𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 II || professor!helmut zemo x reader
{𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 I}
𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : your illicit relationship with your (former) professor forces both of you to consider if the risk is worth the reward.
𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 9k (jeeeesus)
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (oral f and m receiving, rough sex, creampie, massive amount of dirty talk), zemo being super cocky, smoking (just zemo, not the reader), alcohol consumption (zemo and reader although the latter is moreso implied), angst (not a ton but yeah), strip chess (does this require a warning?), zemo’s friends being sorta sleazy, one mention of/implied anal, brief violence? (one punch)
part 3 coming asap!
You watched his eyes slowly scan the board, darting from his pieces to yours and back again.
“You’re stalling,” you accused, breaking the silence.
“I’m thinking,” he mumbled back right away, never looking away from the board as he rested his chin in his hand.
“Think faster,” you instructed with a groan, leaning back in your chair and looking out the window instead. When you saw movement in the corner of your eye, you looked back again, but he just sighed and moved his hand back into his lap without doing anything. “Oh my god!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes.
“Wait, wait, I’ve got it,” he grinned, finally grabbing his knight and moving it forward. “Check.”
You looked around the board to confirm he was right, and he cleared his throat expectantly.
“I said, ‘check’,” he reminded you. “Stand up.”
“You’re really going to make me do this?” you pressed with a raised eyebrow.
“No, I’m not going to make you,” he smirked, “but you’re going to do it because your only alternative is to forfeit.”
With a sigh and a little smile of your own, you stood up and unbuttoned your shorts, sliding them down your legs and stepping out of them quickly. His face was irritatingly neutral as he watched you strip, only your bra and underwear left now, but his eyes gave everything away as they examined you with even more care than they had the chess board.
“You know, this whole ‘strip chess’ idea isn’t exactly going according to plan,” you frowned, sitting back down in the chair and crossing your legs.
“What do you mean? Of course it is,” he grinned. “Oh, you mean, your plan… yes, I hope my suit coat is keeping your entire outfit good company over there in the pile.”
You scoffed defensively. “If you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just asked.”
“I know, darling. This was just to get you to slow down for once.”
You coughed a little, shocked by his brutal honesty. “Damn, shots fired,” you mumbled to yourself, and he laughed.
“Now, it’s your turn to see if you can get this tie off,” he smirked. “And do hurry it up, so I can show you what happens when I get a checkmate.”
His apartment was, unshockingly, so much nicer than your dorm; so it wasn’t so odd that you spent most nights here each week. Well, perhaps it was a little odd since you had practically moved in and you’d only been seeing him for a few months… but you were happy, and he was happy, and you were trying desperately not to overthink it.
Your schedule was carefully crafted so as not to include any Friday classes, but obviously as a professor his itinerary was a much more traditional 8-to-5 no matter the day of the week. As a result, it was typical for you to lay around his place through most of the day, working on your laptop or occasionally mooching off of his HBO Max account.
You were doing just that when you heard the key in the front door, and you scrambled to turn the TV off so he wouldn’t think you were being lazy… but when he entered, you were still laying on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, so you didn’t exactly look productive either.
“Hey,” you greeted, sitting up and resting your arms on the back of the couch as he took his bag off his shoulder and hung up his jacket.
“Hey,” he mumbled in return, sounding a bit distracted and not even looking back at you. You furrowed your brow as he sat down on the couch beside you, letting out a heavy breath and staring up at the ceiling.
“What’s on your mind?” you asked, pouting as you moved closer to straddle his lap and run your hands over his chest through his button-up.
“Well, the thing is,” he sighed, taking off his glasses with one hand to rub his eyes with the other, “tomorrow is my birthday.”
“Wh— that’s a good thing!” you scoffed. “Let’s do something!”
“My fortieth birthday,” he clarified. “Tomorrow, I will officially be twice your age.”
You sighed a bit. “That really bothers you, doesn’t it…”
“Does it not bother you? It should,” he snapped, deflating you instantly, and his tone softened. “I’m sorry. That was harsh… I just feel guilty, sometimes. I wouldn’t want to take advantage—”
“I’m a grown adult, Helmut, I know I’m younger than you but I’m not a child and I can make my own choices.”
He nodded. “You’re right.”
“So then what’s the problem?”
“I…” he paused for a moment, chewing his lip slightly as he gathered his thoughts. “I would just hate to see you regret this. And I think, when you’re older, you will.”
“Let me worry about that,” you frowned. “The future can be dealt with later, we should enjoy the present while we can.”
He laughed softly. “I think I have an idea of what you consider ‘enjoying the present’...”
You smiled as you leaned in closer, holding his face to press your lips against his. It was pretty innocent at first, until his hands began to rest at your waist and you sighed slightly, feeling your hips shift above him. He grinned, teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip.
“What do you know? I was right,” he whispered. “You’re turned on already.”
It made your cheeks burn when he called you out like that, like he was mocking you for how easily he could make you desperate, and you looked away in embarrassment. “I can’t help it!” you defended in a pout.
“I know,” he cooed, kissing your cheek and neck softly. “I think it’s sweet, really.”
That made your cheeks burn even more, and you looked back at him again to find his brown eyes sparkling. “Really?”
“Really.”
You trailed your fingers over his cheeks, scratching his beard a little bit which made him scrunch up his nose. “Well, I think you’re sweet,” you giggled. “And you know something else?”
