James Delaney Imagine #2

James delaney Angsty imagine

I'm sorry I gotta do it. This is extremely sad and angsty. Warning you now. I dunno. Sometimes angsty things come to me. If you would like a part two of Andy as James' guardian let me know. Totally could do it. On with the imagine!

Below is a mood board for Andy!

She came when James was 17 and Zilpha was 15. She was to be the new housemaid. She was Brace's daughter. Her name was Andromeda and she was 15 like zilpha. James remembered her like it was yesterday. She had been firey and sweet all at the same time. She had caught him and zilpha many a time and kept her mouth shut. Not because zilpha threatened her. No. She'd made that clear to the both of them the first time she'd caught them and zilpha opened her mouth with harsh and hot words.

She made her way down the hall silently with the wicker laundry basket, avoiding all the squeaky floor boards. She noticed Zilphas door cracked open and raised her fist to give a small knock but stilled in her movements when she heard it. The heavy breathing and small mewls from Zilpha and James' grunting with every thrust. And she knew it was James. Because Zilpha called out quietly. "James! Don't stop!" She felt sick to her stomach but at the same time this was a perfect time to teach the two of them a lesson about sneaking about. "Hey. If you guys are gonna sneak about yeah, do it the right way." She called out. She heard the curses and the thud that indicated someone had fallen off the bed. Within moments the door was wretched open and Zilpha stood in the door way with a red and nervous James behind her. The look on Zilohas face was a cross between shame and anger. "Laundry?" She held up the basket. Zilpha huffed. "If you tell anyone about what you just saw-" she growled but Andromeda had cut her off. "Well if I told then I wouldn't have the joy of watching you attempt and fail to sneak around here would I?" She reached behind James and pulled the door shut. "Next time. Shut the door all the way." She gave a cheeky smirk and made her way down the hall whistling like it was just another day.

The next time she caught them he knew she was growing annoyed at this point that they weren't being as careful as they should. She'd told them as much.

She rounded the corner to see the two of them heavily kissing in the hallway. "Come on you two! Seriously!" They jumped away from eachother. "You both don't have a sneaky bone in your bodies. Its obvious." She muttered annoyed. "W-well father is gone." Zilpha spoke up. Andromeda raised a brow. "Is my father? Did your father say for how long he'd be gone for?" Zilpha turned red immediately. Andromeda didn't look at the two of them as she stocked the hall closet with the bath towels and spoke. "If you really want to keep this whole...thing...a secret. You have to do better. Cause if you get caught and and they ask me if I knew, I'm Singing like a canary. At that point its everyone for themselves." She said and turned to give the two teens a look. Zilpha didn't meet her eyes and James just smiled amused. "Now you both have a room with a lock yes?" James nodded. "Good. Use them. Good day." She waved them off and disappeared back down the stairs. Zilpha had taken a deep breath and looked back up at him with a giggle.

She was one of the best people both siblings knew. And she only proved to be more than that when his father had pissed someone off and they came for Zilpha as revenge. He also remembered that nightmare of a night too clearly.

He had come into the back door, pausing when he'd heard a man shouting, Zilpha sobbing, and Andromeda quietly talking. He silently moved through the kitchen, grabbing a knife and peeking into the foyer. A dirty looking man was standing in the middle of the foyer with a gun pointed at Zilpha who was standing infront of the stairs, Andromeda behind her on the second step. "Please. Shes just a girl. She had nothing to do with any of this." Andromeda was saying in a calm, hushed tone. "Shut up!" The man yelled back clearly irritated. "Look mister. You're angry. I get it. I've been there. But don't take an innocent girls life for something so trivial. The safes are upstairs. I will open them for you. Take whatever you want. Just not her." The man growled. "I dont want money or jewels. He can get those back. He can't get her back." He clicked off the safety and James snuck behind him, rasing the knife. The man must've seen Zilphas expression because before he could plunge the knife into the man's neck he fired. It all happened in slow motion. Andromeda kicked Zilpha to the floor and out of the way. And within a blink of an eye Andromeda was against the stairs. A dazed look in her eyes as blood seeped through her white dress, staining her chest. James plunged the knife into the man's throat repeatedly until he was sure the man was no longer breathing and rushed to the stairs to Andromeda. She wasnt making a sound but her eyes were moving. Like she was seeing something no one else could. Zilpha sobbed and crawled her way up to the maid and held her hand tightly. James pulled her head up, his eyes wet. "Andromeda! Hey! Andy!" He yelled to her through a cracked voice. She didn't answer him but her eyes met his. "Dont you dare. Don't you dare leave us!" She gave a small smile and looked over at Zilpha who couldn't control her heavy sobbing. And she closed her eyes, her chest stopped moving and her body went heavy. The door burst open and Horace Delaney made his appearance. He took in the man's body on the floor and his two children sobbing over his maids body on the stairs and his blood ran cold. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

