss, and she understood how much this meant to him. “You deserve this, Helmut. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
He shook his head slightly, his expression one of disbelief. “I don’t know if I deserve it, but I’m not foolish enough to let it slip away. You and our child…you’re my future now. My purpose.”
She could see the determination in his eyes, the promise that he would do everything in his power to protect them, to give them the life they deserved. It was a vow unspoken, yet she felt it in every fiber of her being.
Helmut gently pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered again, the words heavy with gratitude. “Thank you for giving me this gift, for giving me hope.”
Y/N’s heart swelled with love for him, a love that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second. “You’ve given me so much, Helmut,” she replied softly, her fingers threading through his as they rested on her stomach. “This is our gift to each other.”
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the reality of their future slowly sinking in. It was a future filled with the unknown, but for the first time, they faced it together, not just as partners, but as a family.
After a while, Y/N broke the comfortable silence, her tone laced with playful curiosity. “So… have you thought of any names yet?”
Helmut chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, breaking through the seriousness of the moment. “Already? You’ve only just told me!”
Y/N laughed, the sound light and full of joy. “Well, we should get a head start, don’t you think? We need to be prepared.”
Helmut’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he considered her words. “True. But I think we should take our time. We have many months ahead of us to decide.” He paused, his gaze turning thoughtful. “But if I had to choose… something traditional, perhaps. Something with meaning.”
Y/N nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. “Something that honors your heritage, maybe? A name that connects our child to their roots.”
Helmut’s expression softened, a deep pride flashing in his eyes. “Yes,” he agreed, his voice low and serious. “Something that carries the weight of history, but also the promise of a new future.”
She could see how much this meant to him, and it warmed her heart to know that he was already thinking of their child’s legacy. “We’ll find the perfect name,” she assured him, leaning into his embrace. “One that represents everything we’ve been through, and everything we’re going to build together.”
Helmut kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering there as if sealing a promise. “We will,” he agreed. “And no matter what name we choose, our child will know they are loved. That is the most important thing.”
Y/N sighed contentedly, feeling a sense of peace settle over her. This was what she had always dreamed of—a life filled with love, a future full of hope. And now, with Helmut by her side, that dream was finally becoming a reality.
As the evening wore on, they talked about their plans for the future—the changes they would need to make, the things they would need to prepare for. They discussed where the nursery should be, what color to paint the walls, and how they would balance their new responsibilities. It was a conversation filled with excitement and a little bit of fear, but most of all, it was filled with love.
Eventually, the exhaustion of the day caught up with them, and they found themselves curled up on the couch together, the warmth of the fire lulling them into a comfortable drowsiness. Helmut held her close, his arms wrapped around her protectively, his hand resting on her stomach as if to keep their child safe even in his sleep.
Y/N looked up at him, her heart swelling with love as she watched him drift off. There was a contentment in his expression that she hadn’t seen in a long time, a peace that came from knowing they were finally moving forward together.
And as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his chest, she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—united by the love they had for each other, and for the family they were about to start.
In that moment, Y/N realized that the future was no longer something to be feared. It was something to be embraced, something to be cherished. And with Helmut by her side, she knew they would create a life filled with happiness, love, and endless possibilities.
As sleep finally claimed her, Y/N’s last thought was of the tiny heartbeat growing inside her, a new life born out of the love she shared with Helmut Zemo—a love that would carry them through anything.
The rain outside had stopped, leaving the night quiet and still. And in the warmth of their home, their hearts beat as one, full of love, hope, and the promise of tomorrow.
A/N: This piece is part of the Sexy September Scribbles challenge, hosted by myself and @soelstress Sep 15th: Beg prettier, sweetheart- I know you can
You were naked in his lap, every inch of your skin exposed, flushed and damp with sweat. Zemo remained perfectly clothed beneath you, his tailored trousers pressed sharp against your thighs, his cock thick and hard beneath the fabric. The contrast burned, your body raw and wanting, his untouched, controlled.
His hand guided yours, forcing the buzzing toy down between your legs. It dragged over your entrance first, cruelly teasing the slick folds before circling your clit in a merciless hum. You gasped, thighs jerking, but he only tightened his grip to keep you there.
“Nein,” he murmured, his voice calm, cutting. His lips brushed your temple, breath warm against your skin. “You’ll take it like this.”
“Helmut, please,” you whimpered, shifting in his lap, desperate to grind down on the thick length you could feel straining beneath his trousers. “I need you, I need your cock…”
He caught your jaw in one hand, tilting your face up until your wide, tear-bright eyes met his. His thumb pressed your lips open, smearing spit across them.
“That is begging?” His gaze was steady, dark with amusement. “Nonsense. Beg prettier, sweetheart, I know you can.”
Your body betrayed you, cunt clenching hard, wetness spilling, down over your, then over his trousers. You tried again, softer, sweeter. “Please, Helmut. I’ll be good. I’ll take you all, I swear- just give me you.”
His smirk curved slow, cruel. “Better. Almost.”
The toy buzzed cruelly against your clit again, harder now, your whole body convulsing as slick gushed hot over him. Your orgasm hit like a whip, sharp and unbearable, and he kissed you through it, filthy and consuming, swallowing every desperate cry.
When he pulled back, he glanced down at the mess soaking his fine wool. His cock twitched beneath, untouched. His voice was velvet and unyielding.
“Again,” he whispered. “You’ll come undone for me like this until I am satisfied.”
Summary: The reader meets Zemo when there's a threat to her life. But through the years, it brews into something unspoken.
