At the end of a long night of celebrations, filled to the brim with drinks, laughter, tall-tales, raunchy shanties, and - everyone’s favorite - arguments that could only be solved with fights, Buggy made his way to his captain’s quarters. He clumsily crawled into the bed where you have been sleeping after slipping out of the party a few hours ago. Although the sheets were full of your body heat, the pirate wanted to get closer the heat source.
Buggy snuggled against your sleeping form and pulled your back into his bare chest. He rested his head behind yours, enjoying how your hair caressed his face. He found your sweet scent tantalizing and overwhelming. Although he wasn’t drunk, he had enough alcohol coasting through his body to enhance his senses and fuel his imagination. The downside of those effects was the effort it took to process stimulation, and the numerous thoughts made it harder for him to keep his mind organized.
A subtle shift in your resting position nestled you into Buggy’s body, as if you were the first two pieces of a puzzle to fit together. Buggy took advantage of the movement, putting his face into the crook of your neck and pressing his hips against yours. His lips grazed your skin and his brain wrestled with the desire to kiss and nip your neck. Unfortunately for him, the thoughts fought back, bolstered by the swelling happening between his legs.
A few kisses couldn’t hurt, right? He started with pressing his lips against your neck, not really a kiss. When you didn’t stir, he gave in - little pecks, small licks, shaky breaths muffled against your skin. Buggy was so focused on trying to stay in control while tasting as much of you as possible, that he lost track of other sensations his body was seeking. His hips were moving on their own, pressing his hard length into your backside. Small movements, just enough to get pressure. A deep breath from your body, so light it sounded like a sigh, broke his concentration. The pirate clown stilled, afraid he woke you up.
“Bugs, do you want to have sex?” you asked in a voice still coated with sleep. Buggy shook his head against your neck.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, “I was gonna stop.” His voice was slow and heavy from partying and the lust he was trying to downplay.
“Babe, I woke up when you practically fell into the bed.”
“M’sorry, didn’t mean it.” He hugged you closer. It was intended to be a sweet gesture, but once again the sweet whisper of alcohol suggested he put extra pressure on his erection. You didn’t miss how his hard c*ck twitched against you, begging for more attention.
“I don’t mind, we can have sex,” you offered again, this time upping the ante by pressing against him.
Buggy’s breath hitched but he didn’t respond. He was stuck in a tornado of different responses, thoughts, and visions, unable to find the one he wanted. You grabbed the arm wrapped around your waist and guided his hand under your sleeping shirt and placed it on your breast. He squeezed. A sign of life. Buggy felt your body melt against his at the sensation and the storm in his mind faded away.
Buggy finally nodded and muttered another apology while kissing your neck, “M’sorry, wanna f*** you so bad…” This time the kisses were sloppy and heated, interspaced with small nips.
You broke free from his grasp and turned around to face the pirate captain. Under his clownish face paint, Buggy’s eyebrows carried a hint of a scowl, his eyes were dark and glazed with lust, and a blush spread across the unpainted sections of his face. While he didn’t have enough alcohol to get drunk, he was absolutely intoxicated by you. As bad as Buggy felt about waking you up, it was clear that he was so desperately horny that only you would do.
You captured his lips in an intense kiss and distracted him with your tongue so you could pull off your underwear without his roaming hands interfering. You broke the kiss to pull off your top and directed your captain to take off the only article of clothing he had on, thankful that he only ever slept in his boxers. Buggy obliged dutifully and looked at you with an expectant look, waiting for his next order.
“Let me take care of you,” you said, straddling him. His piercing green eyes watched as you got into position. You could see his feral hunger but there was also another more morose expression. Guilt.
“You sure you want this, Buggy?” The soft expression in your eyes was somehow still strong enough to sting his heart.
“I didn’t wanna wake you…didn’t mean it, m’so sorry.” His face crinkled into a scowl, frustrated with himself. You felt bad that he felt so conflicted, but seeing this man at odds with his love for you and his love for your body had your stomach in knots and your p**sy dripping.
“It’s fine, sweetie. Do you want to-?” Despite avoiding your gaze, his strong grip on your hips and bashful nod were affirmation enough.
You took your cue to lower yourself onto the pirate clown, your heart pounding wildly as the tip made way for the rest of his thick cock. You moved slowly, relying on your slick juices to make the intrusion easier. Buggy’s thickness always stretched you to your limit, creating a delicious burn for you and a plush tight prison for him.
Through half-lidded eyes, you observed Buggy. His head was tilted back slightly as his body remained tense under your touch, eyes closed and lashes fluttering, all under knitted brows. Under the surface, he was fighting the impulse to slam you down onto his c*ck and f*** you into oblivion.
With his previous internal turmoils, the alcohol was his adversary. This time it was on his side. There was no way the pirate could ravage your body the way his unfettered thoughts cried out for. Honestly, Buggy was already closer to the edge than he normally was at this point. He had already been enroute to making a mess in his boxers while humping you from behind.
You began to rock your hips back and forth, feeling Buggy’s fingers dig deeper into your hips. He wasn’t guiding you, just holding on for dear life. You were a buoy and he was afraid of sinking into the murky depths of the ocean alone.
“Ahhh, fuuuuck, baby…” Buggy groaned in a low voice. “..f-feels s’good,” the words came out strung together with raw ecstasy. He felt your cunt squeeze at the comment, the additional tightness nearly painful. His hips jolted at the increase in pressure as his impatient c*ck seeked relief.
“F***, Buggy!” you gasped, unprepared for his contribution to what you expected to be a solo dance. His movement stuttered at your cry.
“M’sorry, baby, I-I’m so s-sorry,” he whined, “you f-feel so good.” His green eyes looked up at you apologetically while his large hands pawed at your hips, still fighting the battle of keeping his body under control. You held still for a moment, unable to do much but let your cunt squeeze fruitlessly against his throbbing cock. Each contraction caused every bit of his member to massage your sensitive walls, sending tickles of sensation through your body and bringing you closer to climax.
A quiet whimper pulled you back to the bed, a heavy anchor tethering your mind and attention.
“P-please, m’so close,” Buggy pleaded, shifting his body under yours. Needy hands ran up and down your thighs, having given up on gripping your hips. “W-want you so bad…please wanna come…”
You nodded wordlessly and bounced up and down, wanting nothing more than to give your captain what he wanted. Buggy watched your beautiful form ride his cock, his normally talkative mouth quiet and agape. No matter how many times he’s had this experience, he was always in awe watching your lewd expressions, how your tantalizing cunt accepted his large cock, and the way your hedonistic body moved above him.
Desperate hands returned to their rightful place on your hips. His fingertips dug in deeply, bracing you against the new pace and intensity his hips were going to deliver. Buggy was about to drown in the impending wave building in his body and he couldn’t let you go. As the wave began to crest, slurred words began to pour from Buggy’s cunt-drunk mouth.
“S-so close, please, gonna come…m’sorry b-baby, gonna come. Your cu- unnngh, you f-feel so good. P-please, please, please…”
Each thrust rubbed his c*ck against that sweet spot inside you, building pressure through your body until all you could see were the stars flashing in your eyes. Buggy’s movements grew more erratic as his orgasm coursed through his body, from the continued whining flowing from his mouth to the hot streams of cum that began to flood your insides. The throbbing that accompanied each spurt was nearly enough to send you to the stars you were seeing, however, you could feel his eager movements start to ebb away. You rolled your hips, chasing the climax that was only breaths away.
“Oh, f-f***!” Buggy cried out as the tide in his body retreated and the stimulation from your continued movements increased. His body wiggled helplessly, not in an attempt to get away, but to ease the feeling of overstimulation. The sight of your captain, the fearsome clown pirate, writhing underneath you, muttering and whining words you could no longer pull apart, while still creating bruises on your hips from his man-handling, because he wanted you to finish, was more than enough for you. Buggy feebly attempted to keep your hips moving as you rode through your climax.
You collapsed onto Buggy’s chest as your orgasm teetered out, fighting the twitches that were still lighting up in your body with each beat of your heart. Buggy’s chest heaved under your body, a deep hollow wind accompanied by his own heavy heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace and he rubbed his chin on the top of your head.
“You’re sooo good, y’feel so good, baby. M’so sorry, had to cum so b-bad. M’sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, just w-wanted you so bad...”
At this point, you weren’t sure if he was talking to you anymore, or if the clown was broken and saying whatever words were left in his empty head. While you wanted to lay on him longer, you made the great effort in rolling off of his body, wincing as his softening member slipped out alongside some of the extra fluid inside you. Laying next to the incoherent clown - whose body was going through a merry-go-round of tension and relaxation as it attempted to come down from all the stimulation you delivered - you tilted his face towards yours.
“Bugs, it’s fine. I’m glad you woke me up for this, okay?” you affirmed in a gentle but straightforward voice. You nodded as you spoke, prompting him to nod back. It was hard to say if he really heard what you were saying, but the calmness that crossed his face was enough for this moment.
Buggy gave another small nod before closing his eyes and allowing his body to fully relax. You kissed his shoulder and basked in the afterglow with him. There was a mess to clean up and you would both need to actually prepare for bed, but you weren’t ready to leave this moment behind yet.
Listen.. Y/n. We’re both adults here so I’m not gonna beat around the bush. Sleep with me for just one night, and in return I’ll let you have days off every Tuesday.”
• When Buggy came to Y/n with the proposition, he was obviously nervous, but still trying to act “cool” and macho. He didn’t want to seem like too much of a creep coming to the only female member on his crew with an offer like this.
• Buggy would be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about Y/n. Especially when she wore those skimpy outfits on hot days.. that would lead him into spending hours in his quarters, vigorously rubbing one out to the thought of grabbing her by the waist and dry humping her on the deck.
• So if she were to reject him, it would make things extremely awkward. Buggy was already regretting his decision.
• Y/n on the other hand was ecstatic, she got to have sex with her handsome captain, and getting days off in return? Count her in.
• And so, that one night turned into several nights. Y/n had snuck out of the crew’s quarters every night, tip toeing past sleeping pirates until she made it to Buggy’s cabin for another evening of fun.
• The first time Y/n had snuck back into Buggy’s room— she had tripped over a sea of empty beer bottles. The first night she slept with him, Buggy made sure to clean up all the mess so she wouldn’t find out how much of a slob he was, but after that night the mess just started to accumulate again.. Y/n had walked in on Buggy, half hunched over his bed only wearing his boxers, about to get some shut eye. When he saw Y/n trip over his mess he screamed out like he had seen a ghost.
• Eventually, Y/n had just migrated to living in Buggy’s quarters with him. Of course, not without sly comments and occasional wolf whistles every time someone caught her walking out of his room.
