Work Text:
It had started with a power outage.
According to the notification from your power company you saw when you woke up an hour after your alarm was supposed to go off, it had been contained to your block, and was estimated to be back online anywhere between two hours from now and sometime in the wee hours of the morning.
Cursing yourself for not just using your phone alarm like a normal person, and doubly cursing your new “better” habit of having an old fashioned digital clock plugged in across the room that forced you to get out of bed, you flew through your morning routine in as little time as you could possibly manage: a half-hearted cold shower to wash off the sweat you’d woken up in from your defunct AC, followed by the least heat-trapping dress you had that let you still look professional, applying the barest minimum of makeup that would make you look suitable for your meetings later, and so you didn’t show up to the class you were teaching looking like you’d just rolled out of bed.
Luckily, you’d had the foresight to pack your backpack with everything you needed for your meetings this afternoon, with your lesson materials waiting on the table where you’d been putting them together. Unluckily, when you went to grab your packed lunch out of the fridge, you were met with a tepidness that spoke to exactly how long it had been since the power went out in the middle of the night.
“Seriously? Ugh, fine, whatever.” At least procrastinating going grocery shopping had actually worked in your favor today, but still. It’s not like you were exactly flush with extra cash as a grad student to make up for the lost days’ worth of food.
Noting the clock hanging above your kitchen table, you ran to your door, cussing up a storm. You just remembered to slapdashedly pour some food into your poor cat’s bowl, having to settle for only most of it going in as you slammed your door behind you and ran down the stairs.
You bolted for the bus stop outside of your apartment complex, only to get halfway there and see the campus bus race right past on its route.
“Seriously?!” You checked the time on your phone, debating whether to wait the fifteen minutes for the next bus or just get your car, park as close as you could to your building without getting caught parking illegally, then schlep your shit across campus on this hot-ass August Friday.
It turned out to be quicker to do the latter, although you honest-to-god wondered why you’d bothered to shower when you dragged yourself into your classroom. All in all, you were five minutes late - not bad, considering. Of course, when you opened the lesson plan folder you’d grabbed, you realized it was the one you’d been prepping for Monday, not today. Naturally. This led to you you having to improvise your discussion - not the worst thing, but a bit like pulling teeth towards the end when your undergrads (and you) just wanted to go home.
Finally, figuring you all deserved it, you let them out ten minutes early. That at least gave you time to get something to nibble on and compose yourself before your first meeting for the day: your dissertation committee co-chair, Dr. Helmut Zemo.
You’d been surprised when Zemo had agreed to chair your committee, much less co-chair it. He had a reputation across departments for being an incredible professor, a notoriously harsh grader who nevertheless often pushed his grad students into entirely new ways of conceptualizing their work… after maybe making them cry once when they got back their first assignments in his seminar. When you’d asked him, you’d totally expected him to say no, to find some substantial flaw in your idea or your methodology and verbally dress you down as you sat squirming in the antique chair in front of his massive desk. But instead, he’d smiled. Not necessarily a reassuring smile - something sharper. Wolfish. He’d looked at you with his dark eyes over his glasses, and for a moment, your stomach flipped like you were about to fall into them.
“I’d be delighted,” he’d said, his accent like velvet (What? Professors in the departments you were involved with were sort of… known for that). “Truly. I’ve been curious about the implications of the questions you posed in your final project for my seminar.”
You’d blinked - that had been at least three semesters ago at that point. “Wait, really?” You’d had to force yourself not to grin like an idiot. You, like many of your colleagues, were always hungry for praise, but to have a professor like Zemo remember your paper, much less be interested in it… “That’s - wow. Thank you, Dr. Zemo, that means a lot.”
“Please,” Zemo had taken off his glasses and set them aside, leaning closer to you across his desk. “We’re going to be working together rather… closely, in the coming year. You can just call me Zemo.”
You’d felt your cheeks heat again for the second time in as many minutes, and you’d had to force yourself not to look away from his deep gaze. “Zemo. Okay.” You’d let yourself smile just a little, as much as you dared. “Thanks.”