He raised an eyebrow and you leaned in to speak closer to his ear.
“I think it’s sexy that you’re twice my age,” you whispered. “Well, that tomorrow you’ll be twice my age.”
“Yeah?” he pressed, fingers just barely grazing over your skin as they trailed down your legs.
“Yeah,” you nodded, moving your hands to his chest where you started to slowly unbutton his shirt as he sighed.
“That explains why you can’t seem to keep your hands off of me,” he chuckled, looking down to watch your fingers brush over the patch of hair on his chest and toy briefly with the necklace he wore.
“Well, that’s more just because I know how good you can fuck me, and I’ll never be satisfied by anything else,” you admitted, biting your lip.
“Darling, I don’t think you’re even satisfied by me… I already made you come this morning, don’t you remember?”
“Yeah, but that was different,” you pouted, “that was your fingers and it was right before you had to leave and I was still half-asleep…”
“Whatever it is that you want, draga, just say it,” he ordered in a whisper, holding the back of your neck and pulling you closer so you had to look back at him.
It was a lot harder to say with him staring right at you, but you swallowed and did your best. “Need you to fuck me. Wanna feel you inside me, please.”
His only answer was a quick nod before he kissed you, rough and dominating, letting you cling onto him while he stood up and carried you to the bedroom, falling with you onto the mattress.
He made a big show of kissing his way down your body, tearing your clothes out of the way on his path, eventually leaving you in only your panties which he examined with a grin as he held your legs open.
A shiver ran up your spine when he caught the lace in his teeth and used only a playful bite to pull them down your legs.
Once the panties were off your ankles and he had tossed them aside with a flick of his head, he held your thighs as he dove right in, lapping at you hungrily while you moaned and your back arched.
He purred against you when your fingers wove into his hair and tugged slightly, but you honestly didn’t even mean to do it: you just needed to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling back into oblivion, and it seemed like a more attractive option than the bedsheets.
His lips attaching onto you and sucking your clit hard was already overwhelming in its own rite, but then two thick fingers began to push into you and it was impossible not to cry out, your bottom lip falling from where it had been caught between your teeth.
“Fuck!” you yelped, hips shaking and trying to rock up against his face as he curled the tips of his fingers against your spot right away.
“Close already, draga?” he cooed, words muffled since he didn’t fully pull his mouth away from your body before he spoke. “I’ve only just started.”
You could only nod and feel your face heat up even more; at this point you had no right to be embarrassed by how sensitive you were when he’d already proven to you over and over that he could bring you to the edge in minutes. But still, apparently some little shred of shame was still left in you, and you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was determined to train it out of you.
“If you’re close then now would be the time to start begging,” he reminded you as he moved his fingers faster and teased your clit with the tip of his tongue.
"Please, Helmut," you sobbed as you writhed uncontrollably, "I'm so close— fuck me, please, I want your cock."
"So you don't want to come on my fingers, then? You don't want me to make you come with my mouth?"
"No, I want you to fuck me, please… you know I need to come around you."
Not one to let you down when you pleaded like that, he pulled his fingers out and suddenly flipped you onto your hands and knees, chuckling when you gasped.
“This is how you want it, isn’t it?” he presumed as you heard him finishing the undressing process behind you until you finally felt the head of his cock pressing against your soaking entrance.
“Yes,” you breathed, “just fuck me, please—”
You cut yourself off with a high-pitched noise when he shoved into you, this angle giving you no relief from how deep he was filling you. One of his hands was beside yours, keeping him balanced upright above you, and you watched it tighten into a fist while the other slid up to hold your neck in a way that was simultaneously intimidating and soothing.
When he started to move, each stroke rubbed against your swollen spot and you struggled not to fall apart right there and then.
“So perfect,” he breathed right against your ear, almost like he was saying it to himself more than you, “you feel so fucking perfect, draga.”
Of course that would make your back arch even more, pushing him deeper into you in search of not only more friction within you but more of his praise whispered to you.
Soon it was you pushing back against him more than him fucking into you, and you felt his proud smile press against the curve of your neck. “You need it that badly, darling?”
“Need you,” you whined back, not really capable of a full sentence at this point.
“I know,” he whispered, soothing you with kisses all over your cheek and neck and shoulder. “I know, poor thing, you just need to come, yes?”
Your mouth fell slack as you nodded, rocking back into him faster and more desperately than ever.
“You need me to make you come?”
“Yes, fuck, please!” you cried, hoping he wouldn’t get irritated with you becoming so demanding, but thankfully he obliged and held your body tight as he really fucked you then, hard and fast and completely unforgiving— exactly how you needed it.
Every part of your body seemed to tense up in time with each other: your toes curled, your hands gripped the sheets beneath you in fists, your walls fluttered and tightened around him.
When you opened your mouth to speak, you genuinely didn’t know if you should expect a scream or a whisper. What came out was somewhere in the middle, slightly choked and completely fucked-out. “Please, don’t stop…”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to, draga,” he groaned, his fingers rubbing your clit roughly as he fucked you even harder, slamming into the deepest parts of you until you were choking on your own sobs.
"I— hng, Helmut, I'm—" you tried to warn him, but you couldn't even put a few words together.
"I know, darling," he cooed, "shh, just come, go ahead and come for me."