• This night wasn’t different than the other nights, Buggy was on top of Y/n, his hairy chest pressed against her back, c*ck buried deep inside of her as she moaned into the pillow. Buggy was grunting and huffing like a boar, booze-scented breath fanned over the back of Y/n’s head as he slammed his hips back and forth.
• Buggy was not a gentle lover in the slightest, he was rough and took what he wanted; the first night they had sex was probably the roughest; he had bent her in half on his bed, holding her ankles down as he plowed her. It was far from what Y/n always fantasized but she was seeing stars never the less.
“Mmm.. C-Captain..!” Y/n gasped, almost getting choked on her own breath as Buggy detached his c*ck to hit her cervix, she titled her head back and let out a loud moan. “Yeah.. that’s right. You’re Captain’s little f*** toy, huh?” Buggy snickered behind grit teeth, sliding one of his hands down her back to give her ass a firm slap, “My little whore.” He grunted, thrusting his c*ck in and out at a rough pace, making her p**sy spasm.
Y/n could barely keep her eyes open, her entire body trembling underneath her rough captain; she loved every part of it. They both came, Buggy, deep inside of her, and Y/n, around his c*ck and onto the mattress. They were both panting heavily— Buggy felt like he was about to have a heart attack. “Oh f***-” he groaned before rolling over and flopping on his back, his long hair sprawled out around him, he glanced over at Y/n, a shivering mess curled up at his side, “You ok, Y/n?” He asked gently, the first few nights he had just stared in concern, too afraid and too awkward to speak up, but he was slowly working on his aftercare skills.
Y/n nodded, leaning into him as the musky scent she grew to love invaded her nose. She wrapped an arm around his torso, across his broad chest. “I’m just glad tomorrow is Tuesday.” She giggled.
The next day, Y/n was enjoying her day off; by being a nuisance to Buggy, sitting on the arm rest of his throne, letting her legs rest over his lap. “It’s like you’re trying to get me riled up.” Buggy said through a smirk, rubbing up and down Y/n’s leg. “Of course not, I’m just trying to spend time with my Captain. Is that wrong?” Y/n giggled, playing with one of the braids in Buggy’s hair that was dangling out the side of his hat.
“Hmmm. Nothing wrong with that.” Buggy mumbled, his smirk growing as he palmed the growing bulge in his pants, “Why don’t you slide down on my lap, here?” He glanced up at Y/n, patting his thigh. Of course she noticed his boner, and thank god that the rest of his crew were out doing something off of the ship. She slowly moved down to sit on his lap, right on his hard crotch. She felt a small chill run down her spine when she heard him groan under his breath. He put one hand on her hip, squeezing it firmly, “That’s right, baby.” He leaned forward, wrapping both arms around her waist now as he began to move his hips underneath her.
“Mm.. captain..” Y/n held onto Buggy’s forearms, grinding her ass against his clothed d*ck as it rubbed against her p**sy through her pants. Buggy chuckled, “Funny how this was supposed to be a one time thing,” He licked a stripe along the shell of Y/n’s ear, “And now you’re here, rubbing your sweet ass on my cock. You must really love getting attention from this dirty old clown, huh?” He whispered in her ear, followed by a dry chuckle.
Y/n bit her bottom lip, whimpering softly, “It feels so good..” she breathed out, her legs trembling as she squeezed them together. Buggy swiftly spread them apart again, his fingers moving down between her legs, slithering beneath the hem of her pants to get into her panties. “Holy sh*t you’re f***ing sopping.” He laughed, slipping two fingers into her easily, making her mewl and arch her back; he moved his fingers out and up to rub circles into her clit as he continued to grind against her ass.
“That’s good.. yeah, lemme hear those little noises.” Buggy grinned widely, then grunted as his abdomen clenched, the friction getting him so close to cumming, urging him to rub her clit faster. Y/n’s thighs were trembling, fingers digging into Buggy’s hairy arm as her hips struggled to keep up with him. They were both panting, moaning and groaning together.
Y/n put her hand over where Buggy’s hand was inside of her pants, pressing his palm against her p**sy further so she could grind on it. “Damn you’re really loving me, huh?” Buggy laughed, then groaned before burying his mouth against Y/n’s back, squeezing his eyes shut as he came right into his boxers, knuckle deep inside of her spasming cunt. Y/n made a mess of his fingers as she came around them, purring like a kitten.
Buggy breathed heavily, he was seeing stars for a moment before he leaned back against his throne, Y/n was still riding out her orgasm on his palm, before he slid his hand away to lick at her juices. Y/n moved so that she was sitting on one of his thighs, wrapping an arm around his neck and leaning against his chest.
“Hey.. uh- Y/n.” Buggy croaked out, wiping his saliva off on his pants, “Why do you keep.. yknow, doing this with me.” He asked her, wrapping an arm around her.
Y/n looked away, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought, “I..” she didn’t know why she was afraid to just tell him that she always liked him, he’s f***ed her so many times already, but she couldn’t stop herself from blushing and stumbling on her words. “Am I making you feel like you need to do this?” Buggy asked, starting to panic slightly, feeling like he was abusing his position and being a dirty creep towards the only girl on his crew, “I swear I didn’t mean to pressure you into doing anything!”
“No, Captain! You didn’t pressure me into doing anything. I really like spending time with you.” Y/n looked back up at Buggy, “I really like you.”
Buggy’s eyes widened, he then looked away. Oh.. well, that explains why she was so eager to accept my offer in the first place. “Really?” He said in slight disbelief, his voice cracking unintentionally. “Yes really!” Y/n frowned at him, “Do you think I’d even be doing this if I didn’t? You’re the handsomest pirate I’ve ever seen!”
Buggy didn’t know if that inflated his ego, or confused him even more— She thinks I’m handsome?! “Really?” He said again, his pitch getting higher. “You’re so insecure.” Y/n mumbled, giggling quietly as she looked away. “HEY!! I’M NOT INSECURE!! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO YOUR CAPTAIN!!” Buggy shouted, grabbing both of Y/n’s shoulders and shaking her.
🌹Buggy the clown is many things, one such thing is he is a sucker for you. A sucker for your love and touch, always wanting to be the center of attention around you
🌹And boy is he obsessed with the idea of his c*ck inside of you. Idea? Well, for a while he held back the thought of doing such a thing with you until the time finally came around to it
🌹See, for a while Buggy wasn't exactly comfortable with the physical touch. Not that he didn't want to touch you or be touched, it was more or less his insecurities taking over him
🌹But once he gets comfortable and used to you, oh he is melting for you and your touch at every giving moment
🌹He loves cockwarming you. I feel as he's able to detach his limbs he would be a little naturally cold? Or get easily cold? So, naturally, he nuzzles up to you when you two have time alone or wants you to nuzzle up to him. He loves feeling the heat emitting from your skin against his cold body, and even more so when he Buries his c*ck deep inside of you
🌹Where he likes to do it at is the fun part. He's both a private and public man. Sometimes he likes to do it in the comforts of your own room, deep in the night as deep as he's in you, only he can hear your sweet little moans of his c*ck burying deep inside you before you both end up sleeping
🌹Or, be a little sneaky and have you seated in his lap, rolling your hips around in circles, his hands gripping onto your hips keeping you steady, so you don't make the mistake of altering the members at the meeting of your sinful doing (which at that point, some of them have already figured you two were doing something)
🌹He'll leave his c*ck with you when you're in the mood or when he's gonna be gone for a while. He most definitely has phantom feelings so he can feel your walls greet him from afar. How hot your cunt feels, feeling his c*ck warm up and become wetter due to you. He's actively melting and mewling for you
🌹The feeling of your walls clenching him is out of this world, however it is difficult for him to restrain himself when he wants to buck his hips hard against your ass and cunt, hearing the sweet slapping sound of skin on skin. His body shutters at even just the thought of your walls around him
🌹His c*ck is the perfect size, a nice 5-6 inches. It grows half an inch when erected, which may not seem much but ol boy does he show it off. A pretty nice girth he's got going on down there, a nice handle around his length when you stroke him. He has a visible vein on the underline of his cock, which his length curves just a little. His tip starts off as a nice light pink before going to a nice red
🌹His c*ck is very sensitive with the vein and the underside of his tip. His body shutters when he feels the underline of his c*ck graze against your squishy walls, moaning as he feels the hotness grace it
- "F***", Buggy whispers to himself, a sweat tear drip dripping down the side of his cheek.
A loud moan left his wet lips, which he regretted a little after. He wants to ruin you, but he understands that during that time at night it wouldn't be right with how tired you both are.
The room felt unbearably hot. He could feel his cold skin turn into a molten pot of lava. His length deep inside you, the curls of his happy trail touching your ass and backside. Your naked body glowing in the darkness of the room, lit up by the moonlight shimmering through the windows.
A ravenous shockwave of pleasure rushing through his body as he could feel his body undergo an immense amount of pleasure. From his c*ck being smothered by your sweet folds and wet cunt, and the way your body so gracefully looked in bed and in his arms.
Your wet walls greeted him so nicely that he couldn't move, the only movement he wanted to give was bucking his hips into you, slow at first before speeding up. Wanting to hear your beautiful voice moan out his name, like the good girl you were to him.
His hands grazed your sides, grasping at your hips, a bit harsh, trying to keep himself composed.
His eyes fluttered to stay open, the pleasure overtaking him as he could feel his body overcome with the sensational feeling. Your body and cunt was like an intoxicating drug to him.
One of the most powerful pirates in The East Blue Sea, naked and trembling in bed with his love, his c*ck deep inside you wanting to f*** you senselessly. He was under your spell, like a loyal servant for your love and touch.
He brought himself out of his throughts as he hissed, feeling how nicely your walls clenched down on his cock, coating it in your slickness. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, his lips kissing your skin with his nose bumping your shoulder.
He took in your scent, trying to calm himself down. He whimpered a little, bitting onto your skin trying to control his ravenous urges. His body was overheating at your cunt, it felt so good, felt incredible. He wanted- no- needed to f*** you.
His body jolts a bit once he feels your hand move just slightly over his, rubbing your thumbs in circles around his rough yet soft skin. A small giggle leaves your lips before moaning, the tip of his c*ck hitting your walls, making your thighs tremble from the action.
Buggy shutters when he feels the underline of his c*ck graze your walls, huffing in your ear as hips start to buck little by little. He's melting in your p**sy at this given moment.
You spoke in a slumber tone, barely awake, "Is my good boy that needy?"
You could feel Buggy tighten his grip on your hips, nodding profusely. "Yes... You feel so good baby, so... Nice~" You hear him say. You can tell he wants to do much more than just sleep.
