https://creme-bruhlee.tumblr.com/
summary ↠ you're hired to give a message to a german prisoner, but you never expected to actually take a liking to him.
pairing ↠ baron helmut zemo x fem!reader (y/n)
word count ↠ 2.9k
warnings ↠ explicit language, a bit of nonsexual choking, zemo calls you a bitch
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The prison felt cold and unforgiving, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself. You followed the guard down the halls, twists and turns with no hope of remembering the correct way out.You figured that they had designed it that way on purpose; nobody could leave and escape if the way out was a labyrinth. Finally, you were led to a man sitting at a desk. His eyes followed you as you approached, and it was only once you were fully in front of him did he speak. "Name?" he asked in German, and you cleared your throat. Your German was shaky, but would have to do.
"Zemo," you replied. "I'm here for visitation with my husband."
The man laughed a bit. "Pretty girl visiting her man in prison," he mumbled. "Such a waste. Take off your jacket, Frau Zemo."
You had no reason to be nervous, but you still shook a bit when you slid your jacket off and held your arms out for the necessary pat-down. But, as you pondered it, you actually had quite a lot to be scared of. The past three days had been hell, for sure. It started with a firm knock on your apartment door in your home of New York City, and you had opened it to see a man with a metal arm and surprisingly kind eyes. He had introduced himself as simply James, and he had told you that he needed you to do something for him.
"I know you're Sokovian," James had explained. "I found your name on a registry of citizens that were moved to the US following the Sokovia incident a few years back. If you do this for me, I'll help you get access to the city ruins. You were young when you lost your parents, yeah? I know the feeling. Not having closure is... Awful. Wouldn't wish it on anyone. But, in order to do that, I need you to do something for me?"
You had looked James up and down. "What is the something?" you asked.
"I have a friend," he began and gave a little wince. "Acquaintance. Umm, I know someone who's in a German prison right now, and he's going to be a big help to me and my business partner. All you need to do is go in and give him a message."
"What sort of message?"
"'Winter's coming soon. Next week, I imagine.' Has to be that, verbatim; don't say anything about who sent you or why. I've already got the meeting and everything set up, you just need to go visit him and give him that message."
"What does that mean?" you asked.
James had hesitated for a moment, tapping his metal fingers against the arm of his chair. "It's better if you didn't know," he said. "I need as little people involved here as possible. I would go in and give him the message myself, but I'm kind-of a wanted man myself. Will you help us?"
James had been thorough in setting up the meeting, even going as far as purchasing a gently-used set of rings for you to wear. He told you that this man, Helmut Zemo, had been in prison for seven years for a variety of things, the heftiest being murder. "He was justified, though," James said, and you pretended not to notice his small "I guess."
The guard said something into his radio unit, and you caught enough of it to know that he was approving you to enter. You knew nothing about this Helmut Zemo other than what James had told you, only the bare basics. Sokovian, had a family that was killed at the same time as yours. According to James, Zemo wasn't dangerous. He would be more confused than anything, he told you. But, no matter what Zemo did, if he denied he had in you no right, you had to keep with it and deliver the message in a natural way. You were his wife, and you were happy to see him.
The light flicked on over the bed, and Zemo gave a quiet grunt of disdain. It was four in the afternoon, and he always asked for the light to be off. Four was when other prisoners were granted visitation, but he had nobody. Stupid light must have accidentally been triggered.
"Zemo!" he heard a guard call from down the hall, and he pulled himself from bed and approached the plexiglass divider that separated him from freedom. "I thought you said you don't have a wife!"
"I don't!" Zemo called back, an irritated edge in his voice.
He finally saw the guard turn the corner and approach, and his eyes instantly fixed on the girl that was trailing behind him. She was young, much, much younger than him, and strikingly beautiful. Maybe it was the seven years in jail, but he could have sworn that he was looking at an angel. She seemed nervous, and Helmut focused his gaze on the rings on her left hand. Before he could speak up and correct the guard that this woman wasn't his wife, she spoke up. "My God," she whispered in a soft English, her voice heavy with a familiar Sokovian accent. "Helmut, you look... Tired, my love."
