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Chapter Text

You should've known you'd end up in this position at some point. Seven weeks since leaving Riga and you had worn everything in your bag more than probably socially acceptable. Even the Baron resorted to wearing the classic jacket-and-ballcap look to be less conspicuous at times, only at your insistence. The fitting room you currently occupied was looking more like a tornado had blown through it than a person. Helmut insisted that you pick out a variety. Dresses, blouses, sweaters, and pants lined the walls and bench within the room. You glanced in the mirror. The jeans you had on fit like a second skin. They should for the price of them, you thought. Helmut did say he wanted to treat you - "for you, anything mein liebe."

The two of you had been in the shop for nearly an hour now. The staff followed the Baron likpuppies, placing all the items you chose into the fitting room for you. Helmut insisted you try on anything and everything that struck your eye. By now you were on outfit 14. 15 maybe? You lost count. “I really think we should have some sort of fashion show montage music playing. Really set the mood.”

Opening the door to show Zemo, you couldn't help but notice how his gaze slid up the length of your legs before settling on the curve of your ass. He only broke away when you spoke. "I really like these high waisted ones much better than the lower cut. Gotta contain the ‘fupa’ - keep that bad boy in," you laughed. You turned, wiggling your hips as you showed off the jeans.

Blinking once, Helmut cocked his head to the side, "contain the…. What?"

“The ‘fupa’.” The clueless look remained on his face, eyebrows scrunched. Oh he’s so adorable when he’s confused. Putting him out of his misery you gesture to the lower pouch of your stomach. “That’s what all the kids are calling it these days,” you explain, trying to sound cultured.

“I see…. It appears I am quite behind on what is considered young and ‘hip’ now.”

“Years in a maximum security prison will do that to you. Don’t worry - I’ll catch you up, old man,” you wink before closing the dressing room door.

Shimmying out of the jeans you pick the next item to try on. Leggings and a purple knit sweater; simple and comfy. You ready yourself to show Helmut, but when you open the door he’s no longer seated on the chair he previously occupied. Shrugging, you admire yourself in the 3-faced mirror along the wall. The sweater emphasizes the curves you like while hiding those you don’t.

Two outfits later and still no Helmut; you begin to worry that something is wrong. Opening the door once more you clutch at your chest in shock. He’s leaning on the doorframe, a sly smile on his face. “Jesus, Helmut - you nearly gave me a heart attack! Where’ve you been I was getting worried?” You glance down at the movement of his arm.

“I was on a mission,” he shrugged, his smirk never fading. Holding out the pieces of material, you see exactly what kept him from you. Sets of lace, ribbons, and straps were placed in your hands. Lingerie. “I have kept your preference for the high waisted, as you said you are more fond of it. Although, I would love you in anything…. Or nothing.” Your face heats under his stare. Turning to close the door, Helmut called out a “don’t be long now, liebling.”

Looking through the options you decided on the simple off-white babydoll and panty set first. Although quite transparent, you admired how delicate you felt. White was not always the most flattering color for someone trying to hide the softness of their body, but if Helmut picked it out there must be a reason. You certainly did look angelic. “Meine engel,” you could imagine him saying.

Next you grab a navy blue teddy. The mesh is covered in small polka dots of the same blue, featuring a sweetheart neckline, cinched waist, and cheeky backside. The cut felt vintage; add red lip and you could be a real pinup girl. As much as you wanted to show Helmut you didn’t think the shop owner would appreciate you traipsing around half-nude.

The last set you reach for is a deep purple. The same color as his mask, of course, you think. Three pieces make it up. Taking a minute to ensure each strap is correctly in place, you nearly gasp when you see yourself in the mirror. A balconette bustier presses your ample breasts up and inward in an obscene manner. Garter belt, sans stockings, clasped around your middle accentuates the narrowest part of your thick waist. The thong sits high on your wide hips, the globes of your backside on full display. You should feel entirely exposed. Instead you feel like an absolute goddess draped in his color. His goddess.

“I hope there is good reason for you to keep me waiting, schatz.” Zemo calls from the chair outside.

“Ye-yeah, I’ll be done in a minute,” you call out, not yet ready to leave the bubble you’ve found yourself in. Deciding that you don’t want to leave it, you find the next best solution. Ripping the price tag off the set you have on, you redress in the clothes you wore to the shop, all while leaving the lingerie underneath. You stuff your boring undergarments in your oversized purse and grab the items you are purchasing.

“I trust you found something you liked?” Helmut inquired, a hand on your back as he led you to the register.

“I did,” came your flippant reply.

Reaching the register you placed your items down before handing the removed price tag directly to the cashier with a smile. The Baron’s brow raised at the action for a moment before connecting the dots. A huff left his nose at the realization of which piece was missing from the pile, and thus where that set currently was. You ignored the way his heated stare bore holes into you.