James was sure that the was the one and only time his father had felt true, unadulterated guilt and sadness. He had paid for the finest funeral for Andromeda and the finest tombstone in the finest cemetery London had to offer. Brace had broken that day. He had never been the same. He'd taken to drinking and putting up a fake front for everyone else. James had pulled back from Zilpha. He'd started taking an interest in the east India company and had eventually gone on that trip to Africa where he'd almost died and disappeared for 10 years. Zilpha was guilt ridden. She had put it into her mind that it was her fault that Andy was dead. That if she had been braver and not such a little girl Andy would still be alive. James called it survivors guilt. And he knew exactly how she felt now after the sinking of the Influence. He had seen Andy many a time in his visions and dreams. Always there lecturing him on his troublesome ways and stupid plans. And when his mother had tried to drown him in the lake for the first time she had gone head to head with the woman. She was his protector even now. He just felt it. So he made it a routine once a week every Friday to buy flowers and leave them on her grave. An offering. A thank you for all her hard work in life and in the afterlife as his guardian

im a person who wants to do lots of things trapped inside a body that wants to SLEEP at all times

The Heartbreak •Ivar The Boneless Modern AU•

Warning: ANGST!

She had met him through Sigurd. Sigurd was her producer for her music and was a good friend. She wished she had never agreed to attend a family party with Sigurd. She wished she never met HIM. Then her heart wouldn't be so broken and she wouldn't be so angry and hateful all the time. It truly wouldn't have been so bad an end to their relationship had he not have fucked HER behind her back whilst they were still together. If there was one thing she loathed it was cheaters. But she had been in love with him. And he swore he'd always felt the same until SHE came along. Freydis. Even thinking the name sent a surge of hatred and rage through her that she didn't know how to control. She hadn't thought anything of it when she moved in next to Ivar and Ivar became friendly. Super friendly. And Freydis was only too happy to flirt along with him. But she wasn't insecure and she had faith in her boyfriend not to cross a line he knew he couldn't come back from. What a mistake that was. No. But he started pulling away from her. Cancelling plans, not calling or texting, and she should've seen it as the giant red flag that it was. But she gave him his space. She knew Ivar wasn't good about showing affection or being consistent. It was something he said he was working on. But when Hvitserk posted those Instagram pictures and videos of Ivar and Freydis in the club after Ivar had canceled their date night because 'his legs hurt too bad.' Was when she withdrew. The truth had hit her in the face and she spent that night a sobbing mess in her bathroom with her new best friend smirnoff. She drank until she couldn't even think a coherent thought, and then she kept going. She was a mess the next morning. But she shut down completely when Sigurd showed up that morning with that stone faced look on his face and proceeded to Embrace her and hold her as if she was gonna disappear. That's when she knew something was truly wrong. She asked him what was going on and he simply showed her the screenshot of a text Ivar had sent to Hvitserk who then had sent it to Sigurd. "Freydis is pregnant. I'm gonna be a father." She had pushed Sigurd away from her and suddenly lashed out, throwing anything she could get her hands on and screaming in rage. Sigurd had stood silently and watched her let it all out until she had dissolved into heart wrenching sobs and then he has embraced her again and spent the rest of the night holding her as she silently withdrew into herself. And all the while, Ivar was radio silent.

It was a week later before her ex boyfriend had even attempted to make contact. She ignored all his attempts. 25 missed calls and a few texts asking to talk. The texts were what set her off. She sent him one last text. "Go fuck yourself. Hope she was worth it." And he had called a further 10 more times before he realized she wasn't going to answer and he just stopped altogether. From that day on he never tried to talk to her again and she proceeded to delete him and his family, save Sigurd who hated his guts just as much as she did, from all social media and blocked their numbers as well. She had trusted Ivar despite her hard time with trusting others and he took that trust and spit on it whilst ripping out her closely guarded heart and stomping on it until it was barely beating. Sigurd stayed by her side through her healing and helped her as best he could. But she went through truly dark times before she could even think about healing. She had developed a drinking problem which had resulted in Sigurd forcing her into rehab. And it had helped her immensely to see that she wasn't the problem. She wasn't the one that should be hurting. And so she took the step to attend therapy all the while Sigurd was cheering her on on the sidelines and she began to let out her rage in her music. Which topped the charts and only fueled her more. Her hurt had turned into her success. And whilst she was better now, still angry and hateful deep inside but no longer volatile, it had changed her. She guarded her heart even more, didn't trust anyone, didn't date, wasn't interested in relationships, she was done with love. It had scarred her too many times and Ivar was the last straw. And the media knew something bad had happened. They didn't know what. But they were great detectives. And it wasn't long after the whole ordeal that gossip sites and fans were talking about how her ex boyfriend had fucked another woman behind her back and gotten her pregnant. And she was right back into that depression when photos of the two backstabbers were posted along with the articles. Her shiny new ring and pregant belly were enough to undo the progress she had made. But Sigurd had quickly diverted their attention by announcing her nomination for a VMA at the upcoming award show a few months away, along with the news of a new album and an early release of one of the songs on that album. And that was enough to end the attention Freydis and Ivar were paid. And then they went to work on her again.