You smile at his words, leaning back just enough into him where you're able to turn your head and kiss his cheeks gently. "That's my good boy, you're doing- ugh- really, good~"
He nuzzles deeper into your neck, pressing more kisses and lightly biting at your skin. "Mmm~" he mummers under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.
"I want you so ... So bad... F***, oh f***. Your- f***, please, please let me... I want... I want to f*** you... Baby...~" Buggy couldn't handle it anymore, he needed you just as much as you needed him.
You could feel your cunt become wetter at his begging, feeling his words breeze against your neck, sending a hot wave through your body and skin. The moment was intense, and starting to feel hot on both ends.
You shakily grip his hand, bringing it down to your p**sy, the cold contact of his hand touching your clit so gracefully was making you moan in absolute pleasure.
"Then- nnn- n-do it, f-f*** me baby~"
He loved it when you spoke to him like this, wanting all your attention on him and him only.
🌹he won't always be this sweet and a good boy to you though, some days he'll be desperately moaning in your ear and telling you how well you're taking him as he deepens himself in you
🌹He does try very hard to be your good boy though. He holds back his urges a lot when it comes to him warming his c*ck deep in you, whimpering quietly and trembling as he holds you against him. With how your walls clench down in his harden muscle, warming him up like a cookie or wetting him- it's too much for him to handle all at once
🌹 He'll end up begging to f*** you, wanting to pleasure you and make you cum for him and hear you moan his name and his love
🌹Overall, will live and die doing cockwarming with his sweets~
Your heart was beating so fast. You could figure out if it was from the fear of what was to come from that dust, or if it was from the dust. Looking up at Dean, he seems to be taking this a lot better than you, or he was at least pretending to.
The two of you were fast-paced walking to the Impala, not even caring to clean up the mess that was made. "Your heart beating fast, too?" You asked, voice laced with worry.
"Yeah, but don't worry about it. We'll be fine." Dean said as he fished his car keys out of his pockets. You couldn't tell if he actually believed that, though, or if he was just trying to make you feel better. The hunt was going fine right up until she blew pink, sweet smelling dust into your faces. "What the f*** was that?" Dean had yelled at her. She only gave him a dry laugh in response with a suspenseful "You'll see"
Dean had no hesitation when he shot her in the chest, only checking to make sure she was actually dead before grabbing you and high- tailing to the car.
Once the two of you got in the car Dean wasted no time putting the key in the ignition. You barely had time to buckle your seat belt before he sped off, causing the dirt on the road to fly into the air. Even with Dean going thirty over the speed limit, the car ride is at least half an hour long. You have no idea how your going to survive that, especially with the growing ache between your legs.
The only thing you can think about is your doomed fate. There was no time-limit on how long this would take before it ends the both of you. For all you know it would take only a minute.
Dean notices the anxiousness spread all across your face. He reaches his hand over the comfortingly pats your knee. You realize hes trying to make you feel less scared but you suddenly become hyper-aware of your body and how hot you feel.
Its just his hand on my knee. You think to yourself. There's no reason to get all excited from that.
He leaves his hand on your knee, and all you can think about now is where else he could put his hands. On your thighs? On your chest? In your mouth? Inside of you- You shudder and close your eyes tightly at that thought.
Its not that you haven't thought about Dean like that, you were sure just about everyone who met him has. You just never had it take such a big effect on you especially when you're right next to him.
Dean takes your shudder as a shudder of anxiety, so he trails his hand up ever so slightly and presses his fingers into the skin of your thigh.
The only sound in the car is the humming from the engine, none of Deans usual songs playing. At a time like this, you wish the radio was on to distract you.
You stick out your tongue to wet your dry lips. Deans hand that isn't on your thigh is gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white. His movements are stiff and his eyes are locked on the road, not sparing you a glance. You wonder if he has the same problem as you, if he also has an ache between his legs. You quickly glance down to his pants and see that, yes, he does have the same problem, the large tent in his pants being painfully obvious.
Dean turns his head immediately to you when you let out a little whimper at the sight of his bulge. You avoid eye contact, desperately staring out of the car window.
"You okay?" he asks you, his gruff voice adding to the fire in your belly.
"Yup," you squeak out. What is this man doing to you? You can hardly think straight.
Dean doesn't believe you, not in the slightest. It takes a minute for the gears in his head to turn before he realizes; you feel the same way he does. He originally chocked it up to you being scared, but he knows that is not the case. Dean slides his hand up higher on your thigh, you suck in a quick breath at the feeling.
"You sure?" He asks you with an underlying tone of arousal. You look back to him as you angle your leg to lean towards his body. "Mhm." You mumble out.
The fingers on your upper thigh slowly creep to the junction of your hip and thigh, there Dean rubs small circles into your flesh. His touch is lighting you on fire. Your breathing picks up and the ache between your legs rapidly intensifies.
On the old dirt roads Dean pulls off to the side, stopping close to the trees that line the road. He puts the car in park and turns off the vehicle. There was no cars on the road this late at night, It was just you two.
"You feel it too?" He asks you, just incase this is actually just one big coincidence and he read into it too much.
You nod your head yes and unbuckle your seat belt, Dean does the same. There is a pregnant pause where the both of you just look at each other, unsure of what to do. You cannot take this feeling anymore, though. You almost pounce on Dean. You crash your lips against his as his hand come up to hold your jaw in place. The kiss is messy, unsynchronized with teeth bumping against teeth and tongues sloppily licking at each other's mouth.
Dean uses his free hand to push you back onto the flat seat of the car. It's a good thing that the car has the big bench seats or else this would be a lot more uncomfortable. You're now laying down under Dean, his hand roughly grabbing at your boobs. You moan into the kiss.
Dean roughly pulls down your pants, leaving you in just your panties. All embarrassment you might have had has been overshadowed by your need to be f***ed by Dean. You bring your hand down to grip Deans hard c*ck through his pants, he lets out a hoarse moan at the friction. You make work on unbuttoning his pants and also pulling them down.
Skipping all foreplay it seems you both feel like you'll explode if you aren't f***ing as soon as possible, hell, you actually might. You pull down Deans boxers just low enough for you to free his cock. You jerk him a few times before he breaks the kiss. "Can I f*** you?" He says, you're literally jerking him off but he just wants to make sure. Ever the gentleman.
You enthusiastically nod your head up and down, giving him the go-ahead.
He takes his c*ck in his own hand and uses his other hand to push your panties to the side, allowing him access to your wet p**sy. He pushed into you, both of you releasing pent up moans. His c*ck is big, and you barely have anytime to adjust to his size before he roughly grabs your hips with both of his hands and starts thrusting into you.
Dean leans down to your neck to kiss and suck on your pulse point as you're moaning sweet praises to him, urging him to keep going. The windows start to fog up from both of your heavy breaths being released. Its an erotic scene, thats for sure. The both of you in the front seat f***ing like you're depraved.
There's definitely going to be bruises on your hips, you think to yourself. You lock your legs around Deans torso. Deans moans are like music to your ears, going straight to your impending orgasm. Your nails scratch at his back.
"F***- I'm close." You moan out into Deans ear.
"Yeah me too, sweetheart." His pace never relents, though, even with his orgasm quickly approaching. If anything it speeds up.
You can feel the coil in your belly tighten like no other time before. Your hands are grasping and clawing at Deans shoulders as your back arches, pushing your chest to his.
The coil in your belly snaps hard. Harder than any time before. You screw your eyes shut and loudly cry out as you cum around Deans cock.
It takes Dean no time to be cumming, as well. He cums inside of you, not that you care you're too f***ed out to be thinking about anything other than your orgasm.
You slowly release your legs' hold on Deans waist. The both of you trying to catch your breath from your climax. He slowly pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his pants. Dean sits back up-right on the seat and you follow suit. You fix your panties and pull your pants up.
The both of you just sit in silence for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You notice that you no longer feel anxious or ill, like the sex completly cured you... Oh. You think you figured it out. You open your mouth to say someting to the man next to you but he beats you to it.
“Do you know why I asked you to stay, Ms. Y/L/N?” His arms crossed before his chest as his gaze followed the last students roaming amongst the rows of the vast lecture hall, a blonde strand of hair falling loose and settling in a soft curve over his eye. Professor Rogers looked intimidating, but so damn sexy as well. His biceps bulged beneath the checkered white and blue button-up, his sleeves halfway rolled up, restrained by his evenly muscular forearms.
“To be perfectly honest, Professor,” Your voice stayed even, a slight mockery undertone by the use of formality when you had called him far more personal things than that before. Steve, Stevie, Daddy... you shook out of it - there were still people here. “I don’t. I was quite confident that my assignment was to your... satisfaction.” A smug grin hid behind the last word, as you remembered the actual satisfaction that assignment had brought you as well.
Steve had to hide his smile, too. His eyes darted with amusement when he tilted his head forward to peer up at you through his thick lashes. Your eyes wandered to his legs. His tan chinos were tight on his muscular thighs and the way he leaned back with his knees spread even wider - holy mother of god.
He knew damn well how hot he was, and the annoying thing was that he also knew how to make it work for him. Steve reveled in the power his body language had over you.
He watched as your tights clenched together behind his desk. The simple movement of his fingers on a desk could make you keen thinking about the places they had done that before. His confidence seeped though every f***ing vein in his body, dripping in thick undertones and slight remarks out of his mouth and invading your senses through his touch and smell.
He was to die for. Tall, muscular, charming, and older.
You looked him up and down again and as his head tilted to the side you knew exactly that he could read your every thought. His arms opened when the door closed behind the last student, one hand gliding to his inner thigh while the other motioned for you to step closer.
You did.
It was like an automatic response of your body. Though you leaned forwards on the wooden desk, your arms pushing inward to help the cleavage peeking through the collar of your top, Steve’s eyes pulled down in an instant as well.
“It certainly was.” He rubbed his beard. “I just thought it would be beneficial to go over it once more, highlight the good parts and make sure you know what made them so... enticing.” He leaned forward now, his fingers brushing yours on the sleek surface of the polished wood, though his eyes remained on your breasts. Steve wet his lips before his eyes flicked up to yours again. “I’m willing to thoroughly talk you through the rougher bits as well.”
“Are you implying they weren’t all good?”
“Oh, they were good, just not as good as other parts.”
It was a game. You knew that, and Steve knew that too. But the little role-playing brought an excitement to this ordeal that couldn’t be denied by either of you. He was like a magnet and your entire body felt like it was made of metal with the pull he had on you. You stood on your toes, pushing yourself further over the table, where Steve stayed entirely still. He was observing you, though. The slight intrigue in the twig of his brow when your lips came dangerously close to his. A fast glint to the double doors leading to the hallways full of students rushing to their next classes. There was no nervousness in his stare though. Steve actually liked the potential threat of getting caught. It spurred him on, enticed him, and turned him on beyond belief. You had learned that just the other week when he had dragged you behind the open door to the janitor's closet of the history building. He had absolutely no shame in getting his hands dirty while all the students walked past the dark room where Steve had his hand firmly pressed above your mouth as his other relentlessly plunged in and out of your wet cunt.