He sucked hard on your pulse as your legs quivered and your body gave out; if it weren’t for him holding you tight against him, you would’ve fallen on your face onto the bed (and you may not have even noticed if you did, since you were suddenly going numb and tingly everywhere).
Just past the ringing in your ears you could hear him muttering curses against your skin, in a few languages you didn’t speak, before switching back to English to praise you in a growl. “I love feeling you come around me, draga, keep going— you’re squeezing me so tight that I can barely keep it together.”
Tears streamed down your cheeks from the force of it, and his hand reached up to wipe them away— a gesture much too tender considering the way he was pounding into you like he was out for revenge.
"Fuck, I'm close, so close," he breathed, grunting with every thrust into you.
"Come in me, I want it so bad, I need it…"
His teeth sunk into your neck, his lips sealing and sucking on the delicate skin, as he let out a muffled moan and began to fill you. The warmth of it was always indescribable, but perfect; a heavy exhale of relief sunk from your chest out your lips.
You were able to stay like that for a long moment before he let you go and you inevitably fell limply onto the bed, just barely beginning to catch your breath and come back down to reality.
“Fuck, that’ll leave a mark,” you groaned as you rubbed where he’d bitten you, but you were smiling, too.
You watched him get up and stretch briefly; you were pretty impressed he was still energetic enough to do anything but collapse onto the bed beside you, though you certainly didn’t mind the view as he walked to the window and acquired a cigarette and his lighter.
“Isn’t smoking after sex a little stereotypical?” you chuckled softly.
He smirked back at you as he placed the end between his lips. “It’s the only time I smoke, so I’m going to blame you for how many packs I’ve been going through,” he countered, words slightly muffled from holding the cigarette. He struck his lighter and carefully lit the end, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke out through his nose.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t have such an… appetite, before you,” you admitted.
“You’d never had anything worth craving before,” he shrugged; how dare he be so casually cocky like that? How dare he be so accurate?
Deciding you definitely needed a shower (though you would’ve loved to lay there catatonic for a while longer), you managed to sit up and get off the bed. The only problem was that you severely overestimated the awakeness of your legs, and when you tried to stand on them, they buckled right away.
He dashed across the room to catch you, concerned at first but then smirking around his cigarette as he looked down at you in his arms. "Are you alright, darling?"
"Yeah, I'm good," you nodded breathlessly, balancing on his arms as you found your footing. "Thanks."
“You don’t need my help in the shower?” he pressed.
You rolled your eyes as you laughed, letting go of his hands. “We both know your ‘help’ isn’t going to get me clean.”
“You’ve got me there,” he admitted, raising his hands in relent as he returned to the window while you finished your delicate trek to the bathroom and reached into the shower to turn on the stream of hot water.
Though the shower thankfully did get the sweat off of you and (most of) the come out of you, it could never wash away the feeling of his touch, the little bruises in the shape of his lips or fingertips, and thank god that it couldn’t— your heart might break if they ever faded.
Of course, that made you start wondering which made you start overthinking (a common shower pastime for you) and suddenly a pang of fearful guilt started to throb in your gut as you wondered if your feelings were becoming too strong.
You pushed the thought away and finished up your shower, deciding now was not the time to worry where this affair was going. Didn’t you deserve to do something fun and crazy and a little bit dangerous for once? At least you weren’t in his class anymore so what you were doing was less ‘wrong’ and more just ‘probably a bad idea.’
But this bad idea had been going on for a few months now and sometimes it felt like you were barreling towards an inevitable breaking point. Could any relationship that began in the way yours had find longevity? Is that even what you wanted?
Okay, so maybe you didn’t really manage to successfully stop worrying about it, and you sighed absent-mindedly as you dried off with a borrowed towel. If anything could soothe your racing mind, it was coming back to the bedroom to find Helmut in bed, his cigarette finished and replaced with a book and his reading glasses.
The way he smiled when he saw you was infectious, and he extended his arm out in invitation for you to join him and, well, that offer was irresistible.
You beamed as you jumped onto the mattress, which had settled from its bouncing by the time you found a comfortable spot on his shoulder and lifted your leg to drape over his.
Your head found a place on his chest while your fingers traced over it, trailing down at one point to his stomach where you delicately traced over the scars there— the ones you’d been too afraid to ask about before now.
“What happened?” you asked softly. “The scars…”
“A dog mauled me when I was little,” he remembered flatly as he turned a page in his book.
“Oh no!”
“Not as bad as it sounds, I can’t even remember it now,” he shrugged.
“Anything interesting?” you asked, motioning to the book and looking up at his profile as he returned to his thoughtful reading.
“Something horrifically boring,” he answered flatly, looking over at the bedside table when his phone vibrated on top of it. Setting the book down and grabbing the phone instead, he squinted as he looked at the bright screen.
“What is it?” you asked after a brief struggle not to be nosy.
"Another professor in the department is offering to take me out for drinks, for my birthday," he explained as he examined the message.
"That's sweet of him," you smiled. "You should go!"
"Well, actually it's a 'her,'" he corrected.
Oh no, there it was, stirring in your stomach: jealousy, for no good reason, with no right to start stirring in your chest. Of course in your mind, this female professor was sexy and sophisticated in a way you couldn't be, someone who could keep up with his discussions about history and politics that you barely understood, someone who could do all those things you couldn’t do.
Including, you know, going to bars… like the one she was inviting him to now, on the night of his birthday.