Warnings: Violence, blood, guns, un-aliving.
Note: The beginning of this is very action-packed with violence and mentions of blood. But it eventually becomes fluff. This is a very different format and something I've rarely written before. But it was very fun to write something thrilling.
The deal had been simple: take the flash drive from a grim-faced man in a Budapest café to an address scribbled on the back of a napkin. No questions asked. The pay was unusually generous, but she’d been behind on rent and out of options.
But from the moment she left the café, something felt off.
She noticed them two blocks later—a black sedan in the rearview mirror of a bakery’s glass door. Then again outside a cafe. She picked up her pace. Halfway to the drop, a man intercepted her in a narrow alley, demanding the drive. He had a giant knife that made chills run down her body. It was a situation she had never been in before. She froze, despite every instinct in her body screaming at her to run.
He was dressed in a tailored coat that didn’t belong in the grime of the alley. His presence was quiet but commanding—a ghost forged from silk and steel. His movements were smooth, methodical. In his gloved hand—a gun, already raised and steady.
Before she could scream, before her assailant could even turn fully, the shot rang out.
The man crumpled in a heap in front of her. A dull, sick thud echoed through the alley.
She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes were still on the body when the stranger approached — calm as if he'd just closed a door, not ended a life.
She staggered back a step, heart hammering.
He reached for her wrist.
Not rough — but firm. Controlled.
Her skin burned under his grip.
“You’ve become very inconvenient to some dangerous people,” he said low, almost under his breath. His accent was clipped, refined. European. Cold as winter glass.
She blinked up at him, dazed. “W-who are you?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he glanced down the alley once — quick, calculating — then pulled her with him.
They moved fast. The city was a blur of distant sirens and flickering neon. The wet cobblestones below mirrored the dim lights, she could hardly keep up. He didn’t slow down.
She barely noticed the car until he opened the door and motioned her inside.
“I—I don’t understand—”
“You don’t need to,” he cut in, voice quiet but final. “Get in.”
Some part of her still screamed not to trust him. But she got in anyway.
Because the man in the alley hadn’t hesitated to kill her. And this one hadn’t hesitated to stop him.
He slid into the driver’s seat without a word, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb as though they weren’t fleeing a murder scene. Her breaths came short and shallow, fogging up the window in uneven bursts.
Her hands shook in her lap.
What the hell just happened?
Her thoughts came in flashes, chaotic and sharp —
The man in the alley.
The glint of the knife.
The crack of the gun.
The stranger’s gloved hand on her wrist.
The splattered blood.
She pressed her palms against her thighs, as if anchoring herself. But her mind wouldn’t stop racing as fast as her heart.
What is this?
What have I gotten myself into?
She had told herself the job was easy. Just an easy courier gig. A quick drop, fast cash. The woman who gave it to her made it sound so clean — professional. “Discretion pays well,” she’d said with a wink.
Except no one mentioned men with knives.
No one mentioned blood in the streets.
No one mentioned dying.
She risked a glance at the man beside her — his eyes on the road, calm as ever, like this was just another errand. No tension in his shoulders, no hint of adrenaline. As if taking a life was just... expected.
And yet, he’d saved her.
She should’ve been grateful. But all she felt was the burn of uncertainty gnawing at her chest.
“Where are we going?” she asked, voice cracking despite her best efforts.
He didn’t look at her. “Somewhere safe.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“It’s not meant to.”
She flinched at the echo of his earlier words. Smooth. Cold. Deliberate.
“I don’t even know who you are.”
He finally glanced her way — brief, assessing. “Then it’s probably best you don’t ask questions.”
Her stomach twisted. She could feel a threat of bile creeping up her throat.
“So that’s it? I just go with you? Trust that you’re the one good guy in all of this?”
“Good?” He almost laughed — not cruelly, but like the idea was absurd. “No. But right now, I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”
Silence stretched between them.
She turned back toward the window, watching the city lights blur into the darkness.
What do I do now?
Do I run? Finish the job? Turn over the drive and pretend that nothing happened?
The money hadn’t even been that much.
Not this much.
Not die-in-an-alley-alone much.
Her fingers twitched at her coat pocket — where the USB still sat. She hadn’t even looked at what was on it. She thought it was better that way. Safer. But now? Now it felt radioactive.
Was it worth her life?
She didn’t realize she was shaking her head until he spoke again.
“You’re wondering if you made the wrong choice.”
She looked at him, startled.
He didn’t turn away from the road. “You did. But we all do, at some point. What matters is what you do next.”
The words sat heavy in the space between them, but somehow steadied her — like she was finally allowed to admit how far over her head she really was.
She didn’t answer him.
Not yet.
But she stopped shaking.
Inside the car, she sat stiffly as he took the wheel. Her thumb rubbed against the smooth surface of the USB hidden in her coat pocket like a ticking bomb. She didn’t understand what she was carrying. But now it had gotten someone killed — almost her, too. She didn’t know what was worse: the people chasing her, or the stranger now driving her to an unknown destination.
The city had long since disappeared behind them the longer they drove. The sharp glare of the neon signs gave way to the murky shadows of pine trees, cast long by the car’s headlights. The road narrowed with every mile, snaking into the hills like something forgotten.
She kept sneaking glances at him — the man who had saved her from a knife-wielding stranger an hour ago, only to say nothing as he pulled her into a sleek black car and drove like he already had the next twelve moves planned.
“Where exactly are we going?” she finally asked, her voice a little too tight to pass as casual.
Zemo didn’t glance her way. “A stop. Just a precaution.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” he replied evenly.