“Huh.” You pushed back. And even though the muscular blonde on the other side of the desk tried not to react, you caught his shoulder slouch in disappointment. You liked playing tough, though. While his perfume worked hard to pull you back into him, your feet shuffled a little further back, looking him up and down again. His legs were still manspreading on the chair and damn did those thighs look inviting. You knew they were.
The clock above the double door clicked louder now that the students outside had passed on to their next classes. You had one, too actually. But the professor was boring as hell and who wouldn’t trade a creepy scarf-wearing weirdo for this specimen of a man in front of you right now? Exactly: no one. But they didn’t have that chance. Steve had chosen you, reserved his glances and touches, and kissed for you and it was exciting. Getting to share his experiences, letting the older man take control of your body in such rough yet gentle ways.
Your legs strode around the desk as Steve’s eyes followed you through the room. His arms had reached out to you once you were close enough for him to grab and once his index finger looped in the belt loops of your jeans, he pulled you onto his lap. As your hands wandered to his shoulders, his snook around your waist, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your top. A shiver ran through you when he leaned back, his icy blue orbs piercing the air as they focused on yours, a small smile twinkling in the corner of his mouth.
“You look good.” You whispered, a hand smoothing over the collar. Steve’s lips escaped a laugh, and even though the sexual tension you build up with the sneaky conversation still lingered in the air, there was a softer, sweeter sound invading the atmosphere right this moment.
“I know you like the blue.” He mumbled when he dipped forward, his nose brushed your neck and a trial of goosebumps traveled down your back. The rasp in his voice stirred something in your stomach, a slight tingle shooting up to your brain and telling you ‘hey that’s hot!’ In bright and blaring neon lights.
Steve’s fingers ran down your legs and began massaging your thighs on each side of him. Another strand of hair came loose and fell forward. It tickled your neck as his mouth began to suck its way up to your sweet spot, your hands frantically cramming his shirt at the sudden attack. His tongue shot forward, soothing the place his teeth just nibbled on and the familiar burn ran over your skin as hisses and moans mixed in your mouth. Your hips jolted forward when he finally reached that spot behind your ear, hot breath blowing over the wet skin and a soft kiss right after.
“You smell...” A growl broke through his speech when your hips ground a second time. “So sweet...”
A jolt of confidence placed a grin on your lips. The perfume you wore had turned some heads before, but the only one that mattered was Steve’s. His mouth resumed his caress of your skin as his hand wandered to your ass, slowly pushing you forward and guiding you over the growing bulge beneath his pants.
“Ah, yes!” It was only a breath out when the seam of your jeans was pushed into your clit by the hardness in his lap, but - God did that feel good! Your back arched when he continuously ripped you over the spot, your hands buried in his hair, pressing him deeper into your skin, encouraging him to keep going.
“Goddamn...” His head switched to the other side of your neck, the skin on the neglected one already hot and tingly. But your sole focus lay between your legs, where his c*ck massaged your clit in perfectly firm rocking motions. The roughness of the jeans just added to the pleasure creeping through your body.
You could’ve gone like this forever, with the heat rising in your belly and Steve’s muffled panting lingering in the air, but Steve pulled away. A whine brushed over to him when his lips left your skin. You were burning from his touch but at the same time, a cool brush of goosebumps covered your body. It was crazy how much you craved his touch even when he was sitting right in front of you. His stare alone lit a fire within your stomach, butterflies flying wild patterns through every nerve ending when his light blue eyes found yours in the distance of the lecture hall. It had happened suddenly and spiraled beyond your control within days. And then, when he had finally kissed you, it was pretty clear that there was no going back. Steve was like a drug. Something you shouldn’t play with and something that was definitely illegal to pursue, but so so so freaking good because he made you feel things you could have never imagined.
His voice pulled you back to reality.
“As much as I like your ass in those jeans...” Steve tugged on your Jeans with dark eyes, the silver button glimmered in the lecture hall light when his rough fingers yanked on the material. “They need to go.” That last part was just a growl in your ear but the tire of it made you eagerly wiggle out of the blue denim.
You stepped out of your jeans once he had finally opened them and when his eyes fell on the underwear covering your heat, he pulled you closer by your hips. His thumbs drove circles over your skin, sending yet another tingle of excitement up your spine. His hands wandered back to your behind, squeezing and needing the flesh all while pressing you into his front.
Your lips attached to his neck like a magnet, your hand scraping the gruff on his chin with excited circles. A growl traveled past his lips when you reached his sweet spot - the one right beneath his ear, making him melt every time. A deviant smile spread about your face but before you could revel in the control you had over him - even if it was just for a short moment - he had you turned around, facing the rows of desks stretching to the walls.
“You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” His hand wandered past your breasts down your front and stopped right by the edges of your panties, the other holding you by the hip, pressing his hard-on right to your back. The excitement shooting through you did nothing to hide, slick pooling between your legs, and your nipples already hard pebbles on your skin. “Putting on these scandalous little lace things thinking about how I’ll be seeing them today...” Warm breath tingled at your ear when he leaned closer, pushing his hand past the hem of the lace. “...taking them off of your perfect body.”
You moaned when his fingers slit past your folds, gathering some slick to smoothly roam about your clit.
“Maybe...” The shivers erupting from his touch interrupted your speech until you could collect yourself. “I’m always thinking of you, Stevie.” He bit your neck before his tongue smoothed over the spot again. It was a perfect interplay of pleasure and pain, the wet warm strokes of his tongue soothing the stinging and adding fuel to a desire only he could evoke in you.
“Say it again,” he growled, adding more pressure to the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You squirmed as the muscles in your abdomen tightened, clenching around nothing and reminding you what you had been missing. “What else are you thinking about?”
“Your hands all over my body...” Your hand guided his over to your breasts encouraging him to squeeze the soft flesh and breathing heavily when his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple. “Pushing me to bend over that desk while you fill me up with your big cock.”
“Nothing I’d rather do, doll.” Before you knew it your face was gently pressed against the cold and polished wood. Warm hands wandered to your ass where they pulled down your underwear painfully slow, having you fiddle in place impatiently.
“Now, don’t be so hasty, love. I gotta take my time.” You heard his belt unbuckle.
“Unfortunately, Professor, time is the one thing we do not have a lot of...” His hands stopped moving as you called him ‘Professor’, though you knew it wasn’t a bad thing. If anything, it probably turned him on more, which would hopefully speed up the process of him finally filling you up to the brim. Your p**sy clenched at the thought of it again - a frustrating reminder of the emptiness you so wished to disappear.
“Too bad, I would have loved to play with you a little more.”
“Tick Tock...”
“As you wish, princess-” And before the words had even reached your ears, you felt his swollen tip nudge at your entrance, stroking up and down your slit to cover in your arousal as a sinful sound escaped Steve’s lips.
His hands found their way back to your waist before he finally pushed fully into you, leaving you no time to adjust to his size as he started pounding into you with an unrelenting pace. The burn wasn’t painful though. You knew he was big, and even though you had not believed that he would ever fit inside of you, Steve had managed to not only do that but also ruin you for every other man to ever come.
“Look at your greedy little cunt begging for my cock, practically sucking me in, doll.”
You couldn’t answer, too focused on holding onto the desk and controlling your body not to melt with his strokes as he pushed into you over and over again.
“Gripping me so tight... perfect little p**sy.” A slap landed on your ass cheek to which you responded with another loud moan. If there had been a care for anyone to hear you doing the indescribable in this lecture hall before, Steve had certainly f***ed it out of you by now. You turned your head watching as he spit down on his c*ck before it disappeared in you again, his head falling back with shut eyes while he reveled in every piece of pleasure you gave him.
“F***!” He locked eyes with you, a determined smirk painting his face when his hand wandered around your body again, finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles over the nub.
Your vision blurred as the hot pleasure crept up your spine. There was something about Steve’s touch that made you feel as though every nerve in your body fired twice and fast. You clenched around him again, watching with pleasure as his brows furrowed.
He picked up his pace, kicking your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle now.
“Oh my god!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you closed them, trying to last longer than this. The feeling was just too good to let go of so soon. But with Steve’s hunky body towering over you and his c*ck stroking just the right spot with every moan he pulled from you, that seemed like an impossible task. You tried your best, though, but right when you thought that you would last a little longer, his fingers changed the direction of the circles on your clit and turned your brain to mush.
“I’m gonna- ah”
“The hell you are.” He pulled away, leaving you to whimper with the empty feeling you had never wanted back. But Steve pulled you up and turned you around in one swift motion, walking forward until you were pressed against the desk again. This time, though, he made you lay on your back with a hazy smile.
“I wanna see your pretty face when you come all over my cock.” He placed your legs on his shoulders and grabbed his d*ck to line it up with your entrance again. Then, he made sure to keep eye contact while he pushed himself into you once again, but this time, painfully slow.
You gripped him tight when he bottomed out, stroking the flesh on your thigh while he pulled back just to pound back in again.
“I f***ing love this p**sy,” he growled as his pace picked up much to your delight, “it’s mine. Tell me, baby.”
“Yes. Yes, it’s all yours, Stevie.” You couldn’t even focus on the words leaving your mouth at this point. You would say yes to anything he said just to make the feeling of his c*ck stroking your walls last forever.
“That’s a what?” He halted, raised eyebrows watching you expectantly.
“Yes, sir,” you smirked.
“Good girl.” The pressure built up again and when his hand found its way back to your clit, you felt like exploding. His pace didn’t falter, determination taking over while he watched himself slip in and out of you with hungry eyes.
You would be busting in seconds if he kept it up like this, your walls clenching tighter and tighter, your stomach feeling rock solid from the pleasure building up with every circle of his thumb and every stroke of his cock.
“Don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”
That was all it took for the knot to finally come loose. “Ah!” Your back arched off the table while your hands frantically searched for something to grip, the walls of your p**sy fluttering and making your core be on fire with pleasure. It just intensified when Steve slowed his strokes to let you ride on the wave of bliss that made your body tingle.
When you relaxed again, you felt your walls pulsing with lazy delight. A weak smile shining through your hooded eyes when you watched him intensify his strokes again. Shaky whimpers left your throat when his c*ck brushed over your sensitive parts. He was close, too. You could feel him twitching inside of you, waiting for the perfect moment to let go. And you would give him just that.
“You make me feel so good, sir. Your big c*ck stretches me out, fills me up. I want you to come inside of me.”