“Well that’s… nice,” you mumbled. “Is it just you and her, or…?”
He paused as he processed the question, before suddenly smirking and setting his phone down to stare back at you. “Do you think she’s asking me on a date?”
You couldn’t parse at first if he was asking you because he thought you were being ridiculous for thinking it, or because he genuinely wanted your perspective— as if he would be happy if she was. It made a lump form in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow down. “I… I don’t know, maybe?” you shrugged. “How old is she?” you, morbid curiosity getting the better of you.
“I don’t know, 30-something? Like I will be for the next—” he paused to puff his cheeks with a sigh and glance at his watch— “5 hours or so.”
You tried to hide your disappointment that he didn’t give a number like 60 or more. “I don’t think you’re allowed to say 30 ‘something’ when the ‘something’ is 9,” you snorted.
“Okay, she’s in her late 30s then,” he decided.
“Well, that’s…” you trailed off.
“What?” he pressed.
“I guess it’s probably a date, then,” you decided.
“It’s definitely not,” he shook his head.
“Does she know that?” you shot back, regretting it once you said it.
“Seriously?” he laughed. “Do you think something is going to… happen between her and I, at this bar?”
“Well, maybe not at the bar, she’ll probably drive you to her place in her BMW or whatever,” you scoffed.
“Draga, she’s a history professor, she can’t afford a BMW,” he smirked, kissing your forehead.
“Okay, but she has a car, and an apartment, and a job— you know, maybe she’s more ‘in your league’,” you proposed.
He laughed again. “Yes, maybe she is. And maybe you’re out of my league. So I think we’ve established that it would be entirely uneconomic for me to be with her instead of you.”
You noticed the way he said ‘being with’ and not ‘date’ in reference to this. Because you two weren’t, technically, dating, even if he did take you on what could be considered dates by most of the population. “People do uneconomic things all the time,” you mumbled back, and he let out a little sigh as he looked down at you.
“Darling, I am entirely disinterested in pursuing another woman… as well as physically incapable. I can barely keep up with you, how do you expect me to entertain somebody else?”
You swallowed, feeling a bit guilty for bringing it up at all. “I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business,” you sighed, “I didn’t mean to ask you for anything, you can make your own decisions and I know we said this wasn’t—”
“Shh,” he interrupted to hug you tighter, “you’re overthinking again. I’m not going to sleep with someone else—”
“But I’m saying you could, if you wanted to, I’d just want you to tell me since we aren’t using condoms and we would probably just call it off—”
“Baby,” he smiled, making you look up at him as he reached down to hold your face in his hand, “I just want you.”
You choked on nothing in particular, feeling so vulnerable so suddenly. “O-okay…”
He held your head close to his chest and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, while you were still reeling from that statement; you didn’t know exactly what it meant— it certainly implied exclusivity, but not necessarily any romantic contexts, right? To ‘want’ someone can mean a lot of things… sexual, mainly, which is what you assumed he was referring to.
And you were definitely not disappointed if he only wanted you in only that way, but you couldn’t swallow down the longing stirring inside you, the unforgettable knowledge that you wanted him in every way that could be meant. Best of all, you wanted him all to yourself, but you were too self-conscious to bring up the exclusivity talk and you were too happy now to risk messing it all up with pesky emotions. It was just amazing sex, between two people who thankfully managed to get along well outside the bedroom as well, and there was absolutely wrong with that.
If nothing else, you knew a lot more about history than you did a few months ago, so if it all ended tomorrow, at least you would have some fun facts about Sokovia to show for it.
When your friend Kacey told you there was a house party this weekend, you were originally going to say no… but the house in question was actually just down the block from Helmut’s apartment, so you knew if you hated it you could leave easily. Maybe getting out would do you some good, and it was the same night that Helmut was going out with his friends for his birthday so the timing was convenient. He encouraged you not to wait for him alone and bored all night; this seemed like the perfect way to avoid that.
And maybe if you were getting dressed up all sexy to go out to a party at the same time he was supposed to leave for the bar, you could convince him to ditch them and spend his birthday fucking you senseless.
When he caught a glimpse of you while he walked past the bathroom, he stopped suddenly and you grinned as you turned to face him. "Whaddya think?" you asked proudly, letting him get an eyeful of your outfit.
“You look…” he trailed off, scanning the skin-tight dress with wide eyes. “Do you always dress this way for parties?”
You shrugged. “Most of the time, yeah.”
“Remind me to take you out more,” he nodded. “Or never let you go out without me again.”
“You don’t think it’s too revealing, do you?” you teased, stepping closer.
“Oh no, don’t play that game with me,” he laughed. “Don’t try to make me jealous just so I’ll get rough with you.”
You frowned, crossing your arms.
“Does that tactic usually work on whatever boys you were seeing before me?” he smirked, and something about the way he called them boys made you feel all tingly and suddenly you were not the one in control anymore. You nodded shyly and he stepped up to you, pulling you into a soft kiss. You tried to deepen it but he moved back too soon, leaving you wanting more like he could do so effortlessly. “I’ll see you tonight, have fun at your party.”
He left you with one more kiss, to your forehead this time, and you were almost more impressed than irritated at how he managed to make sure you’d be thinking only of him all night long.