By the time the VMAs rolled around she had a solid grip on herself and her feelings and promised herself she would shed no more tears for the man that didn't deserve it. She had won that award and headed to the after party with Sigurd in high spirits. They had been there for a while before she saw him. Sigurd had tried his best to intercept him and Hvitserk before they both split off into the crowd and Ivar disappeared causing Sigurd to lose him. She turned her back to him after they met eyes and politely ordered a water from the bartender who passed her a glass of ice water with a smile as she tipped him. But Ivar hadn't gotten the hint clearly because he stood beside her and ordered a drink before turning his attention to her. "We need to talk." She scoffed as she took a large gulp of her drink. "No. We dont. You had your time to talk. You chose to fuck another woman instead. You've made your choices quite clear." She said and moved to walk away. He gripped her arm. "Please." She put a bright smile on and turned back around, taking him by surprise. "Ok Ivar. Talk. I'll entertain you this once because quite frankly I'm intrigued by what you could possibly say to me to make me want to even give you a bit of space in my brain for even a fleeting thought of you." He winced and opened his mouth. "Freydis is pregnant yes." "Well no shit. If she wasn't I'd be seeing a doctor asap." She rolled her eyes. "Please. She lied. It's not mine." She let out an amused laugh. "Lose them how you catch them eh?" He rubbed a hand down his face. "Lils-" "don't call me that. You lost that privilege. We are not friends. We are nothing. You made sure of that. Had you come to me and said that you no longer loved me rather than cheating on me, we maybe could've been. You have no one to blame but yourself Ivar. No one." She said sternly. She watched him deflate. "I DO love you." He said quietly. "You have a strange way of showing it. Let me make this clear, I feel NOTHING for you. Even my rage has depleted. You knew how hard it was to even give you a chance. You knew how guarded I was. And you not only begged me to give you a chance against my better judgment, you swore you would NEVER hurt me like others did. You swore you weren't that person. And then you did EXACTLY what you swore to me you wouldn't. You tore my heart from my chest after you mended it and you spit on it and stomped on it until it was dead. And the worst part was you didn't even have the balls to tell me what you did yourself. Sigurd did. You waited a WEEK after what you did to even bother to call me. You are nothing to me Ivar. You brought the worst out in me after that. And I have overcome all the demons and darkness that you left me with. So you don't get to come to me now that I'm finally better and moved on and pretend that what you did wasn't the worst thing anyone could do to someone they claimed to love and try and gain my sympathy that your situation didn't work out for you. You don't deserve it. Do not call me. Do not text me. Do not even look at me. Do you understand me? I want nothing to do with you. Go find someone else to fuck over." She said and slammed her glass on the bar beside him before pulling her arm from his grip and storming off towards Sigurd. She felt a weight come off her shoulders. There it was. The closure she needed. She said all she had been wanting to. All that had been bottled up. And it was time to wash her hands of it. "You ok?" Sigurd asked worried. But a dazzling smile overtook his best friends face and he relaxed, returning a small one. "Better than OK. Let get out of here and go get some greasy food from a sketchy place that will end up being the best thing we've ever tasted." He chuckled and offered his arm which she immediately took. "Sold. Let's go." Back at the bar Hvitserk patted a teary eyed Ivar. "You'll always be my brother but you fucked up big time and there's no coming back from it." He said softly. Ivar quickly wiped the falling tears and gave a stiff nod.

Kick/Ass 2

The Motherfucker: I'm so sorry!

shark: it's too late to apologizeeee, it's too laaate

Don't skip without sharing this please even if you cannot donate.

A pleasant evening to all.I am new here because my friend in Reddit tells to post here. I am sincere kindly asking for financial help for my baby luke for our hospital bills and laboratory and medicine.

He has been admitted since July 6, 2021 at Metro Antipolo Hospital and medical center inc. intensive care unit for 2 weeks after he underwent internal intestine surgery and he is still recovering due to inspection. Our total bills as of August 2021 at Php 459,000 pesos and that's still without doctors fee ..

To those who want to give a help any amount for our baby.

gcash no.09275124046

PayPal account

Bless you all..

(x)

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Far_Cry_(2013_film)

Guys, guys. I think there’s going to be a movie about far cry 3.

the empress (II)

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE

This fic is inspired by the Empress card of the Major Arcana of the Tarot

pairing(s): helmut zemo x reader

summary: So You're Babysitting Your Ex's Pet Villain: How to Demoralize Yourself in 8 Easy Steps

words: 5,666

warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, this part has all the good shit, dom!reader, sub!zemo, unprotected sex (no stated use of contraception), oral sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, degradation kink, roleplay, mistress & servant type thing, exhibitionism, riding, the reader makes zemo her bitch

additional notes: this is the second part of my 12k+ word fic that needed to be broken into two separate posts because it exceeded the word limit by A Lot. It is posted on AO3 in its original format, as a single chapter fic.

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

.VII.

You don’t sleep that night.

You could blame the alcohol. Or, you could blame the screaming fire in your core, trying to pull you off your bed, out the door and down the hall to where you know the Baron lies in his own bedroom, probably half naked and wonderfully upright.

You slip in and out of consciousness, but never truly give in to the other side of sleep. It’s too hot beneath the sheets. You can hear Bruno’s asthmatic wheezing at the foot of the bed, and it seems like it’s booming throughout the cavern of the master bedroom.