“F***, keep going.” He closed his eyes, speeding up his movements and making the pressure build right up for you again.
“You’re so big. I can feel you in my stomach, baby. Make me come by just thinking about you. So sexy and strong and- ah oh!”
Steve’s movements staggered his c*ck twitching as his face contorted into pleasure while you felt his cum spill inside of you. The scene was erotic, and the sounds coming from the man above of you made you reach another orgasm, milking the last drop from him with every pulse of your walls.
Your chest heaved as you leaned your head back, watching the clock above the door. It was too sad this moment was ending.
Though Steve took his time. He watched his juices drip after he pulled out, whispering a low ‘perfect’ into the room that made your head feel hot.
How was this man making you flustered after shamelessly rearranging your guts in a public lecture hall?
“Put your jeans back on, doll. I don’t wanna get in trouble today.” He winked at you while he zipped up his pants and secured the buckle on top. You stood, fixing his slightly tossed hair and leaving your hand hovering over his jaw.
“Where’d you put my panties?” He kissed you.
“I think I’m gonna keep these,” Steve smiled while stuffing them into his back pocket.
“For revision, I presume?” You smiled with wicked eyes.
All he heard was the deep growls. All he felt was the heavy rumbling. He couldn’t even hear his own thoughts. His life and his body was hell. All he had left was the insatiable hunger and the growled thoughts of murder and torture.
The hardest thing for him to cope with was that he knew exactly when and where he got this… Thing. It wasn’t an illness or a virus, it was something more, something tangible. And there was nothing he could have done to stop it. Back in Siberia, all those years ago, in pursuit of the super soldiers, he had wrenched the frozen metal door open and stepped into the cold darkness of the cement tunnel that led to the cell where the cryo-soldiers were kept. The hair on the back of his neck had stood up as he entered, and his penlight flickered and died. He was smart, he was former military; he had put fresh batteries in the thing before he left the outpost. “Hello?” he called. He remembered the way his voice bounced off of the frostbitten walls and burrowed back deep into his chest. “Is somebody there?”
Zemo had watched in vague curiosity as a black sludge began to slowly ooze out of the cracks of the cement. Oil? The small blinking light at the door flashed red, then off, then red again; the oil had a purple sheen to it, and almost seemed to be pulsating. Zemo blinked a few times, and mashed his fingers into his eyes. He cursed at himself for not sleeping much the night before. Obviously, he was exhausted and he was seeing things. Oil did not move like that, especially without something acting upon it. Zemo kept his feet planted on the ground, but shuffled slowly closer to the mass of oozing oil. With his gloved hand, he reached out and carefully dipped his fingertips into it, and he brought it up to his face to examine it. It wasn’t oil, he could tell that instantly. It didn’t stink like oil, and it didn’t seep into his gloves. He pressed his fingertips together and watched as the substance latched to both fingers and stretched, like honey. Before he could even whisper to himself, admitting his confusion, the inky purple stuff was slithering down his hand to his wrist. He stumbled backwards and smacked at his arm, and he chewed his tongue as he felt the thing slither up his sleeve and up his stomach and chest under his shirt and coat. He wasn’t sure if he slipped or if the thing tripped him, but he remembered lying prone on the floor, limbs outspread, as the black thing grew in size. It encircled his wrists and ankles, swooped his legs, wrapped around his shoulders and neck. It felt like a jungle vine, thick and heavy and utterly unmovable. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t even do that in his fear. Was this some sort of HYDRA torture device? A long forgotten experiment that was left to rot but became more? HYDRA was the root of his woes, and he couldn’t fathom any other thing that would make this.
Zemo could only watch with wide eyes as the thing slithered evilly over his waist, and one long, cold tentacle sprouted from the mass. It raised itself up his body to look him in the eye— yes, yes, the thing had eyes, its stare was demonic and made his blood run cold— and then small tendrils grew from the tentacle around his neck. They were no bigger than strands of hair, but they grew, chasing their way to his mouth. He began to scream then, trying to kick and fight against the beast, but the small tendrils clamped down over his bottom teeth and lip and forced his mouth open with so much strength that he gave a howl of pain and anguish as he felt the bone of his face crack. And then, the largest tentacle, the one that looked him in the eye, gave a little writhing motion before charging forward, into his waiting mouth.
He was conscious for the entire process, but he wished he had died when the beast had entered his mouth. It ran down his throat, filling his mouth and making him choke on it. He remembered the taste, foul and sour, worse than anything he had ever smelled before. He remembered the feeling of how it had inhabited his body, slithering into his lungs and stomach, filling every nerve inside him, and, when it entered his brain, it was the most glorious feeling he had ever had. He couldn’t believe it. His body was in complete anguish, trying to fight the invader and shutting down at the failure of it, but his head felt normal. Not normal; better than normal. It felt like a thousand of the most intense orgasms rolled into one wave, and his vision went white for just a moment. And then, just as quickly as it had started, the entire thing ended. Every last bit of the dark purple creature escaped upwards, following the path that was left for it, entering his mouth and leaving no trace of itself behind. The floor wasn’t stained, his clothes didn’t look touched (except for the wet stain inside his pants, and he couldn’t discern if the wetness was urine or semen). By all accounts, nothing had happened. And yet…
The fuzziness in his head persisted. He was confused. Every thought in his head was a growled voice, his own, but lower and angrier. It spoke just a second before he did; he would hear his words gravelled inside his head, and then, a second later, they’d escape his mouth. The only time that the creature wasn’t raging against its cranial jail was when things around him were quiet. On that snowy hill, the cold gun in his hand, his phone to his ear. He listened to Heike’s last message, heard his son playing in the background of the phone call. The creature was quiet until Zemo deleted the voicemail, and then spoke in an articulate, if hissing, voice: “You have me now. You do not need them.”
“My family?” Zemo mumbled. “Or the Avengers?”
“Both.”
He raised the gun to his chin and, without a second thought, squeezed the trigger. Death was better than living with this thing inside him. His blood felt like fire in his veins, bordering on pain with every pump of his heart. Death was better. But death didn’t come. The gun went off and Zemo was thrown backwards into the embankment of snow behind him, and his eyes flashed open to show one long tentacle, sprouting from his back, curled in front of his face. The bullet was lodged in the slithering oil, and it dropped it into his lap. “I’ll never let you get hurt,” the thing told Zemo, its voice filling his head once more. “We’ll be best friends, together forever.”
You had been briefed on this prisoner, and you felt a sinking guilt and awfulness when you thought about the day ahead. You knew very little about Baron Helmut Zemo other than what you had learned from the news, that he was charged with terrorism, murder, and a laundry list of other crimes, and that, during his trial, he had bargained his way off death row and into several life sentences. However, your job now was to determine if he was being truly reformed and deserving of parole, or if he was still the man that the jury knew. You could remember seven years ago, watching the trial on TV, how the Baron seemed fidgety and uneasy, moving his lips and speaking to himself. He looked perpetually ill, too; pale, sallow skin, bloodshot eyes, his lips chewed red and sore, his hair limp. At the time, a court psychiatrist had diagnosed him with a form of schizophrenia and said that it contributed to his crimes, but seven years of therapy and medication had passed. Now, you had to reevaluate him.
The room was cold and metallic, and you heard the shuffling of your papers against the walls. He was due in any minute, and you swallowed thickly at the anticipation. You wondered if you had time to run to the restroom and splash your face with water, but the heavy iron door gave a thundering thud as it was unlocked. You sat up straight, partly in professionalism and partly in fear, and you watched the door open. There were two German-speaking guards flanking the man they led in, and you gave him a good look.
Those brown eyes were the same ones you remembered from the television, but everything else looked different. His skin had more color to it, his cheeks rosy with health; he had a thick, dark beard on his chin, and his caramel-colored hair was fluffy atop his head. He wore an easy navy uniform, the canvas pants and shirt along with a zippered hoodie and shuffling slippers. Chains around his ankles and wrists clanked as he walked, and you saw his hands clasped formally in front of his waist. “Thank you, gentlemen,” you said, and one nodded before he left. The remaining guard palmed you a small plastic container, like a film container, and he mumbled, “If you need it, there’s a key. Try not to need it.”
You nodded in understanding, and pushed the plastic container into your pocket as Zemo sat down in his metal chair. You waited until the door closed firmly to take a breath, and you said, “If you don’t mind me conducting this interview in English…”
“As you wish,” Zemo replied. His voice was deep and rumbling, with that Sokovian accent that was so rare nowadays. You were a native Sokovian; you recognized it. But you had moved from Sokovia when you were young and had been able to train the accent away, as well as any memory of your life there. Maybe, though, that was for the best.
“I’ve exhausted all of my German,” you chuckled lightly. “And I don’t remember a lick of Sokovian. Again, if you don’t mind, I would also like to record this interview; for later use, if need be.”
Zemo nodded, and you tugged out your palm-sized recorder. You set it easily on the table, where he could see it at all times, and you paused to start the recording before you spoke again. “For my records, could you state your full name, please?” you asked.
Zemo sighed through clenched teeth, and he gestured his entwined hands towards the papers in front of you. “Do you not have my full name there?”
“It’s just a formality,” you replied easily; you were used to that question and, while it was frustrating, it was a daily occurance. “Full name, please.”
“What title would you prefer?” he asked. “Baron or Colonel?”
“Whichever pleases you most,” you told him. You remembered reading in his file that he used to be the leader of EKO Skorpion, a kill-squad whose ledger dripped red, but you wondered if he chose to associate with that part of him. He had retired from the military shortly after his son was born, and you had assumed that he might have tried to move away from that part of his life. It was a natural reaction, for sure, and you wondered if he ever regretted his decision to leave.
“My name,” he began. “Is Baron Helmut Zemo.”
“Thank you,” you replied. “So, Baron, we can start pretty easy. How have you been?”
Zemo scoffed. “I have been in prison for seven years,” he replied. “Not great.”
You nodded a bit in understanding. That much was to be expected. “How would you rate your daily mood?” you asked, taking up your pen and jotting down notes. Hostile; obviously does not want to be here. “On a scale of one to ten, one being awful, ten being amazing.”
“Two or three,” Zemo replied. “Depends if there’s cake with dinner.”
You chuckled a bit, and raised your eyes to him. “You like cake?” you asked, and Zemo nodded with no hint of humor or amusement. “What’s your favorite?”
“Chocolate,” Zemo said simply.
“Cool, that’s good,” you said. Likes chocolate cake; reward system? “So, on a daily basis, you’re not doing too great. You’ve been taking your medication?”
“I have no choice,” Zemo said sharply. “They watch me, and check under my tongue.”
“I take it you don’t particularly like your medication,” you said softly. “Why is that?”