Finishing the transaction, Helmut grabbed the bags before leading you out of the shop. Leaning in you placed a sweet kiss to his cheek, a whispered “thank you daddy,” in his ear.

“We should return home.” Helmut stood rigid, his pupils blown as he regarded you. The faint pressure of a growing hardness pressed into your hip. It was easy to guess what was on his mind.

Uh uh. That won’t do. You wanted to see him suffer. As much as he teased you the last few weeks with everything he did you wanted a taste of the action. To make him have to think about what you have underneath your clothes. About your body wrapped in his color. About all the things he wants to do to you but can’t. You decide to pretend not to notice his current predicament. Innocently as possible, you whine “already? I’m not done yet, I really wanted to visit the little bookstore up the block. And then I figured we could go get a cup of tea - I can catch you up on what us young folk are up to these days! Someone needs to educate you, so we might as well get to it!”

“Oh I’ll show you what is up, schatz,” Helmut growls.

You give him your best puppy dog look before he sighs. Pulling away from you to compose himself, you begin your journey to the bookstore, biting your lip in satisfaction. “Come on, boomer!” you yell. Zemo trails behind.

“I am in trouble…” he mumbles to himself.

Chapter Text

Zemo entered the kitchen and set his coat on the back of the chair. “Evening, liebe. How was your day?”

You walked over to him. The one nice thing about being quite tall was that you didn’t have to go far to reach his waiting lips. Giving him a soft peck, you hummed “it was good. I finally got to look over that set of documents from Belarus this morning. There wasn’t much that I didn’t already know in it. Although, it did confirm that the push for economic and social stability in the capital, as well as the implementation of some westernized practices, was not so that the BSSR and USSR could modernize or even compete with the west - rather it was a means to draw people to settle in Minsk instead of the countryside where it would be easier for Hydra to keep tabs on anyone they perceived to be a threat…” you continued to ramble in the most analytic jargon about the historical implications you discovered.

Helmut made himself a glass of scotch, occasionally nodding along to what you said. Running out of breath you finally stop; "anyway… enough about me.”

“I like listening to what you are passionate about. You have worked hard to be so successful and so young.” You gave him a look as though you didn’t believe a word he was saying. And it wasn’t like you were that young, only a little over a decade between you two.

“How did the recon mission go?”

“It went well. I was able to get close enough to the mark to get what I needed. They make it so easy when they openly discuss their plans. You would like the cafe - perhaps later this week we will go. The agreed rendezvous is late tomorrow night; I won’t wake you.” For the last month Helmut had dedicated his efforts to helping you with your dissertation research. You had limited resources on Sokovia due to the rampant corruption the nation faced. Those few that you had access to Helmut would help translate.

Hands gently massaging your shoulders as he leaned over you. His cologne invades your senses. “This right here - I’m not sure what it means,” you would tell him, pointing to the passage.

Glancing over it for a moment, Helmut responded with the translation. “You know schatz, I’m beginning to wonder if you truly need my assistance, or if you just want an excuse for me to touch you,” he chuckled.

The fall of the country and subsequent annexation made matters even more challenging. Some unsavory underground groups had been smuggling documents and the like for a profit. With his background in EKO Scorpion and the intelligence community it was an easy way for him to spend his time tracking the materials. “It won’t just be for you, liebe. If I can recover any of the surviving artifacts and records from before the Avengers destroyed my country it is a step towards preserving my heritage,” was his justification. He wouldn’t admit it, but you knew he liked being back in the field, so to speak. You also knew that the more information he had the more cards were up his sleeve.

“Don’t forget to bring your hat and whip when you go,” you ribbed, referencing one of your favorite film series; Indiana Jones.

“Of course… Hmm. Maybe when I get back I will have to wake you. I’m sure we could put them to better use than just treasure hunting.” Helmut loved to tease you after he discovered your fondness for a young Harrison Ford. In fact, teasing and flirting with you had become his favorite pastime since your first night together.

Groaning out a laugh at his suggestive joke, you turned and headed back over to the stove. You set on a large pot of water to boil. Helmut approached the stove. “And what are you preparing for dinner this evening, liebling?” he asked, rubbing your back through your top. You knew he didn’t expect you to cook for him, but you wanted to.

“Spaghetti and a homemade sauce with spicy Italian sausage - my father used to make it when I was growing up.” You stirred the simmering sauce, letting the flavors continue to marinate together.

“It smells wonderful,” he moaned. Somberly he added “I used to make a bolognese. It was the one dish I knew how to prepare. It was my son’s favorite.” You squeezed his side in hopes to offer comfort.

“You’ll have to make it for me sometime,” you request tenderly.