When you rouse early in the morning to let the dog limp out of the room and down the hall, the alcohol hasn’t entirely worked its way out of your system, and has left you with the disorientation of a mild hangover. You’re not stumbling, but you’re parched, and so ravenous that the emptiness of your stomach lends itself to nausea.

Your movements are jerky and a little bit too slow as you move through the kitchen. By the time you rip open a fresh package of bacon, the pain in your stomach is so strong you think you might kill someone.

And that’s precisely when Artemis comes trundling into the kitchen, howling like she’s being tortured.

She hops onto the counter to investigate what you’re doing as you begin slicing the cuts of bacon, a frying pan already heating on the stove. She butts at your hand to try and get at the fragrant meat, giving you an indignant, “MRROW.”

You affect an unamused glare. “What, you think you’re the only horny one in this house?”

“May I offer some assistance?” comes the Baron’s voice.

Your ears start to ring with the rush of blood to your head as you turn to find Zemo standing two feet from you with a coy smirk on his face, holding a glass of water. When you blink at him, he opens his palm and gestures for you to give him the knife in exchange for the water.

You take the glass, and press the flat of the blade into his outstretched palm. He wordlessly nudges you to the side and begins to slice the bacon with such quick, careful precision that the fluid motion mesmerizes you for a second.

As you sip the water, your eyes follow the line of his hand up to his strong forearm, bared to you by his rolled sleeves, and further up until your eyes settle on his face. The scratches on his cheekbone are still bright red, but seem to have sealed up in the night.

The flapping of wings at the window heralds Dodie’s arrival, and you snatch up a piece of the raw bacon before Zemo can manage to cut it. The raven titters at you as you hold the scrap out to it, and you nudge your knuckle affectionately against its plumage. “Good morning, my love.”

You hear Zemo’s meditative hum from behind you. “So that’s who you presume to be meant for love.”

“Please, Baron. Animals are innocent souls,” you tell him easily as you stroke the raven’s beak. “They’re all worthy of love.”

“Whatever happened to ‘Helmut?’”

You pause as Dodie takes flight, feeling your blood humming through your veins with such a fever you think you may be turning red. His voice is quiet, much like it had been when he first spotted Nerissa, like he might not have meant for you to hear him say it.

But you turn to him, and he’s not looking at the stove or the knife, or anything else. He’s looking at you.

“Do you want me to call you ‘Helmut?’”

He considers you for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning you with growing warmth, like you can see a fire being lit within his irises. But then they go cold, and they drop to the stove without warning.

“What I want makes no difference,” he states with clinical detachment. “Perhaps it is best that you call me ‘Baron.’”

“Why is that?”

“Because, I made a promise to James,” he explains, and his voice has garnered a rough edge. “A promise that he told me to remember.”

Bucky’s parting snarl rings through your mind. ‘You remember what I told you, right?’

“What was that promise?”

“That I would remain a stranger to you.” He continues to conduct himself about the stove, tossing the bacon as if the conversation is of little importance to him. “And that if I don’t, it is with the understanding that he will, and I quote, ‘cut off my balls and use them as a hacky sack.’”

A litany of emotions bombard you at once, freezing you in space without any way to reply. First comes flattery, at the fact that Bucky still feels protective of you in some regard. Second, anger, because it’s not his place to be protective of you when he didn’t want to remain with you.

And third, frustration. Because now that he’s successfully gotten under your skin, Zemo’s doing the fucking right thing.

“And you intend to honor that?” It seems ridiculous that he would, considering Bucky’s “warning” sounds more like a schoolyard taunt and less like an actual threat.

But Zemo looks at you, and smiles warmly. “Yes, dragă, I do.”

You nod slowly, eyes falling to the floor, chewing on your lip because you can feel your frustration rising to the surface. “Are you trying to be a good man, Baron?”

He barks a laugh, and turns to look at you.

“In my life, I have been many things. A good man is not one of them.” Though he keeps his face evenly measured, you can see something pained within his gaze. “However, I shall make a valiant effort.”

You suck on your tongue as you watch him turn the stove off and plate the horrendous amount of bacon you’d decided to make in your stupor.

“I’m disappointed,” you say, just as he sets the plate beside you on the counter. He’s not a foot away from you now, and as you stare challengingly up into his eyes, you can see every little deviation his face makes.

“Are you, indeed?” He tilts his head slightly, and his lips turn up at the corners.

“Yes.” Taking the plate from him, you let your fingertips brush his, where they linger on the porcelain. “Here I thought I was supposed to be keeping a dangerous villain in line.”

You watch his pupils dilate dramatically, and a smile breaks across your face. That’s what you were looking for. Last night his eyes weren’t blown completely black because he was frightened of your pet snake. He liked that you were in control.

The low timbre of his voice vibrates through the air around you. “Didn’t you say that I do well when I listen?”

You hum, and slide around him with newfound purpose, allowing your fingers to trail innocently along the line of his belt. “Come to me when you decide who it is you want to listen to, Baron.”

You smile to feel his eyes scorching your back as you exit the kitchen.

.VIII.

The Baron is already out of breath.

You can’t imagine the inner dialogue he’s been through to get to this point, but the look on his face is earnest, like he’s two seconds from begging you on his knees. You allow yourself to smile at the thought.