“They make me tired,” Zemo said, and he clenched his jaw as his fingers began to drum on the metal table. “And they make me…”
Tired and… “And what else?” you asked. “If it’s something embarrassing, I understand, but please don’t feel ashamed. I’m a psychiatrist, Baron, I promise I’ve heard it before.”
“I’m afraid it’s crass,” Zemo said, lowering his eyes away from your face for the first time since he entered the room. “But… They tend to make me aroused.”
Increased libido. “Alright,” you said quickly. “That’s normal, especially with the amount of medication you’re on. I can see if I can adjust your dosage to lessen that, if you’d like? If that’s getting in the way of daily activities and things, it’s certainly not a problem.”
Zemo shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “I just masturbate a lot.”
You shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that,” you said, and you briefly checked the previous appointment notes. You hadn’t taken them, but he had complained about these things before, and you couldn’t find a record of changes ever actually being made. Poor guy was suffering for no reason.. “So, other than being tired and aroused, are there any other issues with your medication? Digestion issues or things like that? Or other issues, period?”
“No,” Zemo replied, and he took a deep breath. “The meds make me hungry, though.”
You nodded quickly and wrote that down. “I’m sure I could get you bigger meal portions,” you said. “Or a snack in between meals. Whatever you’d like.”
“I don’t need more food,” Zemo laughed bitterly. “I’ve already gotten fat.”
“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t think so. Weight gain on mediation is normal, and I assume that you’re leading a generally healthier lifestyle now: regular meals, halfway-decent sleep, and mental stimulation. This is all normal, but, if it bothers you—”
“You’re American,” Zemo said, interrupting you, as if he hadn’t been listening to you at all. “Where did you study?”
“I’m not American by birth,” you replied. “I studied at Harvard, though.”
“Not American,” he repeated. “Can I guess?”
“I’m Sokovian,” you told him gently. “I was born in Novi Grad and moved to New York when I was young. I don’t remember anything about Sokovia, but it might be for the best…”
Zemo nodded slowly, and he mumbled, “Sokovia was a good country. I was proud to serve it, even if I hated every second of it… And Harvard. Smart girl. I didn’t go to university; I didn’t want to do anything when I was 18.”
“What led you to enlist in the military?” you asked.
“My father,” Zemo said. “Heinrich was a mean son of a bitch and told me I was going to do something with my life, or he would disown me, so I did the first thing I thought of.”
“And you said you enjoyed your military service?”
“Who does?” Zemo asked. “I hated it. I’m… Haunted by it. You never forget the way a man looks when he’s begging for his life. I was proud to represent my country, but I hated what I had to do to serve it.”
You nodded softly, not quite sure how to respond. You felt sorry for him; he was obviously very troubled, not that it excused what he had done to end up in prison. “How have you been spending your free time?” you asked; you wanted to steer the conversation away from his military service, as it seemed he was becoming agitated by talking about it.
Zemo shrugged. “Reading,” he said. “I lead a very boring life, draga, much more dull than I wish my life to be.”
“What’re you reading?” you asked, not even bothering to react to the nickname. Many of the inmates called you little pet names— you were a youthful and pretty woman, you were bound to be the angel of the prison. Zemo was no different than any other man you assessed. “Anything good?”
“Machiavelli,” he replied.
“Do you like Machiavelli?” you asked. That was a little concerning, considering how angry Machiavelli could tend to be in his writings, and you jotted down a quick note about that.
“Can I admit something to you?” Zemo asked, lurching forward in his seat. You moved backwards in shock, your chair creaking with the movement, and Zemo’s lips curled into a smile. “Oh. Did I scare you, draga?”
“Not scared,” you said, even though you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. “Just… Startled. I wasn’t prepared for you to move so quickly.”
“I might be old and fat, but I can still move,” Zemo said. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Yes, of course,” you told him. “You can tell me anything; if the admission makes me concerned for your safety or the safety of others, though, I’m required to report it.”
“Of course,” Zemo said with a quick nod. “But I’ve been on this medication for… Seven years? And I don’t think I’m getting better.”
“No?” you asked, tilting your head. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I can still hear that voice,” Zemo told you, his brown eyes wide. “You people told me I would get better and stop hearing the voice.”
“I didn’t…” you began. “I didn’t realize you still could hear it.” Auditory hallucination has returned; recommend med change. “Do you think you’d like to change medication?”
“That won’t fix it,” Zemo said. “He’s never going away. No medication can make him leave.”
“Him?” you asked, and flipped through your papers, looking for any notation that indicated that Zemo had previously personified his hallucination. “What’s his name, Zemo?”
“Azazel,” Zemo told you. “My very own bringer of war. It’s poetic.”
“It’s Biblical,” you replied.
“Sokovia was a Catholic country,” Zemo said easily. “You knew this, you’re as traumatized by it as I am.”
“So, you say that Azazel is still talking to you,” you said softly, shaking off the jab. “Is he speaking now?”
Zemo paused, his eyes focused on the table in front of him, and he nodded. “He says he wants…” Zemo began. “No. No. You can’t do that.”
“Can’t do what?” you asked, and Zemo turned away from you as best as he could while still shackled in his chair.
“I don’t care!” he hissed. “You can’t… No! You can’t do that either!”
“Are you speaking to Azazel right now?” you asked, and Zemo shushed you harshly.
“Listen, I finally pay attention to you and you treat me like this?” Zemo said. “I oughta stop eating that cake, that’ll shut you up.”
You started to speak, to admonish him for trying to punish himself, but a third voice entered the space. It was deeper and burrowed hard into your chest, nearly knocking the breath from your lungs. It curled mysteriously around your ears, tendrils pushing to your brain. “If you stop the chocolate,” the voice said. “I’ll eat your brain!”
“Like hell you would,” Zemo scoffed.
“Why won’t I?” the thundering voice asked.
“Because you haven’t yet,” Zemo replied.
“Who is this?” you asked. Your hands had started to quiver, and you put your pen down shakily. There was nobody else in the room, nobody else to speak. “Is-Is the intercom on?”
“You’re an awful host,” the voice said again, and Zemo rolled his eyes.
“You’re an awful parasite,” Zemo replied.
“Baron, do you know who’s speaking?” you asked quickly. You reached out for the recorder, set to turn it off and pack up your sh*t and leave, but something happened. As you reached out and your dress sleeve tugged up to expose your wrist, something grabbed your arm. It took you a second to understand what you saw, because what you were seeing was ridiculous: a shining, black tentacle was wrapped tight around your wrist. It slithered and writhed like a snake, and you shrieked and tried to tug your arm away.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the deep godlike voice told you, and your vision clouded with frightened tears. “Are you scared of us?”
“Let me go!” you cried, trying to yank your arm away. The tentacle was stronger than you, though, and he jerked you forward. Your stomach collided with the edge of the table and you groaned in pain, and your gaze went to Zemo.
He looked… Nonplussed. His forehead was wrinkled, but he was still sitting, still shackled. “Baron!” you whimpered. “What is this?”
“It’s my voice,” he said. “The thing that you people tried to get rid of.”
“You people?” you repeated. You remembered him saying that earlier, but you hadn’t brought attention to it. Who were your people? Doctors? People who worked for the prison?
“Normal people,” Zemo said, sensing your confusion. “I-I didn’t want Azazel to come out, I’m sorry, he’s really disobedient—”
“Let go of me!” you shrieked and tried to tug at your wrist again, but a second tentacle wrapped tight around your ankle. “Zemo! Stop this, please!”
“— But you’re disobedient too,” Zemo said. His gaze turned hard, his brown eyes nearly black, and he said, “You lied to me. You told me this was a check-up, but you’re not my normal psychiatrist. You’re trying to assess if I’m well enough to be put back on death row, aren’t you?”
“No!” you told him, and you kicked out at the tentacle around your ankle. It only tightened, pinching your skin, and you felt your sinews shifting with the force of it. “Th-That’s not it, Zemo! Please, make him stop!”
“You deserve to be punished,” Zemo said. “Just as I deserved to be punished, but my punishment is… Him.”
You felt a third tentacle wrap around your leg, and it slithered upwards, towards your waist. Fear flashed hot in your body, and you lashed out against it. “Make him stop,” you sobbed. “Please! What’s he doing?”
“He’s punishing you,” Zemo replied simply. He didn’t seem upset by the fact that his “parasite”, as he called it, this monster inside of him, was restraining you and brutalizing you. “I can’t stop him. It’s been seven years since he had a proper meal, and he’s been raging ever since you walked in.”
“Don’t do this,” you whimpered. “Please don’t do this, please, you’ll regret it—”
“Why?” Zemo asked. “Because I’ll be put to death? I deserve it. I deserved to have been killed seven years ago, but that doctor back then, he got me off easy, he said I was sick, but I’m not. Azazel didn’t come to me until after my crimes. Everything I did was me.”
“And I deserve this?” you asked. The third tentacle was tight around your hips now, and the wriggling tip was playing with the bottom of your dress, almost as if it were a teasing lover. “Please, please, I’ll do anything.”
“The time for begging has passed, girl,” the deep voice said, now fully rebounding in your skull; Azazel, the parasite, the symbiote. You remembered years ago, when you were just a girl, when you had just moved to New York City, aliens invaded. You remembered being sent home and cowering with your parents in the apartment, your mother praying and your father watching the news as these slithering creatures destroyed whole blocks and killed countless people. You could recall the sight of the Avengers, newly formed, fighting the creatures called the Chitauri, and you remembered how your father had thrown up when they were seated. But they left several things behind. A high schooler in New York had come into contact with the materials they left a few years ago, but you could recall rumors that the aliens had left babies and eggs on the earth. It was a horror story, one that guys told in order to make their girlfriends clutch their arms at bonfires, a slimy octopus monster that would eat human brains in order to stay alive. But it was always just a myth to you. There was nothing real about it. It was ridiculous to even consider the thing to be real, but it was real, here, and you were his victim.
“He’s going to eat me, isn’t he?” you gasped, your tears rolling down your cheeks. Your entire body shook, and you sniffled as Zemo nodded in your peripheral vision. You couldn’t look up from the table; you would see him, you would see the tentacles.
“Eventually,” Zemo told you. “But first he’s gonna have some fun. We both need it.”
You couldn’t even muster up the courage to make a sound as the tentacle pushed up your thigh, and you finally lifted your head to Zemo. The tentacles were sprouting from his back as he still sat in the chair, and his eyes were black. The simple sight of it made your body run stiff and cold, and you completely forgot about fighting back. But, as the tip of the tentacle pushed your panties aside, an involuntary scream ripped itself from your throat. “Make him stop!” you yelped, but a fourth tentacle shot from Zemo’s back and shoved itself past your lips with no hesitation. You choked on the limb, tasting like sour and rotten garbage, and the monster took the moment in which you were distracted to shove itself up into your cunt.
