#soft zemo

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

Helmut Zemo was, without a doubt one of the most interesting and confusing men you had ever met. In the eyes of the world, Zemo was a villain. He was cold, flawed, cruel and distant in a way that the world would never be able to forgive. To outsiders, Helmut Zemo was purely driven by his need for revenge, almost like he had some kind of selfish, petty attitude to making others atone for their wrongs but of course, that wasn’t the case. Knowing his story put you in the unique position of understanding the calloused man. Pain had engulfed so much of his life, evenings spent broken and alone, sobbing until he was sick, begging for his wife and son to just come back to him. That kind of torment didn’t bear thinking about for too long. No one deserved to suffer that much pain.

He hadn’t went looking for comfort, it had found him. He hadn’t expected to find it in the sweet smiles you offered him, in the gentle, accidental brush of your fingertips against his, or in the smell of coffee brewing, since you were almost always carrying a fresh warm cup. He hadn’t sought it out and in fact, he actively pushed it away for a while, feeling like he was betraying his wife and son by wanting to give himself to another. The thought of their memory fading killed him, of learning to live and love without them but after a while he couldn’t deny his feelings for you any longer. He had done terrible things, he couldn’t corrupt you with his sadness and despair. In his mind, loving you meant saving you, it meant pushing you away from him to protect you. But God, you were persistent, the more he pushed you away, the more you tried to pull him closer, making him crave you more but ultimately, just push you away even harder. There was a comfort and warmness in his life that only you could provide, a promise of love and acceptance that he hadn’t felt in years.

If he could go back and do it all over, he would never have pushed you away. Looking at you now, cuddled up beside him, he felt almost complete. He had found a way back to enjoying the simplest pleasures life had to offer again, like watching movies in bed with some disgusting takeaway, noticing how his lover’s sleepy eyes were slowly closing. His favourite experiences though, were these early mornings spent in bed, with nothing better to do than enjoy the other’s company. He lived for those sleepy kisses and the way you looked at him through your thick lashes and smiled. He loved the smell of the crisp, fresh sheets, loved hearing your little yawns as you stirred from sleep and loved even more when you snuggled against his firm chest, only half awake but always seeking the safety and comfort his body offered.

“Good morning, my dove.” Came his little greeting as you stirred, his voice was still low and sleepy. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, heart jumping out of his chest as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“Shhhh… Too early. Sleeping.” You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut to try to block out the light streaming in the windows.

“Whatever you say, my love.” He smiled, running his fingers through your hair lovingly, cradling you close to him. This man wasn’t the villain the world knew. This man was soft, he was caring and he was compassionate. He longed for love, and to be loved. He would protect you with his life, there was no doubt about that. You only hummed contentedly in response, pulling your bodies impossibly closer. He couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, this was nothing short of bliss. As he ran his fingers through your hair, he started to hum the little tune he knew you liked that he remembered from his childhood. He couldn’t remember all the words but the tune was always there, his soft baritone comforting, hanging in the early morning air. Eventually the chirping birds outside became too loud for you to still cling to sleep. You pulled gently away from your lover, giving him the gentlest of kisses.

“Sleep well?” Zemo smiled, stroking your cheekbone with one of his thumbs, his brown eyes full of nothing but love.

“Like a log.” You laughed softly, still feeling groggy.

“I am glad, my dove.” He chuckled, placing a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose. Neither of you were in any rush to get up and start the day, instead choosing to sit and enjoy the bliss of being wrapped in the other’s embrace, warm and safe and relaxed. Zemo’s low melodic humming continued for a few minutes as your eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room.