You haven’t done anything to him. Not yet, anyways, but you can tell by the way he stands at the threshold of the conservatory with his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving and his eyes trained solidly on you, that it won’t be long before you do. Because he’s just played right into your hand, as you knew he would.

Bucky knew he would, too. Because the same thing happened with him, and history tends to repeat itself.

“Have you given up your valiant effort so soon?” You recline in your high backed chair, not unlike a queen upon her throne.

“It seems my villainy knows no bounds.”

Nerissa is asleep, coiled into a pile on the shelf of culinary herbs, but you don’t think he cares by the way he threw open the doors with barely contained desperation.

He steps into the room.

“Did I give you permission to enter?”

The Baron halts, hands flexing at his sides. “No, dragă.”

“Dragă?”

Behind you, rain dashes against the darkened conservatory windows, rippling down the glass like a waterfall. In the silence that hangs throughout the room, thunder can be heard echoing from the valley. You wonder how long it will take him to address you correctly, or if you’ll have to guide him there.

“No…  Empress.”

You incline your head toward the Baron’s rigid form. “Very good. You are a smart boy. Now,” you cross your legs to tease him with the fact that you’re wearing nothing beneath your robe, “have you decided what you want me to call you? Baron, or Helmut?”

“Helmut,” he says almost too quickly. He’s all too eager, likely from a culmination of years locked in a prison cell without any contact, combined with whatever internal crisis he’s been having all day to break his resolve so quickly.

For that fact, you’re just as tightly wound as he is, the pulsing in your core echoing the way his trousers are nicely tented below his belt. But you’re not going to rush things along. He strikes you as a patient man.

You’d like to test that theory.

“So, you don’t want to remain strangers.” You run the tip of your finger along your lip, mostly to stop yourself from nervously tapping it against the arm of the chair. In testing his patience, you’re also testing your own. “You seem to have an issue following orders.”

“That depends on who’s giving them.”

You raise your eyebrows. Normally you would bark at him for speaking without being spoken to, but you do love to hear his rasping voice. “Do you think you’ll be able to follow my orders, Helmut?”

His eyes glow gold in the dim light. “Yes, Empress.”

“Then you may come closer.”

It’s a dance, trying to hide your own need while also feeding off of his. He crosses the room slowly, trying to conceal how his hands twitch to reach out to you. He stops just short of your crossed legs.

“Tell me, Helmut,” you say, revelling in the way his eyes flutter at the sound of his name, “were I truly a queen, how would you approach me to ask for something?”

His face is darkened with lust, his breath coming in swift bursts. “On my knees.”

“Show me, then.”

Zemo falls to his knees before you, his gaze remaining trained on your face. You keep your expression level as you move your leg with aching slowness and precision, ensuring that it brushes teasingly across the Baron’s growing bulge. He hisses through his teeth, and his hand catches your ankle to hold it there.

You tut at him condescendingly. “Did I give you permission to put your hands on me?”

His nostrils flare with the impatient breath he huffs out as he releases your ankle. “No, Empress.”

“That’s right.” You continue to rub the length of your calf just barely against his hardness, smirking at the strained grunt he gives you. “Remove your shirt.”

His fingers hasten to unbutton his blouse, but once they fumble a few too many times in response to your gentle caress against his trousers, he roughly yanks the closure apart with a growl, buttons flying as the fabric falls from his shoulders and exposes the lean expanse of his chest.

You make no attempt to hide the impish smile that stretches across your face. “Are we in a rush?”

When Zemo remains silent, dark eyes glaring up at you defiantly, angrily, you stop the movement of your leg against him.

“No,” he chokes out weakly, leaning into you to find that friction again.

“I thought so.” Graciously, you resume your gentle teasing against his trousers, and he visibly melts into you. “Tell me what you want, Helmut.”

He hesitates. He seems to contemplate his words before finally saying, “I want to taste and touch every part of you. I want to feel you come apart around me.”

“My god. A poet.” You smirk, dragging your calf a little harder against his bulge. “Run that by me again, and say what you mean this time.”

He sucks a breath through his teeth at the added pressure against his hardness, his voice tinged with a new kind of hunger. “I want to fuck you until you can’t speak. I want to feel you cum on my cock so hard that you beg me to stop. I want to mark you as mine, dragă. And I want the Winter Soldier to know it when I do.”

Your leg halts of its own accord, because his lewd admission has you clenching pathetically on air, the heat of your slick dampening the satin of your robe where it’s seeped from your cunt. You could make him wait longer, simply because he dared to use his own pet name for you instead of the one you’d given him. But you don’t want to.

You uncross your legs before him, then lean forward to grip his chin in a similar fashion as you did to wipe the blood from his face. “You’ll be content with what I give you for now, yes?”

He nods obediently, swallowing hard against your hand before vocalizing, “Yes.”

“And then, if you behave yourself, I’ll allow you the privilege of feeling me cum on your cock.”

You restrain yourself only for a moment, but the sound of the Baron’s stuttering breath prompts you to lean forward and pull his lips against yours. He stays there, allowing you to drink in the small moan he makes into your mouth as his tongue dances between your lips. He tastes sweet, like bourbon mixed with ripe summer fruit, meeting your lips with a fervor you haven’t known in years.