Your body instantly protested the shock of the intrusion, and you screamed around the tentacle in your mouth. The sound of the thing inside you was awful, slithering around with wet slurps, exploring your channel and kissing your cervix, and you screamed at the pain. The stretch of its thick base threatened to split you in two, and the tip wriggled fiercling against your cervix. It toed that border of pain and pleasure, and it only tipped to pain because of how f***ing terrified you were. Zemo was watching you scream and cry, his eyes fixed on your face, and the monster gave a thundering groan that made your knees weak with fear. “Feels good,” the monster purred. The tentacle inside your mouth pushed further in, becoming thicker and thicker and forcing your mouth wider, and you began to choke and gag on it. You almost thought the pain of it would kill you. You almost wished it would.
And then, awfully, the tentacle that had penetrated your cunt began to pull out before it rocked back in. It wasn’t just going to claim you and frighten you and humiliate you; it was going to f*** you. The monster, this unexplainable thing, was going to f*** you and eat your brain. It sounded absurd, and perhaps it was, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to cry anymore. You lifted your hand from the table and scrambled to grab Zemo’s hand, and he took no time to fill your fingers with his. His hands were still shackled and, even though there didn’t seem to be much behind the darkness of his eyes, his eyebrows were drawn in displeasure.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” Zemo sighed as the monster f***ed you harder. The table shifted underneath you with the force of it and you yelped around the thing in your mouth, and Zemo frowned. “I said, stop it. I won’t let you eat her if you don’t stop.”
“You wouldn’t!” Azazel thundered. His voice rattled up his limb and into your body, and your knees buckled. No. No, there was no way that you were deriving even a little pleasure from this thing. “You promised!”
“But she’s frightened,” Zemo said. “And I want a turn with her before you flip her inside out.”
“Fine!” Azazel huffed like an insolent child, and he fully retracted from inside you. You squeezed your eyes shut tight as his tentacle fell from your mouth, and you gagged and spit on the table. Your saliva was tinted black from him, the oil and grime that was on his limb, and you whimpered when he tugged himself from your cunt.
“Draga,” Zemo began softly. His warm hand touched your cheek, angling your head up to look at him, and you cowered away; Azazel still held your waist tightly, and you wanted to crawl out of your skin to escape him. You sniffled and whimpered, and Zemo’s face fell. “The key that the guard gave you. Which pocket did you put it in?”
You sniffled, and your bottom lip wobbled so hard that you couldn’t even form words. Zemo sighed, and one of Azazel’s free tentacles slithered back your leg. You began to cry again, utterly terrified and hoping that he wouldn’t violate you a second time, but Zemo’s big paw slapped over your mouth. He shushed you gently, and the tentacle went into a pocket on your dress. It curled around the small container that held the key and flung it up towards Zemo, and it landed on the table so loudly that you jolted. You sniffled again and your hands shook as you grabbed at the container, and you held Zemo’s wrist in a steel grip as you struggled to unlock his handcuffs. Your dexterity was already awful before you even came in the room, and now your whole body was vibrating with shock and fear. You hoped, for your own sake, that you wouldn’t remember any of this.
Finally, you managed to free Zemo, and his gentle hand brushed your tears and smudged makeup away. “Good girl,” he whispered. “You’re gonna let me have my fun now, right?”
“Th-They’ll see you,” you stammered. “Th-There’s c-cameras… They’ll see this.”
“They won’t see him,” Zemo told you. “Azazel only shows himself to people he wants to. On the cameras, they’ll watch you cry and get weak in the knees for no reason, and then they’ll see me f*** you.”
“I-I’ll tell them the truth,” you said. “My rec-corder, they’ll hear him.”
“No, they won’t,” Zemo said. “Nobody else will see anything or hear anything. For all intents and purposes, we’re alone.”
You struggled for a different threat. “I’ll say you raped me,” you told him. “Y-You forced yourself on me.”
“Well, I’m about to do that, aren’t I?” Zemo asked. “And there will be hard evidence, your precious cameras and recordings. Trial won’t last a day, and I’ll be on death row again. I’ll be roasted like a f***ing pig and I deserve it, but thank God I get to have some p**sy before I go out.”
“You’re evil,” you hissed, and you spat at him. Zemo didn’t even flinch as your black-tinted spit hit his cheek, and he only grabbed the key from your trembling fingers and went about unlocking his ankles. The black oily tentacles were still sprouting from his back, and you saw the rips and holes in his shirt and jacket as he leaned over. They were a part of him. He truly was a host to an alien parasite.
The restraints fell to the floor with a loud slam, and Zemo walked freely to your side of the table. He took a moment to grab your recorder and place it on the floor, away from both of you, and he swept a soft hand on your neck, pushing your hair aside. “I haven’t touched a woman in eight years,” he whispered, touching his nose to your hair. “F***, I could cum just from the smell of you… You’ll let me do whatever I want, right?”
“Go to hell,” you whimpered.
“In due time, draga,” Zemo said. “But first you’re going to grant a dying man’s wish. Open your legs.”
You drew in a quivering breath, and his hand fell to your back, just between your shoulder blades. He pushed you forward, further and further until your chest collided with the table, and he pushed your legs further apart with his foot. He flipped up your skirt and shoved your panties down your thighs, and he gave a deep groan at the sight of your cunt. “God, that’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen…” he mumbled, and he touched his fingertips to your swollen lips. You jumped at the contact, and he gave a little laugh. “Sensitive, are we? F***, this is gonna be so good.”
Your legs trembled as you heard the shuffling of his clothing, and you hated the way that the head of his c*ck almost felt good against your cunt. He was warm, unlike the monster. You could smell his body, feel his pulse, hear his breathing. You were almost comforted by his humanity. It had been a long time since you had had sex and, under normal circumstances, you would have welcomed Zemo into your body. But, failing that, you had to bite your lip and claw at the table as he pushed the thick head of his c*ck into you. The pain burned, less that Azazel had, but it was still enough to make you whimper a little.
Zemo shushed you, his hand stroking down the side of your body, and he softly kissed your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered. “Take it, draga, I know you can. You took Azazel, I know you can take me.” Your channel throbbed with the pain, and Zemo gave a strangled groan at the sudden restriction on his cock. How long had it been for him? Eight years, he had said earlier, since he touched a woman. The poor man was starving for it.
He didn’t hesitate to grab your hips and anchor his body on yours, and he began to rock his hips into you. The way his c*ck split you with each thrust left you breathless, and he was quick to reach around to your throat and grab you. He squeezed the sides of your neck, hard enough for your vision to go a little grey, and he chuckled. He said nothing, though, still pistoning himself inside you. His thrusts were long and punishing, almost as if you had done something wrong and he was teaching you a lesson. Maybe he was teaching you a lesson. Maybe he was teaching you what happened to people who angered him.
Your legs were weak as Zemo f***ed you, and his arm went tight around your waist to keep you upright. He huffed a little with exertion each time he f***ed into you, but your pained moans seemed to be the fuel he needed. His free hand pushed up your dress and groped at your tits, and he chuckled when he found your nipples stiff. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he laughed. “You wanna cum on my c*ck so badly, don’t you? Say it, little girl, tell me how badly you wanna make a mess on my cock.”
You sobbed. Not because you were scared anymore; no, now it was a sob of pleasure. Zemo angeled himself inside you, and the thick head of his c*ck kissed at that sweet spot inside you, and your whole body writhed in his strong grip. “Wanna…” you whimpered, gulping down air. “Wanna cum. Let me cum, please.”
“Oh, saying please,” Zemo laughed, squeezing your tit hard enough to make you gasp. “How polite. How can I refuse that?” His hand went further up your body, his hand snaking out of the collar of your dress to grasp your throat once more, and his strong fingers grasped your chin and tugged your head to the side. Quickly, his lips sealed to yours in a messy kiss, spit coating your lips and connecting you fully to him, and his tongue claimed your small mouth as he f***ed you harder, one more time. “Cum, baby,” he sighed into your open mouth, and he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Cum for me, draga, please cum.”
The desperation in his pleading was not lost on you, but you didn’t have time to ponder it. Your body was reacting to Zemo with a hot intensity, and a fire devoured your skin as you felt yourself gushing cum around his thick cock. Your hips jerked forward, your sensitive skin trying to escape Zemo’s throbbing cock, and you whimpered and sobbed into his mouth. “Zemo,” you whined. His hands moved from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist, and he held you as your body finished. It was a tender embrace, almost like one of experienced lovers, and he kissed your cheek and face as you heaved out steadying breaths. “Good girl, good girl,” he whispered gently. “Oh, f***, you’re so tight… I’m gonna cum inside you.”
“No!” you cried. “No, please don’t—”
“Shh, draga,” Zemo whispered. “I can’t pass him off to you like this. You won’t get anything from me… Maybe a baby, if it takes. Would you like to have my baby? I’ll be executed for this, you’ll be having a dead man’s child.”
“F*** you,” you sobbed. “F*** you, let me go.”
“I’m not done yet,” Zemo said. He held you tightly, and you felt his steady heartbeat against your back as he began to f*** you once more, harder and faster than before. You were still painfully sensitive, and you yelped and cried with the pain of the overstimulation that he was putting you through, and he only laughed and smiled and called you pathetic.
And then, you felt that cold, slimy tentacle around your leg again. You didn’t have the energy to fight it, and you fell limp in Zemo’s arms as the tentacle pushed back up your body, just as it had done before. How long ago was that? Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter much. Your mouth fell open as you felt the tip prod at your poor cunt once again, and Zemo groaned softly as Azazel pushed himself into you, right up against Zemo’s cock. The stretch was awful, the worst thing you had ever felt, and it took everything inside you to not pass out. You needed to stay conscious, you needed to know what was happening. If you later blocked it out, that was fine; in the moment, though, you needed as much clarity as you could manage.
The two f***ed you in unison, Zemo’s grunting growing louder and more unrestrained with each clench that your channel gave. The monster’s awful groaning filled your ears as well, and you chewed your tongue as you cried. “Let me go,” you whispered. “Please, please…”
“We’ll never let you go,” Azazel told you. One of his tentacles ran up your body and circled around your neck, strong and heavy like a snake, and he slowly tightened himself around you. He was going to kill you. He was going to kill you and eat you, and you were entirely at his and his host’s mercy. There was nothing to do to stop him. “You’re ours now. Forever.”
Somewhere in-between Zemo’s moans and Azazel’s threats, you felt Zemo emptying himself deep inside you. It was hot and sticky inside you, filling you to the brim and making you sick, and Zemo gave a hiss as he pulled himself out of you. Azazel followed suit, his slithering limb falling from your body, and the room was quiet enough for you to hear the drops of cum leaking from you and splashing onto the floor. Zemo breathed heavily, trying to recover physically from the exertion, and you watched him come back to the other side of the table as he stuffed himself back into his pants.