His lips turned up in a soft smile. “Yes I will, liebe. I’m going to go change before we eat, I will be back shortly.” He kissed your temple before heading to the bedroom of the house you were occupying.

When the water boiled you placed the noodles in the pot and set a timer. Grabbing your phone off the counter you pulled up Spotify, queueing your “feeling it” playlist. The beginning notes of ABBA’s Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! began. Heading to the cabinet you brought down two glasses. Picking a bottle of red wine - sweeter to balance with the spiciness of the sauce - you opened it and poured yourself and Helmut a glass each.

Hips beginning to sway to the rhythm of the music, you returned to the stove. This playlist always put you in a great mood. You continued to move to the music, singing along softly. You take a generous swig from the bottle of wine still in your hand before adding some to the sauce, stirring the pot thoroughly.

Dancing through the kitchen you sing out ’gimme! gimme! gimme! a man after midnight!“ You knew you were a terrible dancer, even worse than Helmut. That didn’t stop you from partaking in the activity, your hips gyrating and shoulders shimmying.

You didn’t notice the movement in the hallway, still caught up in the song. Wine glass in hand, you attend to the stove to ensure the water doesn’t boil over. The song eventually changes over to a Boney M classic. "There lived a certain man in Russia long ago….” Excitedly, you put down your glass. You remember the choreography like it was yesterday, middle school you always danced to the song in an old video game.

Without hesitation you clapped your hands and swung your hips to the beat. Turning you notice Helmut leaning against the kitchen door. How long he’d been there, you didn’t know. Based on the amused smile he wore he clearly enjoyed watching you look like an idiot dance.

Making your way to him you reach out for his hands. Helmut followed along, albeit hesitant to move his body yet. You locked your eyes to his. Wiggling your eyebrows exaggeratedly at him, pushing and pulling his arms in time with the beat. “Come on, Helmut - dance with me!”

“I thought I was a terrible dancer? Did you not say that in Madripoor?” he interrogated without a single trace of seriousness.

“Oh you know I love the way you dance,” you giggled, still moving to the beat.

There was a glint of something in his eyes; suddenly Helmut took charge of your little dance. He twisted his hips from side to side, breaking one hand away from you to twirl you under his arm. The two of you danced like dorks, firsts pumping and hands in the air and wagging your fingers around the kitchen.

A sudden shrill from the timer stopped your movements, both bursting into fits of laughter. Turning off the timer Helmut took care of draining the pasta for you. As you caught your breath you couldn’t help but admire the man. He had spent so long seeking vengeance, yet now here he was dancing like a weirdo with you in the kitchen. His face was so relaxed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this happy and at peace you thought to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you had something to do with that.

“Is the sauce ready?” Helmut inquired with a lingering smile.

You took a minute to keep appreciating him before answering. “Yeah. Yeah it’s good.”

Chapter Text

The first thing you felt upon waking was the gentle tickle of Helmut's thumb caressing the underside of your breast.

"Good morning, leibe. Did you sleep well?" His voice was thick with sleep, as if he'd only just woken himself. Humming your response, you brought your own hand to intertwine with his fingers. 

“Too well, I must have been exhausted or something.” You bite back your smile.

His soft chuckle against your bare shoulder sent tingles along your skin. He placed one, two kisses on you. “I am going to shower, stay and rest. I will be back soon.” You can feel him roll away from your back, the dip of the mattress as he stands. Eyes drifting closed again, you are vaguely aware of the sound of your shower running. You doze for a few minutes before determining that you won’t be falling back asleep anytime soon. 

Checking your phone you see only one minor email regarding school that you need to reply to, otherwise you have nothing to attend to. Your thoughts drift to Zemo, how reverently he touched you last night. The finger shaped bruises that littered your thighs and hips, a delicate ache that settled between your legs. Last night had satisfied you in a way that nothing ever had, and nothing else likely would. A throb at your center reminded you of your want. You pushed back the covers, the chill of the room causes goosebumps to break out across your body. Standing, you think to make your way to join Helmut in the bathroom. To your upset, the water then cuts, the shower curtain can be heard retreating.

You bend over to pick up the shirt he had tossed aside last night so as to cover yourself. The door of the bathroom cracking open causes you to lift your head. Under your lashes you see him exit the steam-filled room. He tolds a towel to his temple, drying his short tresses. His golden chain and the curled hair along his chest is visible in the deep opening to the navy blue robe he wears - your robe. 

Smirking up at him you ask “so you're stealing my clothes now?”

“As I recall, you offered them last night when I still had a use for them.” His brow is cocked as he teases you. He moves to sit on the edge of your bed, next to the bedside table and in front of your mirrored dresser. Holding out a hand to you, he beckons you forward with a flick of his fingers. 