Your own desperation seeps into your voice when you whisper, “Touch me, Helmut.”

He obliges without a second thought. His hands slide up each of your calves, running along the length of your thighs and back down again, as though testing the waters. You kiss him feverishly, drawing him closer to you, his torso slotting between your knees to press against the edge of the chair.

His thumb slides up your inner thigh to brush along your slit, and you nearly let out a noisy whine.

“You are eager, aren’t you?” you force through gritted teeth, tightening your hands on his shoulder and jaw. His mouth breaks from you with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours for a modicum of stability.

“Yes.”

“Such a smart mouth, and all you can say is, ‘Yes?’” The sound of his desperate groan at your words only serves to spur you on, your hips jolting forward on your seat. “Why don’t you show me what that mouth can really do, Helmut?”

He affords two wet kisses along your jaw before he forgoes all propriety, and pushes your robe up to expose you from the waist down, pulling you forward until your hips meet the edge of your seat. Then his hands rake down your thighs as he dips his head between them, and his tongue slides between the lips of your cunt.

You suck in a gasp unexpectedly, grinding against his mouth as your fingers weave into his hair like they’re made to be there. He takes to you like a man starved, his tongue spreading you open and his lips devouring, and a swift flex of your fingers in his hair draws a moan from his throat.

“Such a lovely tongue. It always gets you what you want, doesn’t it?” You release your grip on his roots and stroke gently through his hair, like butter against your fingers.

Zemo hums a response, his lips closing around your clit to suck hard against it. Your back arches, a loud moan finally falling from your mouth, and he chuckles against you just before flicking his tongue across the swollen bud.

“You fucking bastard,” you choke out, nails digging against his scalp as you desperately rut against his mouth. “You like to hear how good you are, don’t you? How much you make me fucking want you?”

Your head tilts up seemingly on its own, pulling you to look at him. He’s watching you from beneath his lashes, looking like an absolute devil as his tongue drags through your folds and pauses just shy of your clit.

You can’t help the way your mouth falls open in a needy gasp, your fingers tugging on his hair once again. “Don’t you dare stop, Helmut.”

He obliges you by sucking your clit between his lips with spiteful force. You’re all too aware that his eyes are still on you, watching your head drop back as the muscles of your core tighten, your legs shaking where they rest on his shoulders.

Your orgasm is ravaging. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve had a partner to bring you there, but the pulses seem to constrict every part of your body, hoarse cries stealing from your throat to mingle with the sharp sound of rain striking the windows. Your skin sings, breath shaking when the Baron draws away from you to rest his chin on your thigh.

Then, the fucker has the audacity to say, “Take your time.”

You don’t even lift your head up in order to watch how Zemo flies backward when you use the ball of your foot to shove him by his collarbone, hearing his soft grunt as he lands on his back against the floor.

“You think I’m not taking my time with you, you entitled little shit?” you hiss as you straighten yourself, your hands falling to the tie of your robe. He raises himself on his elbows, watching you with hungry eyes as you stand, shrugging the satin negligée from your shoulders and towering over his sprawling form. “No. If I wasn’t taking my time with you, you’d already be blissed out of your fucking skull. I want to hear you beg for it.”

The look on the Baron’s face is excitable, fearful, his sharp features looking younger and more boyish now as you bend at the knee and begin to crawl tantalizingly between his parted legs, running your palms along the inside of his thighs toward where he strains against his fly.

“Poor thing,” you coo, hooking your finger beneath the buckle of his belt to tug lightly against it, and watch him buck his hips along with it. “You really need me so badly?” You undo the buckle to slip the belt from his trousers, and use two fingers to release the button of his fly before sliding your hand across his bulge as you drag the zipper down. And then, the Baron surprises you.

He whimpers.

It’s not a sound you ever expected to come from him. Zemo is normally so regally composed, stoic and even-tempered with just a hint of malice below the surface. You expect growls and groans, deep, guttural noises with primal connotations. But not this. A pathetic little whimper high in his throat, so soft it’s almost like a sob.

You can’t contain your self-aggrandizing grin as you reach into his trousers to finally relieve him of his restraints, his cock swollen and hard and leaking against your fingers.

His hand comes up to grasp your shoulder at the contact, but you’re not about to let him guide you. You grab him by the wrist and pin his hand against the floor, watching him strain to hold back a moan as you stroke him. You can hear his nails scratch roughly against the floor when his elbows give and he falls back, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Oh, you like that.” You give him a languid stroke, feeling him rigid and pulsing against your hand. Beneath the pleasure of watching Zemo squirm against your touch is the undercurrent of, ‘I want to taste it,’ as your thumb drags the bead of precum down his shaft, and your mouth waters. And who are you to deny yourself the pleasure?

You lick him from base to tip, and feel him shudder against you. You know you’ve wound him up enough that he won’t last if you go at him like this for too long, but still, you close your mouth around his tip and take him in as far as you can, his hitching breath like music to your ears and his salty taste like heaven on your tongue. And then, you draw back slowly, giving him one long, hard suck between your cheeks before your mouth pops off of him, and he very nearly screams.