You’d been working together for a semester now, and things had only gotten… more interesting, from there. He’d done plenty to make your stomach flip, in more ways than one.
But with his feedback, combined with that of your other co-chair, your work - your research, your methodology, your writing - was honestly better than ever. You were determined not to disappoint them.
Which was why you had to be at your best when you saw him to discuss your next chapter this afternoon.
You’d headed the cafe at the back of the main library near your building, patiently waiting in line. You’d grab something, snack, review your notes, all with plenty of time to spare.
When it was finally your turn at the counter, you had to snap yourself out of the memory of your last meeting with Zemo to regain your powers of speech. “Hi. Medium iced mocha and a fruit bowl, please?”
“$5.30, hon.” Dorothy, the kindly older woman behind the cash register, smiled at you, and you returned it as you reached into your bag -
“…Fucking seriously?” You hissed, finding the pocket where you kept your wallet totally empty. “Sorry!” You immediately looked up, giving an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ms. Dorothy, really, I’ve just been having like the worst day, hold on…”
“If you have your ID, we take campus cash.” Dorothy smiled hopefully, trying to be helpful as your rummaging became slightly more frantic.
“…No,” you sighed, coming up empty. You gave her a weak smile. “I left my whole wallet at my place. Sorry, ma’am, just, um. Cancel that, I guess.” You were doing your best to hold your shit together, but this was precipitously close to the last straw.
“Here.” A hand set an ID on the counter in front of you, and you blinked, recognizing it as a faculty ID. “On me.”
You whipped around, finding Dr. Zemo of all people standing behind you. “Zemo?” Your immediate smile at his all-too-familiar smirk was suddenly replaced with self-consciousness, running a hand over your hair and hitching your bag up on your shoulder. “Hey, um. I wasn’t planning on seeing you until our meeting later!”
“Likewise.” He looked crushingly perfect, as always, in a crisp wine-colored button down and hair that was somehow styled yet with one rakish rogue strand. “I thought I’d sneak in here beforehand, get some caffeine to prepare.” He winked, and you had to do your best not to bite your lip in front of poor Dorothy.
“Same - well, and food. I just got done teaching.”
Zemo glanced from you to your order. “…That’s it?” He frowned, brow creasing behind his glasses. “Tell me you’ve eaten something else today.”
You shrugged a shoulder with a weak smile. “Rough morning, didn’t super have time.”
“Draga, no,” he shook his head. “This won’t do at all.” He shot a glance to his (expensive looking) watch. “Here, we’re early, and I have my notes with me anyway - let’s go grab lunch down the street, we’ll just discuss feedback there.” He gave Dorothy a wolfish smile. “Apologies, cancel that after all.”
“Not a problem!” Dorothy’s voice went up a full octave as she smiled back, clearing the order, and you were glad you weren’t the only one who was weak to Zemo’s charm.
“Zemo, are you sure?” You glanced at him as you both headed for the back door. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, really,” you added quickly. “I just, um, don’t want you to feel obligated or anything.”
Zemo just shrugged, smiling at you as he held the door open for you. He waited until you two were a decent distance away from the library before he reached up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Is someone worried they won’t get to hear how good they are today?” he whispered, grinning.
You about tripped, looking around to make sure no one was around to overhear before letting yourself pout slightly. “Maybe.”
Zemo laughed low in his throat, and you had to fight not to shiver. “Don’t worry, Schatzi - I thought we could try something new. You’ll still have your fill, I promise.”
He’d taken you to the bar just off campus, popular and close enough that it wasn’t uncommon for grad students to regularly meet their advisors there for their check-ins. Hell, anyone from campus who could legally drink and wanted to was liable to show up, which both gave you two a perfect cover and made things slightly dangerous. Luckily, it was early enough in the day that this danger seemed unlikely - no one was here at this time save for the odd professor or instructor having lunch alone or in close, huddled groups that spared the two of you barely a glance as a waitress walked you both to a booth in the back.
You hadn’t really taken it to be Zemo’s style - you thought he’d prefer something, well, nicer than here - but he gamely ordered something in a shade of red, which made you feel comfortable enough to order a glass of moscato while you waited for your food.