Not too much later after he’d driven off, you left on foot for the party— though you definitely considered cancelling last minute and just moping around his apartment, staring forlornly out the window wondering when your husband former professor turned not-exactly boyfriend would return from the war bar.
But you had a point to prove to yourself, as well as Helmut and Kacey, and so you finished primping and found the walk rather pleasant in terms of scenery (if irritating in terms of fashion).
As far as house parties go, it wasn't quite a rager but not exactly a casual hangout either; you could hear the music from across the block, though faintly, as bass reverberated through the ground and into your platforms while your friend waved you down from the porch, calling your name.
She met you at the sidewalk just in front of the house, pulling you into a tight hug; you had been worried at first that you were overdressed (or, in a certain sense, underdressed), but her outfit was significantly more revealing than yours; a two-piece with her stomach and belly button piercing exposed.
“You look hot,” Kacey beamed when she pulled back from the hug.
“You think so? I’m a bit out of practice,” you admitted.
“Glad you could dust off the heels and join us,” she winked.
“Us?”
She glanced back towards the house. “Yeah, Pia’s here— somewhere…”
Another junior in your major; as the most social girls in the computer science undergraduate stratosphere, the three of you were sort of forced to be friends, but thankfully it wasn’t for naught and you got along well. Sometimes Kacey could be a bit… effervescent for your taste, in the sense that she was one of those bubbly outgoing types and had more energy than you knew what to do with. Pia was more reserved but acquiescent, which meant she ended up pulled along on whatever adventures Kacey got herself into you. And then there was you, who had been blowing them off every weekend with a list of increasingly-absurd excuses: sick dog, sick cousin, sick self (both migraines and menstrual cramps), heavy homework load— you know, the usual suspects— all in the name of hanging out with Helmut.
You considered yourself lucky that they still wanted to hang out with you, after you’d been AWOL this long, and you feared that they would understandably want an explanation.
Following Kacey inside the house, you tried not to wince at the volume of the music— a live band, it turns out, and not a very good one— and grabbed a stray drink from a table on your way to wherever you were being guided.
Pia was sitting on the arm of a couch, listening to a very stoned young man talk about the meaning of life and the universe, but she smiled when she saw you and Kacey, getting up to greet you.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you in forever!” she frowned playfully, hugging you quickly.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you mumbled.
“We should catch up! How have you been?” she pressed, tilting her head.
“You’re sure you don’t wanna miss this TED talk?” you snorted, glancing over at the guy who had changed topics slightly and seemed to have confused string beans with string theory.
“I’ve heard better philosophy from the back of cereal boxes,” she laughed, but right as she said it the band finished their song and everyone glanced in your direction, including the heartbroken hippy himself. “Uh, sorry,” she winced, and Kacey laughed as she guided the three of you away.
“I’m gonna get us some drinks, wait here,” Kacey decided once she found a new corner to lounge in, but Pia abandoned you soon afterward in search of a bathroom, leaving you to do what you did best at parties: stand around and avoid everyone’s attention.
You were surprised to hear your name from behind you, and when you whipped your head around you saw a tall guy with a wide smile looking down at you.
“Professor Zemo, right?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nearly choked on your drink.
“Wh— what about him?” you stammered out.
“We had his class together,” he explained. “I sat behind you.”
“Oh!” you smiled, relieved. “Right, um, yeah…”
“Trey,” he finished for you.
“Trey!” you repeated, nodding. “I knew that… hi, Trey, good to see you.”
“How’s life been treating you since you set the curve in that class?” he grinned.
“I don’t think he even graded on a curve,” you mumbled. “But, um, good. Just… livin’ it up,” you decided, cringing internally at your own wording.
“Yeah? I haven’t seen you in any other history classes,” he noticed.
“Oh, I’m not a history major,” you explained quickly. “Computer science.”
He chuckled incredulously, wrinkling his eyebrows. “What were you doing in a history seminar?”
Fucking the professor. “Elective,” you shrugged.
“So you’re just a hobby history buff then?” he presumed.
“No, I actually kinda hate history, I prefer to live in the present,” you decided, “but, y’know, underwater basket-weaving didn’t have any seats left…”
He snorted out a laugh, a little too hard for the quality of the joke, and you realized this was probably flirting. You’d never really seen it up this close, so you couldn’t be sure… and considering how he looked in his jeans with the shirt half-unbuttoned, you weren’t exactly mad about it…
But it made you feel sort of sick to your stomach. It made you feel guilty, on behalf of Helmut but even moreso for Trey who was totally sweet and smart and deserved to be spending this energy on somebody who could appreciate it.
“Want another drink? Looks like yours is almost empty,” he motioned to your red plastic cup.
“Oh, um, I would but… I think my friends are coming over here,” you dismissed, hoping he would take the hint without taking it too hard. He seemed to understand, giving you a nod and a wave before he disappeared into the crowd right as Pia grabbed your arm.
“Who was that?” she asked right away, giving you a look that you chose to ignore.
“Trey, he sat behind me in my history class last semester.”
“He’s cute,” Pia winked, leaning against the wall beside you. “And definitely into you.”
“Well, that’s… good for him, I suppose,” you stammered.
“Are you gonna go for it? Get his number?” she pressed.
“Uh, probably not,” you decided, “I’m gonna get another drink—”
Before you could walk away, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. “Hey, what’s the deal? You seem kinda out of it.”
“Oh, well, I just— I guess I’m not as much into the party scene as I used to be.”