“You’re a sap, Helmut Zemo.” You laughed quietly, reaching your hands up to pinch his soft, squishy cheeks, his skin warm and soft under your fingertips despite the little dusting of stubble. He blushed a little, happiness radiating out of his loving smile. He was truly beaming, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You make me sappy.” He laughed, showing off that heartwarming smile, making you giggle at how his accent was always a little more pronounced in the mornings when he was still sleepy. He swatted your hands away from his cheeks, choosing instead to hold them, intertwining your fingers together. He brought your joined hands to his mouth, placing gentle kisses to your knuckles,

You wondered sometimes about the man who came in most mornings. He had only been a regular for a little less than a month, but he tipped well and had manners the majority of your customers didn’t. There were only one or two other exceptions to the rule, but the majority were unfortunately ruder than you would like.

This man stood out and not only because he seemed to be a gentleman. You noticed right away how handsome he was. You didn’t make a habit of checking out your customers as a whole with one or two other exceptions (the same exceptions as before), but he was worth a second look.

He also had an accent that you couldn’t quite place, but there was a quality to his voice that made something inside of you stand at attention whenever he spoke. You had imagined cooking or baking together, his hands holding yours as he guided you at the stove or you showing him the best way to mix, and his voice reading a recipe aloud to you more times than you cared to admit.

And the nicknames. You had only known the man for a couple of weeks when he’d started calling you draga, sometimes mixed in with other words you couldn’t quite make out and would not be able to pronounce. After some small talk about the best kind of cookies, he said it for the first time in farewell with a smile touching his lips as he’d departed with his chocolate chip cookies.

After you stopped internally hyperventilating, you’d looked up what it meant.

Darling. Darling.

You had finally deciphered the other words too and realized that he was calling you, “my darling baker”.

This man.

You couldn’t believe he was now one of your regular customers. You were unsure what had made him decide on your bakery out of all the others in the city, but you were glad that he had.

You had a big enough crush that you were baking desserts specifically to match his tastes. You had even started to perfect a Turkish Delight recipe after he mentioned one of your desserts tasting similarly in the hopes of a smile or even a little moan. What you wouldn’t give to hear a moan from him.

You had it bad. Let’s just say you had a new favorite regular and you didn’t even know his name. Until the day you mustered the courage to find out.

That’s it. You were going to talk to him today and have an actual conversation and not just about desserts or what cookies were the best that day. Talking about baking was easy. It was talking about everything else that was hard.

You were wearing your lucky apron, you’d mustered your courage, and you had this. That’s when you heard the bell signaling a customer and you saw it was him. Never mind, you didn’t have this. You couldn’t do it. He was too attractive. It was intimidating.

You were tempted to drop a cookie or something, so you’d have the excuse to clean it up and duck behind the counter but you didn’t want to waste any. You took a deep breath as he stepped up to the counter and raised your eyes to meet his. You had never made direct eye contact with him before and now you couldn’t look away.

Why didn’t it surprise you that his eyes were as captivating as the rest of him? It wasn’t fair.

He showed a slight bit of surprise before smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good Morning, dragi moj pekaru. I see I’m early this morning.”

“Good Morning. Yes a bit, but I’m glad to see you. And everything for the day is out already so I’d say you’re here at the perfect time.”

Was that flirting? You hoped it was. You never knew if you succeeded at flirting or not, but you were trying.

“I’m glad to see you too. You are always a bright spot in my mornings. You and your treats.” His voice was teasing as he stepped closer to the counter to start surveying what you had in the display case. You thought that you had finally perfected the Turkish Delight, enough to put them in the case this time, so you hoped he went for those. You wanted to see his reaction.

“Oh, thank you. It makes me happy when people enjoy my baking and I’m so glad you started coming here.” You smiled at him and glanced away.

He was dressed impeccably as always with his hair a bit windswept, strands of hair falling on his forehead. You took another deep breath and knew if you were going to do this then you had to do it now, before another customer came in and you lost your nerve.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping my bounds, sir. But you’ve been coming here most days for the past couple of weeks and I was just wondering if I could know your name?”

“My name?” His tone was surprised. “Yes, of course. My name is Helmut, dragi moj pekaru. It’s lovely to meet you officially. And you? May I know the name of my favorite baker?”

Helmut. Helmut. You tried it out a few times in your head. It suited him, though knowing his name now made you imagine giving him a nickname of your own. You told him yours, trying not to let your nervousness show in your voice.