“I thought you hadn’t eaten?” Zemo glanced at you as the waitress set down the wine glasses and walked off.
You stifled a laugh, unable to help yourself. “I drank so much worse on an empty stomach when I was an undergrad,” you explained when he raised an eyebrow. “One glass of wine is hardly going to do me in, I promise.”
“Good,” Zemo said, leaning back in his side of the booth to look through his satchel. He slapped down a copy of your latest chapter, covered in bright red notes of his close, careful handwriting, with entire paragraphs crossed out or apparently viciously dissected. “Because we have so much to discuss.”
You felt your thighs press together in your seat as he looked you over long and slow, and as if he could tell from above the table, his wolfish smile returned.
You took a long sip of your wine, holding his gaze as best you could before glancing to the chapter in front of you.
You’d barely made it ten pages in when you’d tired of his teasing. You’d stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom, making sure there was no one in any of the waiting stalls, before leaning against the furthest one and staring at the door.
He’d entered as soon as he’d waited the allotted time, locking the main door behind him before storming across the room and shoving you into the stall you were leaning against.
He pinned you against the closed door, kissing you hard, hungrily, and when he forced his tongue in your mouth you could taste the wine he’d been drinking as he’d told you off for your mistakes.
“You’re really going to have to do better if you want to impress me, Schatzi,” he whispered, and you had to bite back a moan as he ground his hips hard against yours.
“Give me time, Doc, we’re only just getting started,” you smirked, only to whine softly as his hand wrapped around your throat.
He shushed you softly, squeezing just enough for you to bite your lip. “I need you to be quiet, my mouthy draga - you’re going to get us in trouble if you don’t.” He pulled the skirt of your dress up around your hips, clearly eager himself - only to pause, finding no underwear waiting there to be pushed aside. He glanced up at you, swearing softly in Sokovian, which only brought the smile back to your face. “You little slut,” he hissed softly. “Did you do this just for me?”
“That’s part of the reason I stopped by the library,” you murmured. You pulled the dark lace you’d been wearing to your class out of a skirt pocket now bunched around your waist, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt. “Do with them as you will.” You tilted your chin up, challenging. “What was that you were saying earlier about me needing to do better?”
Your bravado was undermined by the soft gasp you couldn’t hold back as he swiped the pad of his thumb up your slit, circling your clit roughly. “You’re so wet already,” he whispered. “Did you get excited waiting for me to call you my good, clever girl?” He didn’t give you the chance to respond before he slid a finger into you, then two, his free hand covering your mouth to contain the soft moan that escaped your lips.
You were caught against the door, your whimpers as he fucked you slowly with his fingers muffled by his palm, the soft string of curses falling from his lips, and the obscene sounds from where you were only growing wetter as he grazed the spot inside you that made you melt.
“Pretty thing,” Zemo muttered, almost moaned. “You take my fingers so well - you’re just eager to be fucked, aren’t you?” He chuckled darkly as you nodded under his hand, eyes wide. “All that education, all your carefully chosen words, and you still just want me to ruin you in a place like this.” He removed his hand to your soft noise of protest, having come perilously close, then pulled you away from the door and spun you so your back was against the cold wall.
“Here, on your desk,” you whispered as he leaned down, pulling the neckline of your dress aside so he could nip at your clavicle and neck, causing you to hiss softly at the pain. You ran your hands up his torso, pulling his shirt free so you could unbutton it. “Take your pick, Professor, I’m all yours.”
“You are mine,” Zemo breathed darkly in your ear, biting down hard in the crook of your neck and causing you to gasp. His hand ran over your opposite shoulder, as if trying to erase something. “And I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”
You giggled, causing him to pull back and look at you. “You’re not jealous, are you, Doc?”
Zemo’s eyes darkened, and without a word, he pulled your dress off you entirely before you could think to protest. He left it hanging on the purse hook on the door before he pressed himself against you, keeping you trapped between him and the wall in just a compression top, his hand already back against your throat. “Who are you meeting with first today,” he whispered, tangling his hand in your hair and giving it a harsh pull. “Me or him?”