Shuffling over to him, you stand between his spread legs. The robe only just covers him where it rests within his parted thighs. One hand comes to rest on your exposed hip. He gently squeezes the supple flesh there. At the faintest of touches you can feel the wetness on your own thighs grow. Reaching his free hand up he plucks the shirt from your grasp. “You won’t be needing this, schatz.” 

The offending material flutters to the ground with a light plop . His eyes have become darker in the mere moment that you have stood before him, naked, covered in the evidence of his affections. Your breathing stutters as you watch him raking his own gaze along your skin. “Look at you, schatzi, a woman ravished. It suits you.” Helmut pulls you closer. You can just feel the outline of his hardening cock against your knee. Featherlight kisses are dropped to your stomach, each scar and stretch mark getting equal attention from his lips. 

Fingers slide into his damp hair and muss it. When he finally pulls back to look up at you from where he sits there is a stray lock that has fallen across his forehead. You lift your hand, intent on smoothing it back. He catches you before you can. The Baron uses his position to spin you in his grasp, drawing you into his lap. Your thighs straddle the outside of his own muscular ones.

He can sense the tensing of your body against him. You are not used to being on top of someone given your size and general self-consciousness. Helmut rest his chin on your shoulder. “Relax, liebling, I have you. You will not hurt me.” His eyes meet yours in the reflection of the dresser mirror that is situated directly in front of you. You relax in his hold. His robe - your robe - is like a cloud along the expanse of your bare back. 

Studying yourself in the mirror you see the way he watches you. The absolute intensity that coats his expression, the obvious want and desire in the dark depths of his stare. Looking down you see yourself. The way your breasts are not as perky as you would like, the way your stomach has sloping rolls and scars. A flash of insecurity, bright like a bulb turned on within a pitch black room, hits you. 

Helmut must sense where your thoughts are. His whiskered face, having not shaved in a day or so, presses open mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. “Do you see it, liebe? Do you see what I see?”

You swallow. “I’m not sure we are looking at the same thing, Baron.”

“My dear, look .” His command is quiet but no less demanding. His hand sneaks around your waist, brushing a thumb along the curve of your stomach, before bringing it up to cup your breast. He runs two fingers up the inside of your thigh with his other hand. 

“I see Aphrodite, the great goddess in all her glory. The statues of old, the epitome of beauty, grace, wisdom, strength. What we have preserved for so long to admire, to desire.”

“I see only that which belongs in the finest of places, to be worshiped by others with the highest reverence man can offer. It is a delicacy to be graced with a presence such as yours.” At the sweep of his fingers on your core you suck in a breath. “To have the privilege to hold, to touch, to pleasure a creature such as yourself is a gift only a divinity could grant.” It is all you can do to hang on to his words as the pads of his fingers continue to run through your folds. The timbre of his voice licks the embers that glow in your core. 

Once more, Helmut’s lips find the column of your throat. He nips, licks, and sucks fresh bruises into the skin there. A moan escapes your lips as he continues his assault on your senses. The slow build of your orgasm washes over you, a whispered “ Helmut ” falling from your lips. 

He doesn’t give you more than a minute to recover. You feel a tug as he leans towards the bedside table, opening the drawer and selecting one of your many toys. He picks out a simple bullet, no longer than his finger. “What are you doing?”

“Making use of your collection, schatzi.” The device echoes through the quiet chamber of your room as he twists it on, even at its lowest setting. You expect him to bring it to your core. Instead, he circles your taught nipples. The vibrator sends little shocks down you and to your weeping core. You had barely caught your breath after the first orgasm; you didn’t fare much better now.

Dropping your head back against his temple, you can feel the sizable bulge of his erection against your lower back. Helmut drags the toy down to your oversensitive clit, drawing patterns along it. Your hips buck. He grunts as your ass rubs against his covered cock. Too soon you feel your release building. “Don’t hold back, liebe. Let go for me.” The hand not using the toy rests on the curve of your hip. He squeezes new indents to match yesterday’s. 

The slow roll of your hips and the soft hum of the vibrator on your bud spirals you into another orgasm. Your thighs attempt to close around his, but he doesn’t let you. Rather, he spreads his own wider holding you open to him. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror. Sweat beads at your temple, your eyes are blown black in lust; his own match yours where they rest next to you. Helmet looks at you as though you are the only thing in the world of any significance. You feel as though you are Aphrodite in the flesh; you are his goddess. 

Helmut's lips press to your temple where it rests on him. “You’re doing so well for me, liebling.” He has turned the vibrator off, focusing on caressing subtle patterns into your skin. 

“But you..?” you whisper nearly breathless.

“Don’t worry about me. This is about you right now.” You hum in response, body still recovering from two orgasms he gave you.