“Don’t fret, draga,” Zemo said, lightly touching your cheek. “I’ll be dead by morning.”
“A-And what does that make me?” you panted. Your eyes stung, and you couldn’t even bear to look at him. He deserved it. He deserved death. Living was too good for him. Living with the memory of his pleasure was too much of a service for this man.
“Well,” Zemo began, pushing his hair out of his forehead. “I’d say that makes you… F***ed. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Cheeks warm, thighs pressing together. All signs you shouldn’t have even replied. Should have kept your mouth shut.
But you’ve already gone too far.
You could argue you did that when you kissed him to appease Selby. Not needing to sell it as well as you did, not needing to slide your tongue into his mouth or let his hands wander, scorching your skin.
The same way his eyes are right now. Them burning into you, making your throat dry, desperately needing to slide your thighs together because… you want him.
You want him to rip your clothes from you, to leave marks on your skin. You want him to pull on your hair and throw you over his shoulder and take you to his room.
Thoughts you shouldn’t have about the man you helped break out of prison. Thoughts that shouldn’t be summoned about a man who was dangerous.
And yet, you didn’t fear him. Not even a little bit.
You wonder if he expects you to leave, to shout at him.
A better version of you would.
An even better version wouldn’t have said anything, to begin with. You’d have taken the drink and then excused yourself.
Not give into your lust. Because that’s all this was. Lust.
He’s a criminal—a man who was able to impersonate your friend, who blew up a building. Whether spurred by loss and grief or not, he still did it.
It’s why you should leave the room.
Bury your face into your pillow and get yourself off. Not hope he’ll do it for you. Because you shouldn’t let him touch you.
“It’s not too late to run from me,” he says, wringing his hands in front of you.
Somehow, it just makes you want him more.
The challenge. The confidence. The fact it’s frowned upon.
Not helped by the fact he keeps staring at you. Likely undressing you, his words running through your mind.
It’s then you stand up.
Mustering some confidence. He doesn’t move when you stand up. Not even when you stop in front of him. He doesn’t reach for you, giving you a land chance to bow out, to walk away.
You don’t take it.
Instead sliding the hem of your skirt up with your fingers, sliding a thigh either side of his. Watching his eyes flash, him not taking them from your face as his lips twitch.
The warmth of his palm against your thighs almost makes you rock your hips. His aftershave, musky, and wooden, hits your nose as a strand of hair falls over his forehead hearing him clear his throat.
“It’s not too late to ask me to leave…” you tease, tracing your bottom lip with your teeth. “If you don’t think this will be interesting…”
He smirks, ever so slightly as his finger slides up to your hip.
“I was interested the moment my eyes landed on you.”
Your lips curl, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes, watching him do the same as your body moves closer.
“Such a charmer,” you whisper.
Your hand finding the back of his head, nails digging into his hair as your mouth latches onto his.
He tastes like a mix of sugar and whisky, a muffled vibration as he groans f*** against your lips. You don’t fight it when he pulls you closer by your hip, desperately wishing his other hand slid further north on your thigh.
Your stomach knotting, warmth and need spreading through you. Suddenly desperate for friction.
Even more so as your body inches closer to him until there’s no space between the two of you.
The fur of his coat tickling your skin.
Practically feeling his heart thundering against yours as you lose yourself in him.
You welcome the way his mouth nips at the skin under your jaw, sliding his tongue up to the spot under your ear as you roll your hips.
For someone who has been locked up, and as someone who didn’t know you, he knew you. Letting you rock ever so slightly, his hand urging you to as you feel the outline of his arousal through his slacks.
And you let a whimper escape, just as both his hands snap to your hips, halting your movements. A stern look meeting yours, one you were prepared to protest.
Until he moves you.
Flipping you so your spine is against the sofa, hovering over you. For a second, you’re disorientated. Feeling your own lips remain parted, eyes staring up at him, frozen. Rendered useless as his eyes darken as he drinks you in.
“I should say,” he says in a low growl, “If there’s a likeliness that you’ll regret this, I implore you to tell me to stop now, Liebling.”
Watching his eyes trace your face, his finger sliding over your cheek, dragging it until it’s tugging on the bottom of your lip.
Your tongue peeks out, circling the tip of it.
Hoping it’s enough of a sign. A silent plea for him not to stop as he inhales, before clearing his throat.
“You’ve piqued my interest, Zemo. I need to know if you’re all talk.”
He laughs.
Low. Dark. One which makes you wet as he stares at you hungrily. As if he’s been hiding his thoughts from you until now.
“I assure you I’m not.”
You arch your brow, ready to speak. But, he slides two fingers in your mouth, pinning your tongue down.
“Shh,” he whispers darkly, “You’ll need your voice, Liebling. To beg me. To moan my name.”
Your cocky response falls from your mind. Mouth parting in surprise.
“Because I’m not going to stop until you’re calling me Helmut… and I suspect,” he continues in the same tone, pulling his fingers back, “It’ll take me making you come at least three times before you’ll even consider calling me anything other than the enemy.”
F***.
Almost choking on your own breath as his lips slide into a smirk.
And you guess he thinks he’s won. All set to reconnect his lips back to yours.
But, you smirk, before adding, “I hope you f*** as much as you talk.”
He smirks, but less cocky.
And then he snaps—his mouth against yours, groaning as he pulls your hips towards him. The two of you kissing with an intensity you imagine both of you have been running from, so much so, you groan against this lips.
Your nails claw through his hair, his hand snaking in between the two of you, making your mouth fall open as he slides his mouth down your neck. The feel of his touch in two places making you whimper.
Because you’re pinned, his body keeping you in place. Not able to move, or shift, to gain the upper hand.
And then he slides his fingers over your underwear, silently meeting your eyes, checking for permission—one you quickly give.
Your hand finds his shoulder as he slides his fingers inside your damp, silk underwear. His lips sliding into a devious smirk, ghosting his touch over you until you’re about to plead—to beg. Before he slides his fingers inside of you, filling and stretching you as your head falls back to the cushion.
And everything else around the two of you is forgotten.
Your brain forgetting you should hate him.
Just needing him, desperately craving more that he quickly gives you. Focusing on not moaning his name as he curls his fingers inside of you. His thumb swiping over your clit as you whimper.
You try to pull him down, needing to bury your moans against his lips. But he just watches. Eyes glinting, shimmering as he does so.
Occasionally teasing you by ghosting his lips over yours as you whimper more, and more.
“Sweet, sweet, Liebling. How long have you been craving someone to do this?” he whispers, darkly. His nose tracing your cheek as he inserts another finger. “A while I guess. I can tell. You’re so wet. So responsive. Look at me.”
And you do.
You meet his burning eyes with all you have. Not able to tear them away from him, unsure how you’ve let him command such power over you already.
“Is this enough? Or do you want more?”
Your mouth contorts, shapes and words want to blossom. Your mind rendering useless as you near your release.
Only able to mumble a mmm, wanting to say more.
Wanting to beg for his cock, wanting him to turn you over and f*** you until you forget your name.
And from the expression on his face, he can tell.
Zemo touching you with more precision, as though he has an end goal in mind, knowing he’s doing this to you.
You knowing no one else can do this to you. Hasn’t done so, as he said, in a while.
“For now, this is all you’ll have. Even if I want to f*** you on this sofa, on this floor. Even if I want you,” he continues, his free hand cupping your chin. “The wait is half the fun. Isn’t it?”
Your gasping, so close and he must know it from the sounds falling from your lips.
“I want those three, Liebling…”
Because even if you want it, even if you need it, you’re fighting him.
“So you need to let go now, before they’re back—your friends,” he adds, his eyes burning into you as you fight how good it feels. “Unless you want them to see you like this. Being a whore for me.”
“F***,” you groan. Swallowing his name. “Plea–please.”
Not wanting to think it, never mind mumble it. His name so close to the tip of your tongue.
His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing small circles as you clench your eyes shut. Your back arching, fingers digging into his side as he twists his fingers inside of you, hitting that spot you’ve been internally pleading for him to touch.
“You should give me the first one now, Liebling.”
And you do.
Your eyes shutting, your head swirling with pleasure. Your back arching into him, your moan filling the room as he continues his ministrations until your hand tries to push him away.
But, he only stops when your hand unclenches from his side, and then his hand falls from between your thighs. Pressing a pleased, chaste kiss to your lips as your eyes slowly blink open as you watch him stand, shaking his coat from his shoulders before folding it slowly.
Your eyes falling to his bulge, before studying his movements as he places the coat down. Adjusting himself as he licks his lips.
And then he pulls you up, catching you as you almost fall on shaky legs. Barely recovered from what he’s just done to you.
“Two to go, Liebling.” Your chest rises and falls, heat blossoming across your cheeks. His knuckles brushing your cheeks. “Now, go to my room, and strip.”
Clearing your throat, you suddenly find your voice again. Brain coming back to you. “And if I don’t?”
Helmut slowly retracts his hand, before pulling you flush against him by your hips, nose against your ear.
Feeling how hard he is. How much he wants you.
Ignoring the little quake in your legs even with him holding you.
He pushes your hair from your cheek, smiling as if he hadn’t of just made you see stars. “I’ll strip you here myself, and let your friends find you cock-drunk and spent on this expensive, but dusty floor.”
His hand retracting, burning his brown eyes into you as he smirks.
“You’ve got until the count of th—“
You move.
Your fingers are undoing your zip, hearing him chuckle—hearing his footsteps. Knowing he’s following close behind—heart in your throat, excitement bubbling in your stomach.
Opening his door, stepping through as you pull clothes from your body until cool air meets your skin. Turning to face him, eyes drinking you in.
And you’ve never felt hotter, never felt more attractive.
And then he slams the door shut behind him, his hands on you once again.
Have you met Mr bucky?" Someone said as we shook hands. He was just Mr bucky to me.
Then I said, "Mr bucky, You're a gentleman who understands, I'm a gal who must be honoured."
"'You better laugh loud, you better not shout, You better not shoot rabbits, I'm telling you why, Fortune is comin' to town! Fortune is comin' to town! Fortune is comin', comin' to town."
I practiced every day, To find some clever lines to say, To make the meaning come through...
And then I went and spoilt it all, by saying something stupid like: "You need to go on a diet."
I can see it in his eyes, that he despises nasty boys, Like the day before.
He loves drinking tequila, He hates grubby knees, He loves helping people.
That's why Mr bucky, That's why Mr bucky, That's why Mr bucky is a soldier.