“You wanna taste me and guess?” You raised an eyebrow, your voice incredibly level for all the butterflies in your stomach and the slick that threatened to leak down your thighs.
Zemo’s eyes went wide at your sheer cheek, and for a moment you wondered if you’d seriously overstepped. “You’re brave, for someone about to be fucked stupid,” he growled through his teeth. He reached between the two of you, undoing his belt and his fly to free his cock, the tip already glistening with precum.
You licked your palm while keeping your eyes locked with his, reaching between the two of you to give his shaft a few languid, loving strokes. “I think you don’t hate having to share as much as you say you do, Zemo,” you said softly, watching his face as he fought a moan. “In fact, I think you get off on it a little.” You felt bold enough to smirk as your free hand reached up, rubbing Zemo’s soft stomach admiringly. “You have such a voracious appetite for healthy competition, after all. It’s part of why I picked you to co-chair.”
At the last word, Zemo caught your wrist, pulling your palm away from his cock and kissing it surprisingly gently before pinning aforementioned wrist to the wall above your head. “Or was it your appetite that had you make that choice, Liebling?” he said, his voice dangerously smooth as he stared you down.
You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted in terms of an answer. “Maybe,” you said at last, shrugging. You stretched your other arm up the wall, offering him your free wrist. “Do you have a problem with my appetite, Professor?”
Zemo’s smirk returned, and he took your wrist under his broad hand, holding them both above your head. “Of course not, draga.” He kissed your forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture, before reaching into the pocket of his unbuttoned shirt. “I just want you to think carefully, as you continue your work, about just who it is that takes better care of you.” He showed you the pair of panties you’d given him earlier, before gently placing them against your lower lip. “Now be my good girl and open that fucking mouth of yours.”
You felt your eyes widen, looking uncertainly from him to your panties and back again. He raised an eyebrow. “Is my good girl telling me no?”
You hesitated a moment later before mutely shaking your head, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue a little more than necessary.
Zemo grinned. “Excellent, Liebling.” He carefully stuffed your panties in your mouth as a gag, waiting to make sure you could still comfortably breathe before his hand covered your throat again. “Now, behave yourself, and I’ll make it so you can barely walk to his office.”
The noise you made was obviously muffled as he took himself in hand, drawing his tip up and down your slit, coating himself in your slick and causing you to shiver.
“Such an eager thing,” Zemo groaned softly, his mouth against your ear. “All your little tricks and brazen words, just because you still want me to like you best, don’t you?”
You felt heat creep to your cheeks, if it hadn’t already been there before. Zemo laughed, giving your throat the tiniest squeeze. “It’s alright, Schatzi.” You felt him press against your entrance for a moment before he sheared into you, causing you to moan as he filled you so completely. “I think you can tell how much I like you, no?”
He stayed there a moment, letting you adjust around his considerable length, nuzzling the side of your neck with the tip of his nose. When his hips snapped against yours, your head fell back against the wall, unable to help yourself. Feeling him slow and sure against your walls was the most delicious kind of torture, and you felt his hand tighten around your throat as he pressed his chest against yours.
“What a good girl you are, my good girl,” Zemo was losing his thread a little bit as his hips kept up their rhythm, clearly enjoying this as much as you were. “So quick to challenge me, but you take my cock so well, so sweetly.” He was fighting a moan, pressing a kiss to your temple, your jaw, then either corner of your mouth around the gag he’d put there. You ached to run your hands through his hair, to run them down his back, but you had to settle for exposing your throat to the aching kiss of his teeth around his hand, your hips meeting his as you both sought your release.
“What if I came inside you, left it there for him to find?” Zemo growled, and you felt his hips stutter in their rhythm. “Or left it all over that pretty stomach of yours for him to discover under your dress, hm?”
You couldn’t very well respond, but you wondered quietly if he was saying this more to turn you on, or himself. Your train of thought was utterly lost as his nimble fingers released your throat reached between you, precise on your clit in a way he knew made you go weak in the knees. You moaned around your panties, and Zemo let go of your wrists at last, pulling the lace out of your mouth so he could taste you once more. Your hands free, they tangled his his hair as he lifted one of your thighs to the side of his hips, holding it there as he continued fucking you and circling your clit.