He repeated it almost to himself. Hearing your name in his voice and how he lingered over it made you shiver as your brain couldn’t help but picture hearing him rasping it in more intimate situations. “What a beautiful name for a lovely and talented individual.”

You smiled at him. “Thank you, Helmut.”

You didn’t want to cut the conversation short because you were talking to him and having an actual conversation about something besides desserts, but you didn’t want to drag this on for too long either. You were certain that he was a busy man as he hade never lingered in the bakery before. This would have to be enough interaction for this morning. You knew you’d be spending the evening alone wrapped in blankets to relax after today, though you wouldn’t mind spending an evening with Helmut. He seemed the type to sit with you in the quiet and read or watch a movie with you.

“Have you decided what you would like this morning?”

“May I sample a Turkish Delight?”

You contained your excitement. He was going to try one.

“Yes, of course you can. I can’t wait to hear what you think of them.” You picked a pomegranate one out of the case with a small piece of parchment paper and handed it to him.

He accepted it and your hands brushed. You watched him avidly and hoped you weren’t making him uncomfortable. He smiled at you and popped it into his mouth, chewing it slowly and almost thoughtfully before letting out a slight involuntary moan as his eyes closed.

You were glad his eyes were closed as you froze. He actually moaned. As much as you’d hoped for one, you hadn’t expected it to happen. It was even better than you’d imagined. You composed yourself as he opened his eyes, wiping the excess sugar off his lips with his thumb.

“Hmm, irresistible. You have outdone yourself.”

You smiled at him, “Thank you. I’m so happy you liked it.”

Helmut smiled back. “I enjoy Turkish Delight, especially when they are as good as these. I know what I’m ordering today. I’ll take ten in assorted flavors please, draga.”

You started taking them out of the display case and putting them into a paper bag for him.

“Would you bake for me privately?” You froze, wondering if you’d heard him correctly.

He cleared his throat. “Do you cater events I mean? I am hosting a party soon, a reunion of sorts, and your desserts would be essential.”

You hadn’t done much catering before, but you were not going to mention that to him. “Yes, that sounds amazing.”

“Wonderful. I will come in with more details and we can plan out what I am thinking. Turkish Delight must feature of course.”

“Of course,” you smiled and did a happy dance inside. You got to spend more time with him and he liked the Turkish Delight. He’d moaned. This day was going so much better than you’d imagined.

“Just wait until you see my estate’s kitchen. It is one of a kind.”

His estate’s kitchen? So he was wealthy, which somehow did not surprise you. He gave off that air without trying.

You wondered again, Was this flirting?

Because for you, his offer to show you his kitchen had come off as almost romantic. A beautiful kitchen with quality ingredients was the way to a baker’s heart. You’d also be alone together for the first time in a setting where you were truly alone. Being in the bakery, always keeping an eye on the door for the next customer, wasn’t the same.

“I can’t wait to see it.”

He accepted the bag of Turkish Delight from you and paid, tipping well as usual. “Good, good. I will see you Monday, dragi moj pekaru. Until then.” With that, he strode out the door.

You watched him leave, excited by the thought that he’d be in on Monday and you could talk to him more then. Once you’d spent some time alone of course. You wanted to be at your best and you needed to recharge this weekend to be ready for Monday.

You’d be spending time with him to plan the dessert menu and would be going to his house to cater an event. Maybe, you’d find out where his accent was from and get to hear him say your name again. Maybe, he’d even ask you out after tasting the cake you planned to make for his party. You hoped so and smiled to yourself as another customer came in, and you put thoughts of Helmut aside for the moment.

Meanwhile, Helmut Zemo contemplated the best way to ask you out. After the party would be best if he could bring himself to wait that long. That decision made, he planned where he’d like to take you on your first date if you said yes. With today’s conversation, he now had higher hopes that you would.

Monday could not come soon enough.

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According to Google Translate, dragi moj pekaru = my darling baker