“No, no, darling, you’re not going to finish like this. Not before I give you what you asked for.” His chest heaves as you dip your head down and slide your tongue up the hollow of his stomach and the line of his ribs, pulling back just at the burst of hair on his sternum. “Do you think you deserve to be given what you want, Helmut?”

His hands land on your waist as you hover over him, staring down into his glassy, dark eyes and carding your fingers delicately through his dishevelled hair. He’s shaking, his skin is burning.

“Yes.” His voice is broken, like it’s been stolen from him and wrung so tightly that he can barely use it anymore. “Please.”

A smirk twitches on your lips. “What was that?”

“Please.” His eyes are searching, desperate, a look you’ve been familiar with before. He’s not above begging, at least not now. His hand brushes your cheek, stroking a finger along the side of your face with tender reverence. “Please, dragă.”

You take his hand, and press a kiss to his palm. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You skim your hands down the length of his body as you rid him of his shoes and trousers, not really trying to conceal your own haste anymore. Your need is already evident in the way your slick seeps down your inner thighs, wet against your skin as you move up his legs.

Zemo is sitting now, his arms outstretched and grabbing for you like he can’t be without you, pulling you against his chest because he said he wanted to touch all of you, not just your cunt, not just your mouth. He’s peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck, sucking and biting, nails scratching, marking. He holds you so close it’s like he wants to intertwine himself with you entirely.

His hands find your hips. You make no move to guide them away. You run your palm up his chest as you rub against him, raising your hips to align him with your entrance.

When you sink down onto him, your name breaks in his throat like a swan song.

You, on the other hand, are so overwhelmed with the feeling of finally being filled, you’re clinging to him like he might float away from you, moaning against his neck as your walls tighten around his intrusion.

When was the last time you felt so complete?

Zemo’s hand strokes down your spine, raising the hairs on the back of your neck with the gentle caress, and his whisper is soft as velvet. “You’re divine.”

Your eyes flutter before you finally collect yourself, and you bite down on his shoulder as you rock your hips into his. He groans loudly into your ear, his chest vibrating against yours as you lift yourself up on your knees to pull back again.

And you push him flat down onto the floor once again before you drive yourself back down onto him with excessive force, biting your lip as he strikes deeper within you.

He gasps as you rake your fingernails through his chest hair, scratching deep red welts into his skin that mimic the ones on his face. He’s surprised, and delighted, and one particular swirl of your hips makes his face scrunch so preciously you’d dare to call it cute, if that’s a word that could be used to describe the Baron.

Zemo’s hands grip your hips, moving in tandem with them as you roll down onto him, a strangled whine leaving your lips. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, and yet, you find that the movement and feeling is not something one easily forgets.

His hips erratically buck to meet yours, a tense sort of culmination building between you as you bend forward over him, your hand coming to rest on the floor beside his head.

“Is this what you wanted, Helmut?” The words fall from your mouth before you’re even able to process them. “For my cunt to be yours for the taking?”

His pants interrupt his words as he speaks. “I hardly think I’ve taken it.”

Your free hand closes around his jaw, a scoff issuing from your mouth. “That’s right. Remember that I gave you this.”

You’re so enrapt in his mouth as you kiss him, it takes a moment for you to register that the ringing in your ears is not, in fact, from your own sensory overload, but that it’s from your cell phone, which sits two feet away on a little antique footrest. You break away from the Baron with a frustrated growl, refusing to stop the rolling of your hips even as you knock over the footrest in your haste to shut the fucking thing up.

And then you see the caller ID.

“Well, well,” you laugh as you grind your hips into the Baron’s, your eyes flickering to his confused visage, “It looks like you really do get whatever you want.”

You push the phone into Zemo’s palm, as Bucky’s call continues to vibrate in his hand.

“Answer it,” you order, your eyes blazing into his as you straighten yourself, trailing a finger down his torso.

Zemo swallows, a hint of terror washing across his face before he clears his throat, eyes steeling and growing sharp. It takes you a moment to realize that you’ve just watched him put on the mask that he wears in daily life; he’s no longer Helmut, he’s Baron Zemo.

Nevertheless, his voice cracks when he answers the phone. “Hello, James.”

You can hear a vague chattering coming from the phone against his ear, his eyes staring up into yours with unadulterated lust as you continue to roll yourself down onto his cock.

“The phone was simply nearest to me.” Zemo speaks clearly now, but his voice is deeper than normal. “Is there something you wish to tell me, zimniy soldat?”

If you listen hard enough, you can hear the cadence of Bucky’s voice over the sounds of your own erotic gasps, watching the Baron’s jaw tighten when he drives his hips up particularly hard into you, like he’s trying his hand at warning you to shut up.

“Is that so?” he nearly growls through gritted teeth. “That didn’t take long at all. I expect you’ll be chaperoning me, then?”

Ah. So Bucky called to tell you that he’s coming to collect Zemo for whatever job he needed the Baron’s help with. It makes sense for that to be the reason he called, but similar to what Zemo’s apologetic expression attests to, you thought you’d have more time.

Might as well go out with a bang.

“Actually, she is right here,” Zemo says, his words coming out thick with anger and desperation. “Perhaps you’d like to tell her yourself?”