She stiffened in her seat. Every instinct in her screamed to demand more, but something about the calm in his tone — measured, lethal — told her he wasn’t one to be prodded. Not now. Not yet. Not until she had a plan for herself.
They veered off the paved road and onto gravel. Pine trees pressed closer on either side, tall and unmoving. Then, the headlights lit up a clearing — a solitary cabin, aged and weatherworn, with a flickering porch light that buzzed like it resented their presence. Another cabin stood in the distance, barely more than a silhouette through the trees.
Zemo killed the engine.
The car sank into an uneasy silence as the heater cut off.
“Wait here,” he said, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait—what’s in there?” she asked quickly, heart already racing. “What are you doing?”
He paused, giving her a look that offered no comfort — but oddly, no threat either. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft, final click.
She watched him cross the gravel in long, unhurried strides, his coat flaring slightly behind him like a shadow that moved with purpose. He knocked once. The cabin door opened. Then he disappeared inside.
And the silence came back.
Her breath fogged the inside of the window. She scanned the treeline for movement, any sign of other cars, other people. Nothing. Just towering pines and a creeping chill that didn’t quite come from the air.
She told herself she wasn’t scared. She told herself to trust the plan — except she had no plan. Only a flash drive in her coat pocket that had gotten someone killed, and a stranger who’d saved her.
Something inside the cabin shattered.
She flinched.
Then the first shotgun blast ripped through the stillness.
She screamed and ducked, hands over her ears, heart slamming against her ribs. Another blast, louder. Closer.
She stayed down. Frozen. Helpless.
The seconds that followed dragged on. Her knuckles were white on the seat edge, breath coming too fast. If Zemo was dead—if someone else was coming out of that house—she had no idea what to do. No signal. No weapon. Nowhere to run.
Meanwhile inside, Zemo wiped the blood from his switchblade with a dirty kitchen rag before slipping it back inside the pocket of his coat. His eyes searched the room, and when he deemed nothing was of use, he headed outside.
The cabin door creaked as he pushed it open.
Her heart thundered against her chest as the sound of footsteps approached her. Gravel crunched under heavy boots. Closer. Unhurried.
The driver’s side door swung open. Her head whipped up from her lap to find Zemo sliding back into the driver’s seat.
“Why—why are you taking your sweet ol’ time? I heard a gun go off!” Her voice cracked as she scolded him while he slipped into the driver’s seat. “W-What if they come after us?”
“He won't. It's taken care of.” He said, turning the keys into the ignition.
She stared at him, searching his face for something—anything—that hinted at remorse. But then she saw it. Just barely: a smear of blood nestled in the shadow beneath his jaw, and a darker stain where the edge of his turtleneck kissed his collarbone.
The realization sank down. The man before her—calm and poised had killed the person inside the cabin. And he made her an accomplice to that murder.
The way he buckled his seatbelt so casually made her stomach twist. No urgency. No guilt. Just quiet efficiency. She knew then—she didn’t have any chance of escaping this situation alive.
A cold realization settled over her like frost on glass. The elegant mask he wore, the polished and disarming smile and charming eyes, cracked.
She turned toward the windshield, shoulders tight, trying to regulate her breathing. Her gaze drifted to the road, but she wasn’t seeing it—like it was a blur. Her mind was racing of all the horrible ways she was going to die, heart thundering against her ribs.
Zemo, for his part, remained composed, but not idle. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against the wheel in a soft, steady rhythm. Beneath the calm exterior, his mind was already ten steps ahead, weaving new contingencies, tightening the web. His brow furrowed as he thought—calculating, not callous.
The silence in the car stretched long and thin, broken only by the low hum of the heater as it filled the space with dry warmth. But despite the heat, he felt the shift in the air—an invisible chill that settled over her, radiating from the tension in her spine and the white-knuckled grip of her fingers.
Zemo’s eyes flicked toward her, catching the rigid line of her posture, the way her breath snagged just slightly in her chest. She was trying to stay calm. Trying not to look shaken. But he noticed.
“This warm enough?” he asked quietly, his voice smooth, the accent curling around the words like silk.
Her answer was curt. “Yes.”
He knew this—knew what it was to have the aftermath hit harder than the moment itself. And he also knew this wasn’t the life she was used to. He turned his head slightly toward her, eyes still on the road.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. If I was going to, I would have already.” he said, his voice low, even, but not emotionless.
“Then why am I here?” She asked.
He didn’t answer at first. It looked like he was calculating how much information he should be divulging to her.
“It’s until we deliver the package, and you’re out of danger. You don’t know what you got yourself into.” He answered.
“Then tell me.” She twisted toward him.
“It’s better if you don’t know.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the road, “Right, cause not knowing what’s coming for me is going to help me be safe.”
“You just need to stick by me and you’ll be fine.” He reassured her.
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re sweet on me now?” she said, arching a brow, injecting just enough teasing defiance to mask the crack in her composure.
He smirked, the kind that never reached his eyes—too practiced, too deadly. “Is that so hard to believe?”
She scoffed, gaze flicking toward him. “You haven’t convinced me otherwise.”
His smirk deepened, a glint of mischief dancing behind his eyes. “There’s time for that.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hands slowly ease from their rigid state. Her fingers unfurled, resting—tentatively—on the tops of her thighs. She didn’t look at him, but the shift was enough. He let himself lean back slightly in his seat, the smallest sign of relief loosening the tension in his jaw.
His voice—calm, unwavering—was exactly the thing that had made her trust him in the first place. Too calm. Too certain. A blade hidden in silk.