“I’m using my psychology major mind-reading powers,” she warned, waving her fingers at you like she was casting some mystical spell while you leaned back and squinted.
“Um, that’s definitely not how that works—”
“You’re acting weird becaaauuuusee… you’re totally hung up on somebody else and feel guilty flirting with guys here even though you know you shouldn’t,” she announced, crossing her arms proudly when your dumbfounded expression gave away her accuracy.
“How did you—?”
“Lucky guess. So who is it?!” she grinned.
“Uh—”
Kacey, summoned by the smell of gossip, seemed to appear from thin air at your other side. “Who is who?” she smirked.
You glanced around at the crowded room of students and decided this was definitely not the place to talk about such an illicit affair, taking them by the hand and dragging them into a more private room of the house. Finding a seat on a chair as the girls gathered around you (oddly reminiscent of a childhood storytime, except this story was going to be a lot more mature than those), you prepared to answer as many of their questions as you could.
As a European, Zemo was quite well-practiced at going out to bars with friends, but in America it was a very different experience. It took him twice the alcohol to get half as drunk as his colleagues, meaning by the time he was feeling a decent buzz, everyone else had foolishly tried to keep up and ended up totally sloshed.
The person who had initially suggested this event (as well as the one you had foolishly felt some sort of jealousy for), Dr. Josten, had actually respected her own limits and left first while she was still good to drive, meaning Zemo was left only with men who couldn’t hold their liquor or their tongues.
Case in point, a bunch of his fellow professors were now trying to convince him to go up to the bar and flirt with a woman in a red dress.
“No, no way,” Zemo shook his head, “I’m not doing that.”
“You could totally take her home, just tell her it’s your birthday!” Professor Bram, from the English department, suggested with an elbow digging a bit too hard into Zemo’s side.
“Does that normally work?” he asked bewilderedly.
"I mean, not for me… but it could work for you! Ladies love an accent."
“You’ve been teaching stateside for over a year now, Zemo, it’s time for you to experience American women,” one of them laughed.
“Who says I haven’t?” he mumbled to himself before another sip of his vodka, but unfortunately some of the others heard him as well and he got a playful punch to the shoulder.
“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything! Was it just a hook-up or what?”
“No, I… well, I’m seeing someone, I suppose is the way to put it,” he clarified.
“How long?” Kacey asked you first, right away, as she leaned in excitedly.
“Um, a few months now,” you realized.
“No, I mean how long,” she smirked, gesturing with her hands to indicate length, and you snorted.
“Jesus, I’m not telling you that!”
“Buzzkill,” she rolled her eyes.
“Plenty long enough, that’s all I’ll say,” you laughed.
“How’d you meet her?” Professor Carpenter (another history department veteran) asked. “I mean, you’re never anywhere but work… is it someone you work with?”
“In a sense…” Zemo trailed off.
“So, is he in one of your classes?” Pia wondered aloud.
“Um, he was, last semester,” you agreed. It wasn’t false, by any means, but definitely not the entire truth, either.
"So, another lecturer,” Professor Chen (Zemo was about 80% sure he was in the political science department) nodded thoughtfully.
“Gotta be somebody from the Women’s Studies department,” Bram smirked proudly, despite it not being a statement to be proud of at all.
“Or is it that woman here on the visiting scholar program, the temporary lecturer in neurology?” Carpenter jumped in.
“No, he said she was American, c’mon, keep up,” Bram frowned as he slapped Carpenter on the padded shoulder.
“Delta or Sigma?” Kacey squinted, like it was an interrogation.
“Not a frat guy, some of us have standards Kace,” you scoffed.
“Hey!” Pia gasped, offended on Kacey’s behalf.
“Nah, she’s right,” Kacey soothed.
“She’s not a lecturer, okay?” Zemo hissed, tired of having basically every department of the university listed to him (including some he didn’t realize existed). “She’s not faculty.”
“...staff?” Chen posited.
“What, you mean like the janitor? No, not staff,” Zemo rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of your business.”
“It doesn’t matter! What’s with the secrecy?”
“I haven’t told anyone about it yet, and I don’t think I’ve had enough alcohol to start now,” he frowned.
“Which of your classes was he in, then?” Pia asked, shifting her line of questioning (and unfortunately looking in the right direction).
“Um, that history thing I took last semester,” you answered.
“That guy from before was in your history class! Should we just ask him who it is?” Pia grinned mischievously.
You cursed yourself for giving away too much.
“I’ll go find him and see if he’s going to give us more to work with you than you,” Kacey decided, already standing up to walk out of the room.
“No, wait!” you yelped, pulling her back; you didn’t want to tell them anymore, but you couldn’t afford if someone like Trey found out. Telling Kacey and Pia wasn’t ideal, but at least they could be trusted with a secret. “I’ll tell you, okay? Fuck, I don’t even know how to say this…”
Chen tossed up his hands in defeat. “Alright, the only reason you could be so weird about this is if it’s somebody totally forbidden—”
Zemo’s chest tightened as he worried they would figure it out.
“Like, I don’t know, an adjunct or something.”
“An adjunct? Are you out of your mind?” Zemo spat.
“Hey, no judgment in brainstorming,” Carpenter defended.
“You think I would be this protective about it if it was an adjunct?” Zemo continued.