Your hands scrabbled over his shoulders, only to claw downwards and leave marks of your own as he brought you closer to the edge. “Professor, Zemo, I’m- more, please.”
Zemo kissed you hard, fucking you back against the bathroom wall until at last your nails dug hard into his shoulders, moaning his name softly against his mouth.
He fucked you through your orgasm, your legs fully shaking before his hand braced next to your head on the wall and he pulled out, spending ropes in the hand that had been on your thigh.
You looked at him, confused by this, until he held it up to your mouth expectantly. Obligingly, you took his palm and cleaned it thoroughly with your tongue, watching his eyes go nearly black as you glanced up at him while doing so.
“Good, draga,” Zemo said, still slightly breathless. He leaned forward, tasting himself on your tongue with a kiss, before pulling you away from the wall and against him just to pet your hair for a few minutes.
“Come along, then,” he sighed at last, kissing your forehead before stepping back. “I did promise to actually feed you.”
Unbidden, a smirk came to your lips. “Didn’t you just-“
“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” Zemo rolled his eyes, but still smiled despite himself. Before attending to himself, he picked your dress off the door hook, helping you slide into it and smoothing it over your hips. As he redid his fly and belt, you buttoned his shirt with deft hands, used to this routine by now.
He showed you the panties you’d been gagged with, tucking them into his trouser pocket. “I’m keeping these, though. Hope you weren’t fond of them.”
“I picked them out to be liked, so,” you shrugged, winking at him. “Guess I was right again.”
After straightening your hair and handling your smudged makeup as best you could in the mirror, you glanced over your shoulder where he was already waiting, leaning against the wall. When he winked back at you, you turned, stepping back into the bar.
You’d turned the corner back to your seats, still slightly dazed, when you about smacked into a taller figure heading in the direction you’d just come from.
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry-“ You said as you dodged just in time, your eyes finally snapping into focus.
“Oh, no, pardon me-“ the other man said, before he paused, brightly saying your name. “I just emailed you, what a coincidence.”
It was, of course, Doctor Loki Laufeyson. Your other co-chair.
“Loki!” You said, surprised when you realized just who was smiling down at you. “I mean- hi!” You smiled back, unable to help yourself around him, then immediately sank back into self-consciousness for the second and perhaps more deserved time that day. Your hair had been as neat as you could get it, your lipstick attended to as best as possible, but could he tell? Was it obvious? “Oh shit, um-“ You went to check your phone, but realized you didn’t have it on you, of course. “Our meeting? I’m not running late, am I?”
“No, no, of course not.” He was achingly pretty, in that black blazer over the matching black button-down - you wondered how he didn’t melt in this heat, between that and his gorgeous dark hair. “You see, that’s actually what I emailed you about, I’m -“ He paused mid-sentence, his smile suddenly shrinking into something much smaller, tighter as he sighted someone over your shoulder. “Dr. Zemo. A pleasure.”
You froze, glancing over your shoulder to where Zemo was watching your conversation, standing behind you. “Dr. Laufeyson. Likewise.” Zemo said evenly, his smirk truly irrepressible now. “I was just giving our budding scholar here some feedback on her latest chapter. Truly some engaging work. Gripping, you might say.” His smirk became a lazy grin. “And they take it so well.”
You felt your face absolutely flood with heat as Loki looked from Zemo to you, and you felt his bright blue eyes scan you as subtly as possible before he glanced back to his colleague. “Of course they do.” he said simply, his tone cool. “They’re always a lovely collaborator, in my experience. Very thoughtful with their scholarly contributions, no matter how… lacking, other project partners might be.”
Zemo bristled silently behind you as Loki turned his gaze back to yours, smiling somewhat more naturally again as he relished the exchange. “I was saying, I’m afraid this afternoon doesn’t work for me - something’s come up with my brother, I’m terribly sorry. Would you mind rescheduling for later this week?”
“Sure, no worries.” You gave him a shy smile, not wanting to seem like you were taking sides. “I’ll check my calendar and email you when I have a good date.”