But she couldn’t let him know that. She couldn’t let him see the way his presence, maddening and magnetic, had wormed its way past her defenses.
The silence that followed thrummed with tension—not fear anymore, but something charged, something that teetered between a challenge and an invitation.
The road stretched on in silence for a while.
The heater’s low hum filled the space between them, but the air inside the car felt too warm now. Claustrophobic, almost. She shifted in her seat, legs crossing and uncrossing, trying to shake the weight of his presence from her thoughts. But the more she tried to ignore it, the more it loomed, pressing against her ribcage.
She could feel him glance at her again—brief, measured—but enough to make her stomach tighten in anticipation. She was sure he knew what that silence meant.
“You’re quiet,” he said at last, not looking at her.
“Maybe I’m still processing the fact that I may or may not be aiding and abetting a murderer.”
“Alleged,” Zemo said smoothly, as if correcting her. “And I never said you were aiding. You’re simply… keeping me company.”
She turned toward him with an incredulous look. “Right. And the blood on your sweater was part of your cologne?”
He didn’t smile—but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Eau de vengeance. Limited edition.”
It coaxed a chuckle from her—against her better judgment—and looked out the window again before he could see the reluctant smile tug at her lips.
That was the first time she met Zemo.
And yet, somehow, after that night—after the tension and mistrust cooled just enough to let opportunity seep in—she started working for him. At first, it was just information. A message here, a name there. Then the jobs got riskier: handoffs with no backup, codes that couldn’t fall into the wrong hands, nights that didn’t end until sunrise.
He taught her things she never thought she’d need to know. How to disappear in plain sight. How to read a room—and when to clear it. How to fight without mercy when the moment demanded it.
And how to trust, just enough, to survive.
Not many people got close to Zemo. She wasn’t sure she had, even now. But whatever this thing between them was—it started there. In that car. With a bloody sweater, a smirk, and a quiet war neither of them was willing to name just yet.
Over the years, their partnership had become a familiar rhythm—an arrangement born of necessity and honed by survival. Trading intel, covering escapes, sharing brief glances that said more than words ever could. They weren’t coworkers—not friends—not exactly. But they weren’t strangers either. Somewhere between the jobs and long stretches of radio silence, something had settled in—a kind of trust. Quiet. Unspoken.
So when he called after months of nothing, there was no alarm in her chest. Just a location. A time.
She didn’t think twice.
The safehouse was buried deep in the woods, a manor swallowed by ivy and moonlight, its silhouette half-forgotten by time. She expected schematics, maybe a briefing, the usual cryptic outlines of whatever he’d pulled her into this time.
Zemo parked with his usual precision, stepping out of the car and immediately moving around to open her door before she could reach for it herself.
She blinked at him.
“Chivalry now?” she asked, arching a brow.
“Hardly,” he murmured. “I merely enjoy the illusion of civility.”
She stepped out, brushing past him. His cologne clung to the cold air between them, subtle but intoxicating. Everything with him was intentional, designed, luxurious.
Inside, the house was warm. Too warm. The fireplace was already lit, two wine glasses already set on the coffee table. Something in her paused, just for a moment. Not fear—he wasn’t a threat to her. But still, she scanned the room like a habit.
He shed his coat, hung it with careful precision. She lingered by the doorway, unsure whether to sit, to ask, or just wait for the real reason he’d brought her here.
Zemo tilted his head. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the velvet sofa. “I’ll get you something warm.”
She didn’t move. “What’s the occasion?”
He paused mid-step, then turned back slowly.
His mouth curved into something not quite a smile. “Just wine. And perhaps a moment to breathe.”
That gave her pause.
He crossed to the decanter, poured two glasses, and offered her one without preamble. She took it, fingers brushing his. Warm. Steady. Like he was grounding her on purpose.
They sat. Not touching. But close enough to feel the tension rise like steam from the fire. The silence stretched.
“You don’t do things without reason, Zemo,” she said, arms crossing.
He studied her for a long moment, then walked to the bar to grab a bottle of wine, his movements practiced, elegant.
“You’re right,” he said, returning and offering her one. “I don’t.”
He didn’t sit—he hovered, leaning against the edge of the fireplace, watching her like she was another puzzle to solve.
“So what’s the reason, then?” she asked, tilting her chin up defiantly.
The firelight played across his face, catching the gold in his eyes, softening the sharpness of his cheekbones. He looked almost vulnerable. Almost.
He turned slightly, eyes catching the firelight. “Because I wanted to see you.”
A long silence stretched between them. Just the crackle of the fire. The thrum of her heartbeat.
She hated how her breath caught in her throat. Hated how sincere he sounded—how sincere he looked.
Because every time, it chipped away at her. Every time, it made her heart race with the kind of anticipation that terrified her.
“You wanted to see me…” She echoed the words like they were in another language, like they might rearrange themselves if she said them enough. “Zemo, what are you doing?”
He didn’t move closer. Just leaned back slightly, gaze steady. Watching her like he was memorizing every detail.
“I’m being honest.”
That… wasn’t the answer she expected. And it landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Her heart started a slow, uneasy climb in her chest.
The room didn’t shift—nothing physical—but something in the air did. Like gravity had changed its mind. Like the world had leaned in to listen.
“You’ve been there when you didn’t have to be,” he said. “You’ve seen me at my worst—and you didn’t look away. And somewhere in the spaces between all that… I started looking for you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.”
Her breath stilled.
He crossed the room—not to reach for her, but to close the space between them. Not with touch. Just presence.