He gives you another minute to come down from your high. You focus on his deep breathing against your back. In your post-ogasmic haze you don’t notice his fingers creeping towards your center until two prod at your entrance. You moan at the intrusion; “Helmut- it’s too much…”

“You are alright, liebling. Deep breaths for me.” He pushes in the rest of the way, your muscles contracting around his thick digits. “ Mein Gott, you are so tight , meine liebe. Relax for me.” He begins a torturously slow pace, back and forth over your inner walls. The fingers inside you are enough to keep the embers burning low within you, but not quite enough to bring you to another precipice. You take what he gives you for several moments in a dreamlike state.

He changes suddenly, curling them forward on your inner wall, causing you to squirm on his lap. Your eyes are closed as you take in the feeling of him. Your body is burning again, it is almost too much. “ Helmut I can’t- I- ” he cuts you off, shushing you.

“Yes you can, and you will. Let daddy make you feel good.” His accent is thick like honey in your ear. He leaves no room for argument, not that you could in this state anyway.

Helmut still watches you in the mirror. Your skin is flushed and perspiring. Your legs are draped wide over his own, glistening cunt exposed behind his deft ministrations. Clicking on the vibrator to the highest setting, he sets it to your clit. You jerk away with a cry, as much as his body will allow from his place under you. His fingers do not relent their attack along the front of your inner walls, the vibrator held tight to your throbbing center. His forearms help to hold you open to him as you writhe. 

You scream as a third orgasm explodes within you. “ Helmut !” Your head falls back, a silent scream ripping from your throat. A sudden gush of your release coats his hands, your thighs, and the floor beneath you. 

The Baron brings you down, turning the toy off and easing himself from you. “My good girl, look at you, making a mess everywhere. You’ve done so well for me, schatz. You look so beautiful like this.” You are boneless atop him, only the shaking of your legs a sign of life.

Zemo holds you to his chest, the robe having fallen open as you moved against him. Finally regaining some strength you reach behind you to run your fingers through his hair. The angle of your neck allows you to place your own soft kisses to his stubbled jaw. His cock still presses into your backside.

Carefully you stand from him, your legs like jello. Even so, you turn to face him, straddling his lap again, your knees at his hips. The softness of your stomach and breasts lines up with his own body. You push the robe out of the way and grasp his cock. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him. The intrusion is overwhelming but oh so good. “ Schatz- ” Helmut begins to question through his own guttural moan. You say nothing. Grabbing his hands you situate them on your rounded hips, urging him to move you as he pleases.

“Take what you need from me Helmut, please ,” you whisper into his lips. 

He doesn’t hesitate to rock you along his shaft. You know that your body can’t handle any more release, but that won’t stop you from giving him his own. Helmut buries his face into your neck, little grunts of hot breath against you sending shivers up your spine. You help by rocking your hips as best you can in your exhausted state, however he does most of the work. 

All too quick for his liking he feels the tell-tale tightening in his groin, his own release finding home in your clenched heat. A moan of your name echoes into your ear as he finishes. 

The Baron holds you to him as you both settle. Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his skull; his wrap around you to preserve your warmth in the cool air. 

“I don’t deserve you, liebe.” His tone is light, not nearly as tragic as it should be given your circumstances.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you retorted sleepily. 

He helps you lift off of his softened member, laying you down in bed before removing the robe and lying next to you. “Rest, liebe. We have a long road ahead of us.” You snuggle into his warmth beside you, soon falling into a content slumber.

Chapter Text

A soft hiss escapes you as you roll over in bed, barely conscious of the world in your half awake state. Your hand stretches out to reach for him, your Baron, but meets the cold of the pillow instead. Finally opening your eyes to the harsh sunlight of the bedroom you see the clock reads almost 10. He has undoubtedly been up for hours. As you sit up the blanket falls from you, revealing your bare skin to the empty chill of the room.

Shifting to stand, the chafed skin of your plush thighs rubs uncomfortably. Zemo had been rather zealous in his endeavors last night. His newly grown beard leaves remnants like a brand against you. A flash of memory hits; the rough scratch long your delicate skin as he made you come apart under his lips and tongue. Helmut was beyond generous in his affections for you. It wasn’t something you could have prepared for - just how demanding and yet just how giving he was. You knew he would ruin you. In fact, he already had.

Finding a cotton shirt on the floor, you pull it over your head. Searching through his things you find a pair of clean briefs. They are long enough to offer some protection against the further abuse to your poor skin, but comfortable enough that you don’t mind wearing them. Glancing in the bathroom mirror you notice how the material hugs your curves; god my ass looks fantastic in these . You figure he will appreciate the look of you in his clothes.

You find your way to the living room. Helmut sits on the leather loveseat, newspaper in one hand, tea cup in the other. He glances at you from above the cup. “Good morning, liebling. I was beginning to wonder if you would come join me soon.”