“Listen, we’re not gonna think less of you, whatever it is— and we’re not gonna tattle on you,” Bram assured. “Just get it off your chest while the liquor’s flowing, half of us aren’t even gonna remember it tomorrow anyways.”
“I’m dating a professor,” you blurted out.
“She’s a student,” he finally interjected, the entire table suddenly going dead silent.
“...a grad student?” one of them pressed, making Zemo swallow uncomfortably.
“Um, no… she’s actually… twenty,” he admitted.
“Holy shit,” Pia gasped. “You actually did it…”
“We bow to your hoe powers,” Kacey spoke reverently, clasping her hands as if in prayer. “We’ve all dreamed of bagging a hot professor and now you made it a reality. Please, O Queen, teach us in your ways.”
“It’s not like that,” you defended.
“Is she at least getting a better grade out of you for it?” Carpenter joked.
“No, it’s not like that,” he dismissed, “she passed my class with flying colors quite some time ago.”
“Okay, but was that before or after you slept with her?”
“It was irrelevant to the fact that I slept with her.”
“So, after,” Chen assumed with a smirk.
“Yes, after,” Zemo finally admitted, “but she’s not my student anymore.”
“Is she your girlfriend then?”
You gnawed on the inside of your cheek. “We… haven’t really had that conversation yet. I keep meaning to, but then… one thing always seems to lead to another…”
“Oh really?” Pia grinned. “So what’s he like?”
“Sensitive…” you mumbled right away, “patient, weirdly funny though I don’t think he realizes it.”
“I know I’m going to sound like every creep who ever preyed on young women, but she’s very mature for her age,” Zemo explained. “Incredibly thoughtful. Wise beyond her years.”
“No, no,” Johnston shook his head, “what’s she like.”
"It's nothing like how it is with guys our age,” you gushed, clutching your blanket tighter to your chest. “He's so attentive, and sensual, and he can go for hours," you explained as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at the memories playing on repeat in your mind.
"You must understand that she's nothing like women our age, at least not any that I've met," he nodded as his friends set down their drinks to lean in close. He was sure this was more attention than he'd ever gotten for one of his lectures. "She's… insatiable. She wants to go again and again and I'm just trying to keep her from getting injured or something, poor thing."
"So she likes it rough?" one of them presumed with a toothy grin.
"She's so inexperienced she doesn't really know what she likes yet. She's learning with me. So we try everything."
"Everything?" one of the girls repeated as she widened her eyes.
Your face warmed up as you cleared your throat. "I mean… yeah…"
"So, anal?"
You choked on nothing, which said more than any answer could.
"I shouldn’t talk about this with you,” he decided, shaking his head.
“Come on, you don’t have to tell us everything, just give us something to work with here,” Carpenter pleaded.
“I don’t want to know what you mean by work with,” Zemo shuddered.
“At least tell us how you got her to sleep with you,” Chen compromised.
“Or let us do a guest lecture in your class so we can try to find our own undersexed sorority girls,” Bram added.
“Jesus, how many times do I have to say it’s not like that?” you frowned. “I’m not turning this into some fucked up teacher-student dating service.”
“You keep saying what it isn’t like but you won’t tell us what it is,” Kacey noted. “I mean, is it serious?”
“All I can say for sure is that I feel pretty serious about it,” Zemo tried to explain.
“...are you in love with her?”
He cleared his throat, suddenly deciding now was the perfect time to finish his drink.
“Love?” you repeated, voice cracking. “I don’t… know about that,” you stammered.
But the really upsetting thing was that you did know, and you hadn’t let yourself think about it until now. It hadn’t been long enough to justify feelings like that, and the last thing you wanted to be was the naïve girl who caught feelings when all the guy was looking for was sex.
“It’s not just sex,” he announced. “It’s something really real. I didn’t know that I could—”
He stopped himself.
“I haven’t felt this way since—” he began, but stopped again. “I don’t know. Just, be careful how you talk about her.”
“Oh, you’re really whipped,” Bram chuckled.
“She’s incredible; you’d understand if you met her.”
“Then let us meet her!”
For a moment, he actually considered it; he wasn’t sure if you thought that you were at the ‘meeting friends’ stage, and considering the cultural difference it was going to be a unique one for sure. Would you ask him to hang out with your friends? He didn’t even know what that would look like.
“She seems like someone worth getting to know,” Bram agreed, and Zemo grimaced at the predatory look in his eyes.
“Fuck off,” he sneered, and Chen patted him on the back.
“Good move. I’d be keeping her to myself, too… otherwise she might end up upgrading to a tenured professor like myself,” he beamed.
“Better watch out before Chen here steals your girl, Zemo,” Carpenter warned.
“She can’t be stolen,” Zemo assured.
“Yeah, you say that now…” Bram trailed off.
“Care to finish that sentence?” Zemo snarled.
“Well, think of it this way. Most students wouldn’t fuck their professor,” Bram explained. “But those that would, usually wouldn’t only fuck one.”
He didn’t punch him in the face because it was crude. Sure, that was a factor, but it wasn’t the real reason. He punched him in the face because it sounded like it actually made sense.
He punched him in the face because he couldn’t understand why it made him so angry; so what if he was just one of your exploits? What difference did it make? After all, you’d just said the night before that he was free to pursue others, and he couldn’t quite appreciate yet why that didn’t feel like freedom at all.