“You weren’t expecting this.”
“No,” she breathed, voice barely audible.
She met his eyes then, as if pulled by something magnetic. Her defenses thinned in the silence, disarmed by the steadiness in his gaze.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted, voice caught somewhere between awe and fear.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… didn’t want to hide it anymore.”
That undid her more than anything else. Because it didn’t feel like a trick. Not a trap.
Just the quiet creak of a door, finally opening.
Her lips parted, her breath shallow. It hurt to breathe and not move. To sit in this moment and not leap or run.
“When you’re angry with me,” he said, voice softer now, “it lingers. It stays with me. And when you’re close… I think better. I feel steadier. I’ve grown to rely on you. Much more than I lead on.” He swallowed, smile faint and flickering. “This—whatever this is—it’s real. At least for me.”
She looked at him like she was trying to make sense of a dream.
“Why are you telling me this now?” she asked, and it came out softer than she meant it to. Like it was already affecting her, no matter how tightly she held the line.
“Because,” he said, and his voice dropped, low and raw, “if I don’t say it now… I’ll find a dozen reasons not to. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want more.”
The room went still again. But not with silence. With tension. With breathlessness.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth—for half a second too long—and she hated herself for it. Hated how her body betrayed her before her mind caught up.
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Not yet.
She kept her eyes on the fire, its flickering light catching the edges of her face, painting her skin in gold and shadow. Her pulse was a storm behind her ribs, her chest aching with everything she wasn’t ready to say.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she murmured.
“I don’t need you to say anything,” Zemo said. Still kneeling. Still patient. “But I think you want to.”
Her eyes flicked toward him—wary. Unwilling.
But something in her cracked under the weight of it. And damn him, he was right.
“You confuse the hell out of me,” she whispered.
“I imagine I always will,” Zemo murmured, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
But there was no mockery in it. No slyness.
Just something warm.
And real.
She looked at him fully, her expression tight with a thousand unspoken thoughts. The room felt impossibly quiet—like even the fire was holding its breath.
Zemo leaned in slowly, cautiously, as if every movement was weighed and intentional. His fingers brushed the side of her cheek, pausing just at the hinge of her jaw. She felt the warmth of him even through the soft leather. Her breath hitched.
And then—his hand shifted. The tips of his fingers slipped through the strands of her hair, tucking a lock gently behind her ear. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Tender. His gaze never wavered.
“You always do that,” she said, her voice soft but accusing.
“What?”
“Touch me like I’m… precious.”
His hand lingered at the side of her face, thumb brushing just beneath her cheekbone.
“Because you are,” he said quietly, his accent curling around the words like silk.
The sentence lodged in her throat like something too big to swallow. She felt her chest rise—sharp, uneven—and her eyes burned, not from sadness, but from the sheer weight of being seen. Not as a tool, or a game, or a weakness. Just… her.
He leaned in just a little more. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. Close enough that her heartbeat stumbled. But he didn’t kiss her—not yet. He gave her the choice.
She didn’t move away.
Her hand lifted, almost hesitantly, fingers curling into the lapel of his coat like she needed something to hold on to—something solid to anchor her.
“Helmut…” she said, a warning in her tone that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yes?”
“This is not like you.”
“No,” he agreed, voice soft. “It isn’t.”
The silence between them was thick—not awkward, but full. Brimming. Her heartbeat loud in her ears. The glass in her hand felt too heavy, too warm.
“You know,” she said finally, voice quieter now, “You’re very good at making something feel real.”
His expression didn’t flicker. “And what if it is?”
Zemo set his own glass aside. Walked to her slowly, like he was moving through something fragile. Like if he moved too fast, it would all break.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “It’s not a demand. It’s just the truth.”
A beat passed.
Another.
“I was never supposed to let you in,” she said. “But somehow you’re already inside.”
He nodded. Quiet. Understanding as he sat beside her.
“That’s how it felt for me too.”
Finally, she looked up.
There it was—that stillness in him. Not guarded, not calculating. Just present. He looked at her like he was memorizing her features for the last time. Like everything unsaid was written on her face, and he was trying to read it before it vanished.
His thumb brushed her cheek, achingly gentle.
His eyes—deep brown, steady and warm—never wavered.
“You’re dangerous,” she whispered.
He smiled—barely. “So are you.”
Her breath shook, but she didn’t look away. Her lips parted slightly, and the tension between them hummed louder than the fire, louder than the music, louder than everything else.
And still, he waited.
She moved first. Just a fraction. Enough to coax him closer.
The kiss was quiet. Earnest. Years of not saying what they meant poured into the softness of parted lips and shared breath. It wasn’t about hunger. It was about relief. The kind that only comes when something long-denied finally unfolds.
Winter’s bite. Helmut Zemo x Reader. Smut, bondage, s/m dynamics, brief wounds/broken bones, post-unsnapping. This is a conversation, a persuasion, an attack on dignity and a breaking-open of the hollows left inside those who were gone-then-not. Zemo has some trouble dealing with loss.
—-
Hey, yeah, listen. I know it’s been a while, and I guess maybe you’re not so thrilled to see me but here we are and you said talk, so I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen; maybe you’ll find those little tells you’re hoping for. There’s been all this running and hiding and yeah, sure, a little bit of dying— but don’t hold it against me. It’s like this: here one minute and gone the next, which doesn’t matter much because if you’re nothing then you’ve got nothing to worry about, ya dig?