Crossing the room you perch on the arm of his chair. He folds the paper neatly before pressing a chaste kiss to the still exposed part of your thigh. “Did you sleep well?”

You shrug, grabbing the cup out of his fingers to take a swig. “Mostly.” He takes his tea sweeter than you prefer. But that’s the other thing you’ve learned in the month that you and the Baron have been hiding out - that man loves his sweets.

“Oh? Perhaps a complaint is in order?”

“Just one.”

“And what might that be, schatzi?” His tone is patronizing, but in jest. The way he peers at you from beneath his lashes is playful.

Instead of speaking, you reply by pulling up the inside of the shorts you wear, revealing the raw, reddened skin to his wandering gaze. 

He smirks. “ Ah . My apologies.” He’s not sorry.

You hum in response. Bringing the hand without his cup up, you scratch your nails through the coarse hair that lines his face. The beard is full and lush, not too long but just long enough to add a sort of rugged quality to him. It is so incredibly masculine that the sweet nothings he often whispers to you should feel out of place. “The things this does to me…” you mutter wistfully. Helmut practically purrs against your touch. “How long are you planning on keeping it?” You don’t admit it, but you hope he does.

“That depends on how long we are in hiding. But I rather think you enjoy it too much, schatz, so perhaps longer,” he teases. He leans towards the tea you hold. Carefully, you tip the cup between his waiting lips. A stray drop is caught in the edge of his beard. With a considerate swipe of your thumb you collect the beaded drop from his chin. 

The air surrounding you is riddled with heat. Before either of you could make the final move to jump the other’s bones your stomach growls angrily. The tension is broken by the sound.

Helmut chuckles. “Seems I should make you breakfast before I receive another complaint.”

He stands and walks off to the kitchen, not before dropping a soft kiss to your forehead. Downing what’s left of his tea you chase behind him. “Crepes please!”

Chapter Text

Eighteen months had gone by since your great escape in Riga. You and Helmut didn't quite have to hide like you once did - not after the unfortunate events in Moscow in which the two of you had an absolutely awful run in with the mafia, to which your bodies were later publicly identified in the Moskva River. New identities in tow, not that you asked how he did it, you were free to live your lives. You maintained your own nationality under a new name; Helmut took on the role of your ‘loving German husband’. 

You had grown out your hair, even adding new shades to your locks to help change your look. The Baron kept the beard and let his own hair grow a bit longer than he used to. He never complained when you ran your fingers through it constantly; in fact, it drove him nuts when you'd tug on the strands. 

Now you sat on the most luxurious couch in a penthouse flat in New York City. Zemo had some things to take care of in his office so you were catching up on American television. You sipped a cup of tea as you watched. Occasionally you would pull out your phone to text Helmut.

You : Juniors mini cheesecake holiday assortment (1:42pm)

You : 24” plug in nostalgic light up tree - green (2:16pm)

You : Retro bluetooth speaker - blue (2:57pm)

Baron 💜 : ? (3:02pm)

You : Lladro crystal candle holder set (3:39pm)

You : Philosophy shower gel - Bubbly & Cinnamon Bun (4:03pm)

Zemo’s curiosity had peaked. Wrapping up his work and closing his laptop he went to find you. You sat in the living room, brows furrowed in concentration, as you watched some sort of infomercial. “What is all this nonsense you’ve been texting me, schatz?” He sat down and flipped the fallen hair out of his eyes. “And what are you watching?”

“My wishlist - it’s the Christmas in July sale on QVC. I used to get drunk on cheap liquor and watch it with my friend when we were in undergrad,” you explain.

“Ah, so you are one of those people.”

“Says the man that routinely drops hundreds of dollars on bottles of wine, and had no idea what this even was.” You point to the screen. “This is what us non-royals do for fun, Baron .” He hums through his smirk.

“Oh my god look at those, ugh ,” you moan. The most delicious looking mozzarella stuffed meatballs were being displayed now. “ Please… ” Helmut looked at you from the corner of your eye. He watches as you pull out your phone, type something, then toss it back into your lap. A second later his own phone dings - 

Schatz : Mama Mancini’s stuffed meatballs (4:21pm)

He chuckles. “I am sitting right next to you? You don’t need to text me.”

“But I don’t want to forget about it later. I mean look at those things! God, they’re man sized meatballs! With cheese!” you gesture to the man showing off the sauced Italian dish.

“You know they make these things look better than they actually are to entice you to buy them, yes? I could literally buy you anything your heart desires, but you want television meatballs?”

“So?” you defend.

“Schatzi, they are probably terrible.” Your Baron is openly laughing at your antics now.

“Let me live my life, Zemo!” you quip with an exaggerated finger wiggle.

-

Two weeks later you open the fridge to a case of those stuffed meatballs.