He quirks his brows at you, like he’s asking if you want to talk to Bucky. The little inquiry for your consent is almost heartwarming; as you reach to take the phone from his hand, you bend forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

And then you pick up your hips and slam down onto him as hard as you can, making him give out a moan that he strangles to a quiet grunt in his throat before it can be heard over the phone.

“Hi, Bucky,” you sigh into the phone, putting all your frustration into the two words.

“Hey, I know it’s probably late where you are, but I wanted to catch you before tomorrow. Something came up with the Flagsmashers, I need Zemo as soon as possible.”

“Well, that’s what you left him with me for, right?” Your breathing is coming hard through your nose as you try to choke back your own moans, because now Zemo’s hands are truly guiding your hips, and he’s ensuring that each time you fall down onto him, his cock is hitting that perfect spot within you that wants it most. “You don’t need my permission to come get him.”

“I just figured I’d let you know before showing up unannounced.” Bucky’s voice is tense, like he doesn’t like the prospect of seeing you again. “I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with him even this long. I hope he wasn’t too difficult to deal with.”

“On the contrary,” you gasp out as you sweep your hand up the Baron’s chest, taking in his face as he gazes up at you with what can only be described as adoration, “he’s been a very, very good boy.”

At your words, and a particularly well aimed rut of your hips, Zemo lets out a groan that you’re sure can be heard through the phone.

Bucky is quiet for a moment, before he says in the most disappointed tone you’ve ever heard, “You didn’t.”

This time, you sigh a quiet little moan of your own into the speaker. “Don’t be too hard on him, Bucky. He made such a valiant effort to resist me.”

You feel Zemo twitch within you as you rock down onto him, his fingers tightening on your hips as you toss your head back at the sensation.

Bucky’s voice is enraged now as he growls, “Empress…”

Your head snaps forward, and you stare directly down into the Baron’s dark eyes as you say, “I’m not your Empress anymore, Bucky.”

And you end the call as Zemo jerks his hips up ungodly hard into yours. You squeeze the phone in your hand just before your core tightens, and you launch it across the room and through the open door with a ridiculously loud cry, like everything you’ve been holding back all evening is coming out all at once.

You catch yourself on your hand before you can collapse against him, allowing your release to seize you entirely. You jolt forward into it, feeling your cunt pulse around his cock with your eyes screwed shut, searing heat exploding in your belly and sizzling through your veins.

You hear Zemo’s harsh cry at the same time as you feel his hands tug you further onto him, and then the warm rush of his release, sprung forth with the sensation of you cumming around him.

He hasn’t quite finished his orgasm when his hands slide up your sides to pull you down against his chest, his arm winding around your waist and his hand cradling the back of your head, hugging you to him as he continues to moan out his release. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, lips pressed to his collarbone while you’re lost in the aftershocks of your muscles pulsing against his hardness.

You lay atop him, breathing him in. It’s the only thing you can do. You can’t seem to form words. You suppose he’s managed to get what he wanted in that respect as well; you’re dumbstruck at the intensity of your orgasm, the fact that you’ve thoroughly debauched yourself in the proverbial face of your ex, and that in less than eight hours, the man holding you like a treasure will be whisked away by said ex, likely never to see you again.

You try to burn it into your memory that Helmut’s sweat-damp body tastes of salt, and smells of sandalwood.

You remain like that, with his arm hugging you to his body and his thumb stroking circles against the back of your head, while he slips from you and his breathing slows.

Eventually, you’re able to find your voice again when he croaks out a gentle, "Thank you."

“It isn’t always like that with me, you know,” you mutter, your voice echoing in the dip of his collarbone.

“Is that so?” His voice vibrates against where your mouth is pressed to his skin.

“Yeah. Sometimes, I like to be on the receiving end.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

You raise your head, your nose brushing the stubble on his jaw as you find his eye. “Next time?”

“Yes, dragă.” His thumb continues its gentle caress of your head as his eyes search your face. “There will be a next time, if you desire it.”

“Of course I desire you, Helmut.” His breath audibly stutters when you say his name, his arm tightening around your waist.

“It… relieves me to hear you say that.” His eyes flutter shut when you press a kiss to his jaw.

“But you have to leave in the morning. And Bucky might actually kill you.”

“Don’t worry about that. I believe I can talk down our zimniy soldat.”

“I have no doubt about that,” you say with a small laugh, and rest your head in the crook of his neck again. “But he’s definitely not going to be bringing you back here, that’s for sure.”

“Have no fear, dragă. I know where to find you.” Helmut’s hand strokes down the back of your neck, beginning a gentle descent along your spine. “One trait we villains have in common is that we know a good thing when we see one.”

Hmm. Send which Tom Hardy character you'd like an imagine for with one of these. Id like to try this out 🤔

Send a symbol for my muse’s reaction to your muse:

❅ = wanting to build a snowman

✾ = bringing them a dozen roses

✛ = telling them they want kids

✎ = leaving a note

♛ = tucking them in bed

♠ = asking them for a loan

♘ = telling them a secret

✉ = texting them at 4 a.m.

♬ = whistling off-key very loudly

☆ = pointing out a shooting star

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