Well. Until everyone and their dog gets unsnapped and suddenly you’re looking at your own shinbones all wet and sticky because you were thirty feet up the side of a building that doesn’t exist anymore. Listen, I didn’t want to see my own marrow and I know you don’t want to hear about it either, but I’m one of the lucky ones. Lot of people were falling out of the sky, you know. They came back but their airplanes didn’t. And there’s others, too: so many of us were in the wrong place all of a sudden, part of the miraculous rebirth for less than a heartbeat before dying in some stupid way or other.
Maybe we just should’ve stayed gone. Maybe then there’d be at least an ending even if there was never any closure, but like. Coming back has been this weird no-man’s-land where I’m legally dead, physically alive, and mentally still five years in the past. So yeah. Maybe bringing us back was a mistake. Z doesn’t agree, but then again he’s real close with loss; he wears it on his chest in bloody ribbons and he’ll tell you no no, nothing personal, don’t take it so hard when he’s stepping on your neck. ‘Course it’s personal, though. It always is with him: he’ll take your eye for a slight, and for losing a loved one? Christ, he’ll burn the world. Don’t make him angry, and for fucksake don’t take from him, because he’s got a long memory and a hell of a lot of imagination in the whole pain-and-suffering department.
So anyway. I’m laying there with pins in my legs and my ears all full of beep beep beep every time my vitals go a little wacky, and this motherfucker comes strolling in with a face like he’s filing taxes— you know, that neutral if I must with just a tinge of murder underneath— and all he says is hmm. No hi how are you, no thank the stars you’re safe, just that look. He’s gonna take whatever’s in his head and let it eat at him until it all comes pouring out, and when it does— oh, it’s really gonna be something.
Like now.
Do you know why you’re here? he’s asking, but it’s not a question, not really. It’s a trap. Not like there’s anything to do but see this through; he’s real fucking good with rope and he’s made sure to get the knots right over the most painful pressure points. And it’s cold; everything he says hangs solid in the air, like he could grab hold of his you were gone, you left and drive it deep, past bone and meat right down to where my heart’s beating hard enough to crack ribs, and listen. Listen. Fuck. I know maybe this part makes you feel all icky but you’re gonna hear it anyway. And hell, maybe it’ll get you feeling all antsy. Maybe you’ll be jerking off to this in the middle of the night. I don’t mind.
I just wanna make sure you know he waited til all my bones were knitted together, all those strands of shredded muscle repaired and revitalized— and I don’t want to see another treadmill as long as I live; I walked backwards on that fucking thing for hours— he waited with the patience of a thousand fallen saints so he could wake me up one midnight with his gloved hand heavy over my mouth and and his breath carrying ice into my ear. You are well, he said, like he was talking about the weather, but you know it’s always winter wherever he goes. You are well, you are whole, but through all those years there was a rift in the world in the shape of your flesh.
So, anyway. Buckle up, big guy; I know you’re desperate to know where he’s gone, and I know it’s more than anger, more than vengeance; you think I can’t see it but it’s all over your face. You’re not as good a liar as you ought to be after— well. Don’t let me get off track here, not when I’m about to get to the juicy part. Now, where was I? Right.
So there I am buck-ass naked— ha— with my knees going all pitted from kneeling on concrete, tied up tighter than anything, and he’s even got mirrors all around because you know how Z is. You know he wants you to see exactly what he’s doing to you from every angle but it’s more than that: this way he can see the effect of every little thing he does, every tiny detail he adds to make sure he’s got you exactly where he wants you to be. If I could move enough to look down, I bet I’d see rice all over the floor, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was thousands of tiny garnets. Like I said, details. If he’s gonna make it hurt, you can bet he’ll do it beautifully.
Have you ever been fingered by a man in leather gloves? Listen. It’s— it’s a lot, especially when he’s crouched down right there with me, one hand wrapped around the ropes at my back and the other one two fingers deep and thrusting hard. No warmup, no preamble, just the sound of his boots, then that nasty spit-slicked do you understand grief? Have you felt the bile that chokes, or the bruises that bloom across your ribcage from the inside?
Five years. Maybe I can’t fathom it, but fuck can I ever feel it; the next time he moves that hand there’s another finger and he’s got to be spreading them wide as he can because between that and the leather I’m gonna split apart. Five years. Can you picture it? God, I hope you can. I hope you think about it later, when you’re alone and needing to get off so bad. Maybe I’ll think about you thinking about me and him, touching myself and feeling your eyes on me even from another room. Would you like that? Or would you like it better if I was bound, squirming and helpless, desperate for what I can’t have?
Either way, I want this right at the front of your mind: Zemo with his punishing hands, composure in shreds, pulling me apart from the inside and neither of us has any words left, just these snarls and whimpers all mixed together til it doesn’t matter who they’re coming from anymore. He made me come, of course he did; he ripped it right out of me with a twist and shove, every bruise tied together with this bright-burning silver thread.
You know I couldn’t help leaving; we’re alike in that regard, but has anyone ever given you what you’ve needed so badly since you came back? No. I can see it: you’re so full of guilt you haven’t earned, and sorrows you haven’t let yourself begin to feel. But you can take that rawness and put it to work; you’re a good man who got a bad deal and you have to know that. I see it; he sees it.
He’s on his way; any minute now those doors will open and he’ll be there with that half-smile, the one that says I’ve got a little secret; for all your efforts, you can’t find him until he wants to be found. You’ll see him dressed for the cold, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of his left hand. It’ll look artless, casual, but you know what it’ll mean. He’ll make you an offer— and you really, really oughta take it. After all, I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t worthwhile. And yeah, I know you were expecting to have to pry it out of me, maybe reach down deep for those parts of you that you wish you’d burned away, the parts of you that get answers out of tight lips, but here we are. Everything is on the table— well, not everything; there’s got to be something left for later, but I think you’ll find it in your favor— and everything I’ve said tonight is true.