Chapter Text

You remember when you had the conversation. Only a few nights ago on a Friday, barely more than a week since first going on the run with him, you and the Baron drank a few glasses of his expensive scotch at the new safe house, and you had found yourself opening up about fantasies, or lack of. 

"Come now, Schatz - there must be something you have been intrigued to."

A simple shrug is what you give. "Maybe a few times…. But it's not something I put much thought into or anything like that." You take a sip, the alcohol rough in its burn. 

"Why is that?" he questions without missing a beat. 

Meeting his gaze across the couch you see he's been watching you the entire conversation, as though there is nothing that even comes remotely close to being more important than whatever silly ideas you have to share. “I mean I’ve spent my whole life as this bigger, intimidating person. Hell, I’m taller than you , by what an inch and a half? And most people that much, if not more,” you lightly scoff and sip again from your tumbler of scotch. “It wasn't something feasible being bigger I guess-” you gesture to your torso “-so I dropped the ideas before it could really set in as something I wanted. I told you - I'm always on my own and having to do my own thing. Had to get a grip on my life and be an independent woman and all that," you chuckle.

Zemo had been more than thorough in acquainting you with the basics of intimacy the last week; yet he let you take the lead as much as possible. Almost entirely, truly. You weren't at the point of anything wild or experimental, nor were you brave enough to try going rogue. So it was easy, it was standard - not that you had any complaints. But Helmut was adamant that it was you who controlled how he kissed you, how he touched you, how he broke your body and soul piece by piece in the long hours of the night. 

You look across the room into the flickering light of the fireplace. Quieter, you add "just once I’d like to feel like the small one in a situation, to have to look up to someone literally and figuratively, to not feel like I’m too big and to just be able to let someone else make the choice for me." Looking back at him and speaking a little more blase, you finish "but I don't know. That's about as far as I got." 

“I like looking up at you, Schatz, it’s like looking at an angel,” Helmut whispers. Since you had unofficially gotten together after escaping Riga he was constantly praising and complimenting you. You always expected to feel like he was just flattering you, but he made it such a point to talk about your intelligence, kindness, generosity, humor, and how beautiful he found you in equal parts. 

You don't bother fighting back your grin. “I’m sure you do, Baron.” Downing the rest of your drink you tell him you are tired and head off to bed with a kiss.

Helmut had business to attend into the late evening. You made yourself busy reading some old book from the safe house’s upstairs library. The sun set as you read. Oranges and pinks and purples cast the room in a peaceful glow as you engulfed yourself in tales of times gone by. Maybe three hours later you hear him call out for you, breaking you from your page; “Schatz, could you come down here?”

Excitement bubbles within you at his arrival. “Be down in a sec!” You closed the book and placed it on the desk. Wandering around in the darkness you think you hear him in the kitchen. You call out “Helmut are you-” as you reach for the light switch when a shadowy figure backs you into a wall, knocking the breath you had from your lungs. For a second you panic, heart beating wildly out of your chest, until you see a glint of that familiar chocolate in the shadow’s eyes. The white-knuckled grip you have on the fabric of his top relaxes.

Pressed up against the kitchen wall by the man, you can just make out that he's clad in his gear. A thick burgundy turtleneck covers the expanse of his broad chest, the leather straps of a holster secured around his shoulders. Sturdy combat boots brush the sides of your ankles from where he has trapped your legs between his. The shoes give him an extra inch compared to your barefoot state, in addition to the commanding way he carries himself at present. Even as his gaze is eye level with your own like this he looks as if he towers above you.

Searching his eyes as best as you can in the limited light, you attempt “Hel what-”

A calloused palm cups the skin of your cheek, his thumb pressing softly against your mouth and silencing you. He says nothing; you wait, swallowing in anticipation. The digit glides slowly along the seam of your lips before pushing slightly between. You don't mind the intrusion, instead finding the taste of his skin intoxicating as you run the tip of your tongue over him. Pupils flit from your own to where his thumb rests. Zemo sighs. Feeling the fire within your core ignite you decide to take initiative, giving a gentle nip before sucking delicately on the pad of his thumb. 

There is no mistaking the way his eyes blacken. The softness in his tone doesn’t match the formidability of his presence as he whispers “My Leibling…” 

Zemo’s body presses yours further into the wall with such force it tears a gasp from you; his lips and tongue ravage yours with such a ferocity unlike anything you’ve known. Hands clutch at your jaw like vices. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps his fingertips might leave bruises. Nevertheless, you can’t be damned to stop him, especially not when you feel the beginnings of his hardening cock pushing into your hip, or the wetness seeping between your legs. 