From a certain point of view, he knew he should just appreciate that you were with him at all, irrelevant to whoever else you might be with or would potentially be with in the future. But from another, and much more salient, point of view, he wanted you all to himself. And he hated that.
Like all good anger, his anger in that moment was born of fear, and he’d never been so afraid that he was just the lucky target of your promiscuous phase. As selfish as it was, he wanted to think of himself as more than that.
And now that he was getting thrown out of a bar on his own birthday, contemplating the paperwork he would have to fill out tomorrow after punching a coworker tonight, he’d never thought of himself as less.
Much to your delight, he returned relatively early for a guy coming back from a bar on his birthday— 11:57 p.m., specifically— but it made sense for him being a responsible professor and all.
Well, mostly responsible. After all, he still had his former student waiting for him when he got back, perched on the couch expectantly. As fun as the third degree had been with Kacey and Pia, you wanted to be here when he got back— and now that they finally understood the real reason you were leaving early, they were more than supportive (perhaps a little too supportive, with their rather graphic suggestions and… hand gestures).
You didn’t stay on his couch for long, though; you got up and met him at the door as he slipped off his coat and hung it up nearby.
“How was your night out?” you asked softly, reaching up to rub his chest through his shirt.
“Um, it was good,” he nodded, “I missed you though.”
“I missed you, too,” you sighed. “I was here all by myself thinking about the present I want to give you.”
“I told you not to get anything for me,” he remembered, gasping slightly when you pushed him back against the door.
“Just be gracious and accept your gift, okay?” you whispered, starting to kneel down and open his belt.
“O-oh,” he breathed.
You palmed his cock through his trousers, biting your lip as you felt it swelling already. “I didn’t wrap this gift… and I forgot to get you a card to go with it.”
“Somehow I think I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you,” he chuckled, though his smile dropped when you pulled his cock out and stroked it slowly. You had meant to tease him a bit but you found yourself sucking on the head already, too desperate for even your own plans; not that he had any issue with it, you could hear his breathing quicken as you bobbed your head slowly and stroked what your lips couldn’t reach.
He was still getting harder and the feeling of it on your tongue was so hot it was almost distracting, it made you want to reach down under your dress but you knew you were going to need your full attention on him if you were going to do this properly.
Closing your eyes, you kept taking him deeper and deeper until your lips met the base of his cock while his tip was lodged deep down your throat.
“Fffuck,” he hissed, “where did you learn how to do that?”
You pulled back and took a breath, stroking his cock as you responded. “I’ve been practicing, all for you.”
It made his cock flex in your hand to imagine you gagging on your fingers or a toy in hopes of learning how to deepthroat him, let alone to know that it worked.
You took him in your mouth again, swirling your tongue around his slit until he reached down to grab your hair— not hard enough to guide your movements, he was still letting you set your own pace, but hard enough to tug at the roots and make you moan around him. Slowly, you sunk down again, humming and swallowing around him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“You’re too fucking perfect,” he sighed, watching closely as you pulled off of him even slower, running your lips and tongue over every part of him. “You— fuck, you really don’t need to do this.”
“I want to,” you breathed, darting your tongue out to give a wide lick to his head. “I’m already so wet just from this, Helmut… I want you to fuck my face.”
“Shit,” he cursed, gripping your hair tighter. “You’re sure?”
You smiled and nodded.
“Then open your mouth."
Never one to turn down an instruction like that, you let your mouth fall slack and hummed a bit as he pushed his cock forward past your waiting lips. After that it was just a matter of letting your throat relax and focusing on your limited chances to breath as he held your head and guided you.
Whatever discomfort came from having your throat filled so deep was heavily outweighed by the incredible feeling of being used— it sounds debasing, but the way he stammered out praises made you feel anything but degraded.
“So good,” he grunted, “look up at me, darling, show me how good you look choking on me— fuck, you’re so beautiful.”
You were trying to be sexy, here on your knees in this tight dress and heels, but he had you feeling small and delicate saying things like that.
“Such a good girl,” he breathed; you had to shut your eyes then because you couldn’t hear that and look up at him or you were going to end up having to throw these panties out.
The volume of his moans was one thing, but the desperation in them was another; and both of them made it clear he was close, and you wanted to finish him off like this more than anything.
“Fuck— I’ll come,” he warned, “is that what you want? To swallow it?”
You hummed in appreciation, hoping that would get your message across well; and it certainly seemed to, considering he bucked up into your throat more erratically than ever, moaning loudly with each thrust.
Hot come painted the back of your throat, so deep you never really got a chance to consider the taste although you imagined a night of drinking wouldn’t have done him any favors there. Not that you minded; it was him and that was enough to make you moan with delight as he filled your mouth.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pumps of come slowing down to a stop as he relaxed against the door and caught his breath. The moment of calm didn’t last as you started to gently suckle on his softening cock, making him tense up and suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Nonono,” he chuckled breathlessly, pulling you off of him as you smiled mischievously, “it’d be a shame if I died on my birthday.”
“But what a way to go, hm?” you laughed as he helped you up from the floor. “Not your birthday anymore anyways,” you noted, tapping on his watch, “it’s 12:02.”
“I hope you don’t think that means the party’s over,” he smirked, picking you up suddenly, making you laugh in surprise as he started to carry you to the bedroom. “I’m officially a man in his forties with something to prove, so we’ll be going all night, draga.”