It still aches, even now. I can still feel the stitching along the sides of his fingers, not to mention all those tiny pocked bruises on my knees, all those knots pressed deep, his coat buttons imprinted on my spine from where he fell against my back and let his words fall wetly on me. I will move heaven and earth to keep you here. You mustn’t doubt that. And I believe him, James. I really do.
summary: Fighting boredom and missing genuine human interactions you make it your mission to find out more about the Baron. He ignores your questions but tension builds up eventually, when you don't stop prying.
warnings/tags: fluff, smut, angst, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of torture, drinking, mild alcoholism, dark themes, slow build romance, not really Stockholm syndrome but that’s up for interpretation
chapters: 6/?
word count: 1.934k
pairings: Helmut Zemo x fem!Reader
author’s note:
Uhhh, it's been a minute. Whoopsie.
Here's the usual excuses of being busy with uni and real life responsibilities but if we're completely honest I did not really feel like writing and I think I needed a (quite long) break from this story but I am back and i had fun writing this!
Wrote this chapter pretty fast, so excuse the mess lol.
As usual, english not my first language bla bla bla.
Feedback is always appreciated and THANK YOU to whoever is still reading this and has not given up on me. I have the intention of finishing this... i just need time.
But as Zemo said: I have experience. And patience. A man can do anything if he has those.
Muchos besos mis amores <3
You can also find this work on
https://archiveofourown.org/works/43158162/chapters/119680711
The more time you spend talking to Zemo, the more intriguing it becomes to find out more about his person. He’s like a closed book, not giving you any more information than is visible on the cover. Little side notes sometimes helping your brain in forming a genuine personality around him. But it feels like a one-sided game. He asks you questions about your family and friends, your hobbies, your feelings and your morals but in return you get almost nothing.
Mentally you make a note to pay extra attention when talking to him. Taking in all the crumbs he gives you about his private life. It almost feels like a game, and it does keep you entertained.
With time you get bolder in returning his questions. Simple little inquires, which aren’t too intimate but when answered could reveal something.
It’s obvious that they annoy him, most times he won’t answer or even leave the room in a sort of nonchalant way which makes you even more curious. As if he didn’t hear you. But his ignorance doesn’t stop you from prying. He’s fast to tell you his values and morals in a general sense, yet he will not go into specifics about his actions or his past.
On one occasion, it was during your dinner-routine, he seemed to be in a particularly chatty mood and gave you quite a few personal insights, so you figured it might just be okay to ask him about his family. You were both indulging in some whiskey and at the beginning it seemed to have lifted some of his secretive nature. You even catch him smiling at one point. Like a full-on laugh. But that changes immediately once you ask him about his son.
“So, what was Carl like? That’s your son’s name right? I think I read it in a news article somewhere?”
The noise of his cutlery clashing against the porcelain plate startle you. You immediately fix your gaze to your own plate, not wanting to look at his furious face and be reminded of the incident in his study. Your intentions were innocent enough but you knew you had overstepped a boundary.
Instead of rage or screaming, his eerie soft but sharp voice tells you it’d probably be best to retire for the night. You mumble a quiet “sorry” but he’s already out of the dining room.
With that you’re left alone, food half eaten and the light mood of the evening ruined.
It bothers you. The way his mood changes so dramatically.
It was difficult to navigate. On one hand you feel welcomed and heard and safe in his presence and on the other hand you feel like walking on very thin ice around him.
You were also sick of apologizing for asking questions. He seemed to know everything about you, yet you had no idea who the man you were staying with was.
For the next day he was nowhere to be seen. Your trust had been broken.
You decide to distract yourself with books and a cup of tea, spiked with rum to ease your nerves.
That evening you eat dinner on your own. Sulking in your own stupidity in thinking such a manipulative, egoistic man would open up to you.
You still couldn’t even figure out what his intentions with you were. What did he want? Why were you still here? After all, it has been two weeks or so.
Time seemed to fly by when you were in company with either the Baron or Oeznik, but when you were alone it was like living in a never-ending dream. Not necessarily a nightmare, but the sort of dreams that made you feel stuck and anxious.
After dinner you decide to lounge around the living room, nursing a glass of the expensive liquor stashed in a cupboard next to the bookshelves. Alcohol helps pass the time, you figure. You were staring at the words in a random book, absently touching the stitched up wound above your left eye when his voice interrupts your aimless thoughts.
“We should probably take out those stitches. The wound seems healed enough.”
It wasn’t a question or a request. It was a command to get up and follow him into the downstairs bathroom.
He instructs you to sit down on the edge of the bathtub, where he kneels in front of you, unpacking the medical kit which seems to have magically appeared. You feel yourself caught in a sort of haze, intimidated by the situation. You’ve never been this close to the man before.
Perhaps that time in the warehouse where he carried you towards safety but having him in front of you, on his knees, face so close you could feel the ghost of his breath on your cheek not only made you blush, but also tense up.
You try avoiding his keen stare, rather just looking down at your sweaty hands fumbling around nervously.
When you dare to look up for individual short moments you notice light freckles on his skin. Also some stubble on the cheeks. But his face seems soft, even with his focused gaze, eyebrows furrowed to assess the wound on your forehead.