“Or just text me, you have my number.” Loki shrugged a little too casually, his eyes going over your shoulder again before he smiled at you. “I’m looking forward to discussing your newest chapter in depth. I’ve found quite a few things I like in your incorporating Henry Jenkins.”
“That was my suggestion,” Zemo said, and you realized he was standing closer behind you than before, almost level with your shoulder. Despite the height difference, his presence still felt looming, arms folded across his chest. “I thought she put it to excellent use, yes.”
Loki glanced at Zemo, raising an eyebrow. “Well. Good idea. Stopped clocks and all.” He shrugged again before reaching forward, taking your shoulder and squeezing it gently. “Take care, then. Talk soon.” He gave Zemo a last withering look as he walked off. “Doctor.”
“Doctor.” Zemo nodded in return, his thin veneer of politeness giving way to a black stare at Loki’s retreating back. He shook his head, stalking after you back to your table. “I don’t know what you see in him.”
“As your co-chair?” you said, returning to your seat as gracefully as you could, wincing just slightly when you sat. “His is the other specialization that best overlaps with my central question, besides yours.”
“I understand that,” Zemo sighed, gesturing to your edited chapter as he also sat down. “I just mean…” He trailed off, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself in Sokovian. “Never mind, draga. Anyway.” He paused, fishing his phone out of his satchel and idly checking his messages for a moment. He spoke next without looking up, with a studied sort of casualness. “I did give you my number, didn’t I? Just in case you want to check in, or have a question?”
You smiled to yourself, taking another sip of your waiting wine. “No, Professor, I don’t know that you did.”
“Hmm. Well, here, put yours in mine.” Zemo passed you his phone as nonchalantly as possible. “Might as well keep that line open all around, for the sake of communication.”
“Sure.” You agreed. You resisted the very strong urge to save yourself as “Good Girl,” not wanting to attract undue attention.
By the time you finished work and returned home to your apartment, it was late afternoon. With your fingers crossed, you drove home, praying to every god that listened that your house would have power again.
Sure enough, as you made your way up your apartment’s stairs, the ceiling lamp that illuminated the small hallway was glowing proudly in place.
“Oh thank fuck,” you sighed, going to turn your key in your door lock - and finding, to your dismay, you’d never locked it at all. “Oh, fuck me,” you sighed again, opening the door.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
You jumped, about to reach for the baseball bat you kept near the doorframe as you realized someone was sitting in your darkened apartment, having taken the time to put down all your blinds.
“It’s just me, love.” Loki said soothingly. He was seated in your dark green velvet reading chair as though he belonged there, one of the books from your research open and set aside on the table as though he’d been pursuing it. Henry Jenkins, you noted. On his lap was your cat, purring contentedly as Loki’s long fingers combed through his fur. “Handsome little fellow, this one. Took him a while to want to join me, but now I can’t seem to get him to leave.”
“He’s like that. He acts all aloof, but he’s a sweetheart once he knows you’ll pet him the right way. Like someone else I know.” You smiled, unable to help yourself. “How do you know where I live?” you asked, shutting the door behind you. You looked around. “I would have cleaned if I’d known you were breaking in.”
“Your address is on file in the department, darling, it wasn’t hard. And I’ll have you know your door was unlocked, so it’s not technically breaking and entering.” Loki said lightly. He glanced at you. “You really should be more careful about that, you know. All sorts of peculiar people in this town.”
“I’m sure.” You leaned against the door, dropping your bag in the corner. “Speaking if which, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Loki grinned, and there was something wicked in it. “I wanted to give you some proper feedback. Especially since I figured that snide… that my ‘co-chair’ had put you through it in that awful bar, poor thing. No sense of privacy, I don’t understand what you see in him.” He rolled his eyes, gently setting your cat on the floor with a pat to his little head before he wandered off. When he got to his feet, he ambled towards you with a careful nonchalance, but you could see the purpose glittering darkly in his eyes as he backed you against your front door. “I thought you might enjoy a shower first,” he said softly. “Then maybe some dinner? My treat, of course.” Before you could respond, he leaned down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “But trust me when I say I want to take my time with you tonight. We have quite a bit to discuss, after all.”