Finally, when the burn in your lungs becomes too great he breaks away and instead attaches his mouth to your throat. You have no doubt he can feel the pounding of your heart where he sucks and bites at your flesh. The Baron slides a hand under the edge of your top. His fingers are hot where they dig into your soft side. A feeble attempt to maneuver your hands to remove your shirt results in a tsk from him, his own larger ones moving to rip the fabric of your nightshirt right down the middle and exposing your peaked breasts to the cool air and his hungry stare. “ Fuck - Helmut, what’s- ugh -” a particularly hard pinch to your nipple breaks your concentration, “what’s gotten in to you?” The question comes out as a moan.

Instead of an answer he tugs at the waistband of your shorts. With your reassuring nod he pushes them over your wide hips and thick thighs. Not a minute later he’s pulled a leg to wrap around his hip and opens you up to the grind of his still-clothed cock. “Don’t think, Leibling, just feel ,” he commands. 

The material of his pants rubs a delicious friction; your juices soaking through the fabric. You can feel the inferno growing. Breathy moans fill the near-silent kitchen. “Mein Gott, Draga I can feel how wet you are. Does this excite you? To know that you are enough to drive the great Baron Zemo to such primal need? To such depravity as to not even give you the luxury of a bed, but instead to have you right here and at my mercy?” He punctuates his statement with a harsh roll of his hips. 

You whine in need. The pressure between your hips grows, you need him more than you can bear to think. Quickly you move to undo the fastening of his trousers between you. He does not stop you, only slows his movements to make it easier for you to work. When his bared cock finally rubs along your soaked core you manage to whimper a pathetic please . Helmut’s grip on your leg around his hip remains firm. He uses his free arm to place each of your hands on the straps of his holster along his pectorals. You pull on the leather as if to test its strength. There is barely enough room for your wrists between you where your chests are crushed together.

Suddenly Zemo drops as he leans to wrap his free hand underneath the leg that still supports your weight; his brute strength lifts you completely before you realize what he’s doing. “Wait no- Helmut I’m too -”

“ No .” Zemo snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. 

“ Oh my god .” You sound pathetic as you keen at the fullness within you.

Both of his hands support you under the soft curve of your upper thighs. You tighten your legs around the small of his back on instinct. Panic surges through you despite the wonderful feel of him inside you. You aren’t small, you weigh too much, you’ll hurt him . 

He jerks his shoulders minutely to bring your attention to where your fingers are wrapped around his holster straps. “ Do not let go, Draga. Do you understand ? ” 

“But-”

“ Do you understand, Leibling ?” he asks again, this time more demanding than you’ve ever heard.

“ Yes .”

The first slam of his cock is fierce. It is precise. It is beyond any sort of pleasure you’ve ever felt, to have this man fucking you within an inch of your life as he all but cradles your body within the palm of his hand like it was your destiny to be there. Through all your sobs and cries of ecstasy he does not let up on the onslaught. Each thrust hits deep within you. His hips angle to brush your bundle of nerves with every movement. The peaks of your breasts tease and graze his sweater; probably an unfair advantage for him to be clothed and yet you at his complete mercy. You can’t fault how the sensation only heightens your euphoria. This time you know for sure his fingertips will paint your thighs with their memory for days to come; will create a masterpiece along the expanse of your skin that no Van Gogh or Picasso or Da Vinci could ever hope to produce. 

Your release comes all too quickly at his attentions. Helmut doesn’t let up, nor does he seem to even break a sweat at his herculean task. At one point you swear you feel the leather straps start to give under the chokehold of your fists as he orders you to come again along his shaft, his words leaving no room for you to think otherwise. 

Helmut reaches his own peak as your channel tightens around him, the growl of your name against your temple like a bolt of electricity. Hips slowing to a gentle roll, he does not pull himself from you, instead adjusting his hold under you to keep you pinned between his body and the wall. Your forehead comes to rest on his shoulder. The Baron drops sweet kisses to your temple, to your cheek, as you both come down from your high. 

“Mmmm…Maybe you should put me down now? My legs are sore,” you mumble into his sweater, flexing your thigh and calf muscles where they still circle his waist. 

“And if I do not want to? What then, my Leibling?” At your answering groan he hums in contentment before slowly removing himself from you, moving from the wall, and carrying you to the loveseat in the next room. Oversized boots thump with each step. The loose pants hanging from his knees slow his walk to a shuffle. He sits, situating you in his lap. Zemo looks down to see your fingers still wrapped around the holster. With a smile he says “you may let go now, Schatz. You did so well for me, such a good girl.”

It takes your digits a moment to cooperate as you untangle them from their place. “I’m not sure I can move my hands…?”

Helmut chuckles at your admission, taking your hands in each of his. He brings them to hip lips and places delicate kisses on them. Carefully he begins to massage your fingers and palms; “well, we must see to that, shouldn't we?”