Whenever you feel your staring becomes too intense or obvious and you look down again, his smell overtakes your senses. His cologne smells citrusy, mixed with notes of cedar wood.
You curse yourself for being so desperate. It must be your lack of social interaction with other humans besides him that makes you so overwhelmed with the closeness. Needless to say, it is an invasion of your private space, whether you appreciate it or not, you can’t really tell just yet.
After assessing the healing process of the wound Zemo mumbles a simple “looks good” and proceeds to take out tweezers and medial scissors.
It’s in that moment that he briefly catches your stare. For some unknown reason, instead of avoiding his eye, you decide to look right back at him. It’s probably only a fraction of a second but it feels like minutes of staring into each other’s eyes and by the time he finally concentrates on your forehead again you’re a wreck. Shaking even more than before and trying to breath as quietly as possible. What was wrong with you? Why did he have that effect on you?
He must have noticed your discomfort as he tells you that “it’s alright, just stay calm and relax” while he’s preparing to remove the stitches.
It really just isn’t that easy to relax when your brain decides to completely eliminate the function of self-control and all you can think about is the fact that your kidnapper/host/new-friend-who-also-happens-to-be-a-Baron-AND-a-terrorist is actually quite an attractive man and very caring and gentle when he wants to be. His fingers just ever so slightly ghosting over your skin, giving you goosebumps all over. Underneath all those rigid, strong features definitely lies something soft and vulnerable.
You try to calm yourself down, you really do. Closing your eyes and easing your breathing when Zemo suddenly burst your meditative bubble.
“He loved Turkish delights.”
Your eyes snap open, finding Zemo’s but he’s not looking at your confused expression, but instead focusing on the wound above your left eye. He senses your confusion though.
“Carl. My son.”
Now you were even more stunned. He was actually opening up. In all of the possible situations, he chooses to tell you about his son while being mere inches from your face. But you didn’t want to break the spell. Staying quiet and assuming he talked to distract you, why he chose such a personal topic, you didn’t know but you appreciate his story.
He tells you about how Carl was a tough kid. Nothing ever hurt too much and he wasn’t scared of anything, besides maybe wasps. But he most likely got that from his father.
He would come home from playing outside spotting bruises and cuts from branches or wounds from falling from his bike but he’d be so casual about it. Simply asking for a band aid, just to rip it off again after a few hours because it was “annoying on his skin”.
His mother was worried he’d be too reckless, but she knew he’d learned from his father to always calculate the risks.
It was only once, when he suddenly came running from playing with friends outside. When jumping over a little stream somewhere in the woods surrounding the Zemo’s Estate he must have slipped and cut himself quite deep on his shin on a sharp rock. The ever cool Carl he was, he told his friends it was nothing, just a scratch and he’d just get a band aid real quick.
He really did try to hold back the tears, but when he spotted his father sitting on the balcony and alarmingly getting up when he saw his boy limping towards him, blood running all over his legs, the tears came, even for tough Carl.
The wound was quickly fixed up, the tears dried and the mood lifted with a treat of Turkish Delights.
“With all my efforts, I've always encouraged him to freely express his emotions. And not to shy away from embracing his weaknesses.” He sighs.
“But then again, I suppose I wasn’t much of a role model in that regard.”
You don’t know what to say. You want to say something. Anything. Mostly you want to thank him for opening up. For telling you about something so intimate. Essentially telling you about his own failings. Making himself vulnerable, right in front of you.
“I think he still really looked up to you. And I don’t think you failed.”
It’s all you say.
Zemo has long finished taking out the stitches but he’s still there. Not having moved from his position and it seems you’re back to simply staring at each other.
In that moment he looks like a normal man. A bit of a broken man but a genuine one. An open book, really to be read and ready to be understood.
You catch yourself wanting to touch him then. Just softly run your hand along his cheek, or just give him a hug, a long one. You search his face, wanting to take in as much as possible, before the moment expires or worse: it turns out to have been a dream.
He’s doing the same, his stare dropping to your lips in an almost antagonizing rhythm.
It takes everything in you not to reach out. You’ve never been one to make first moves, and you feel it isn’t your place to take action or advantage of his vulnerability. So you wait, and continue to stare and hope he just leans in and kisses you already. You know it probably isn’t a good idea, but you also feel it to be something you both would need at the moment.
It could be your imagination but you feel as if he was leaning even further into your space, ever so closer, breath hitching and heart beating too fast, too loud in your chest….
“Right… the scar should heal quite nicely.”
It is pure disappointment. The way he pulls back in the last second, right before you could have tasted his lips, mumbling whatever about your scar. You just nervously clear your throat and thank him.
He’s stood up and is out of the bathroom before you can even think about saving the situation.
Needless to say, that night you can’t sleep. And for once, it’s not because of nightmares.
You lie there, wondering if his thoughts are circling around as well.
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!
When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn’t expect to bond with the villain. (Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, General Softness)
Trust (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3??) (Helmut Zemo x f!reader)
When Shield fell and your team betrayed you, you ended up on the run. Later when you blinked out and then back into existence, they finally caught up to you. Left for dead by Hydra, you’re saved by the most unlikely trio and find yourself connecting with the most unlikely of them all - Baron Helmut Zemo. (Hurt/Comfort, Angst)
It was a baron Helmut zemo X reader, the premise was that both were successful boat (Katamaran?) racers and rivals. Quite a few of the avengers were racers and reader raced together with Stephen strange for team ironman. The fic took place over the course of a racing season and I believe it had a enemies/rivals to lovers plot.
The fic was on Tumblr but I cannot find it for the life of me right now