Zemo tried to gauge the woman. She seemed too green to be an assassin, so at least that was something. And she knew his name. How did she know his name? "I am tired, mein lieber," he sighed, and he pressed his palms up against the glass. She stepped closer and did the same, laying her hands just opposite his, and he examined her rings. Small, simple, unassuming. Props. "You're so beautiful."
You gave a small laugh, one that you hoped sounded like a woman whose husband had complimented her. Did he really mean it? Or had he caught onto the act as well? He seemed smart, you had to admit. And he was handsome too. Though his eyes were dull and dark with exhaustion, they were still a lovely brown. His hair was messy but showed hints of ginger in the dark locks, and his scruffy facial hair accented his soft jaw. However exhausted he was, he was still quite the looker. And he was the first full-blooded Sokovian that you had willingly met since the incident. "Can I hold him?" you asked the guard, lowering your voice and tightening your throat to try to feign emotion. "Please?"
The guard blinked slowly, and he nodded. He translated the request through his radio, and, just a moment later, there was the loud buzz as the cell door was unlocked, and it slowly creaked open. You wasted no time in meeting Zemo at the door and throwing your arms around him, and he held you with the strength of a thousand men as you dug your face into his neck. He shushed you gently, stroking your back, and he pressed his mouth to your temple in a fake kiss. "Why're you here?" he mumbled through gritted teeth, praying the guard hadn't noticed it. "Who are you?"
"I missed you," you whimpered into his neck. "I'm sorry, Helmut, but I moved to the States, and I couldn't exactly tell people who I was or who you were or why I was living in New York alone but married–"
Zemo moved his lips from your temple to your mouth, and he captured you in a slow and deliberate kiss. Whatever game you were playing, he would join. What's a bit of fun? Anyway, seven years was a long time to not even touch a woman. If he wanted to kiss you, you would let him. According to the stories James had told you about his family, you figured that he deserved it.
You finally pulled out of the kiss and embraced the man once more, and you mumbled, "It's so cold in here, Helmut. How do you manage?"
"I make do, mein lieber," Zemo said. "At least you're here to keep me warm now."
"Not for very long," you said softly. Then, you looked over your shoulder at the guard, and you asked, "Ten minutes, yes?"
The guard nodded silently, and you turned back to Zemo. "Well," you started, breaking away from him and passing your hand over your cheek to wipe up (nonexistent) tears. "Show me your room."
Zemo gave a small smile and took your hand, the one with the rings, and you pulled you into the cell. You weren't lying; it was awfully cold. The room was devoid of much of anything, just the bed and a small sink and toilet in the corner. Books were stacked up beside the bed, all dog-eared and torn at the corners, and a small woven mat was in front of the bed.
"You've taken good care of them," Zemo said suddenly, and you looked away from the stack of books to see him holding your hand up to see the rings. "I figured you wouldn't even wear them after..."
"What makes you think that?" you asked gently. "I married you, I'd never pretend I didn't."
"I love you," Zemo said quickly, nearly interrupting your sentence. "I missed you."
You nodded silently, and Zemo tugged you into him once more. His arms were tight around your waist, his hand stroking up and down your back, and he laid a small kiss on your neck. Zemo kept his mouth at your pulse point for long enough to gauge just how fast your heart was beating, and he nodded to himself. A spy of some sort. But what did you want?
You looked at the glass wall of the cell, and you saw that the guard had stepped away, and suddenly every piece of James' plan fell into place in your mind. Like James said, he couldn't give Zemo the message himself, and it would be weird for someone like James' partner to come visit Zemo in prison, especially after seven years of absolutely nobody, so someone else would have to do. You, a young Sokovian girl, Zemo's wife, made sense. But after seven years, what wouldn't make sense was if the married couple's first meeting was just a conversation through a wall. No, the only way it made sense was if it was a conjugal visit.
Fuck.
Apparently, Zemo had caught onto this quicker than you had. His mouth on your neck pulled away in exchange for your lips, his hands captured your waist, and he tugged you fully into him so that your bodies were flushed together. Your anxiety made a quick squeak fall from your mouth, and you covered it with a giggle; you were sure that, even though the guard was gone, you were still being watched. "Seven years hasn't dulled your charms, so it seems," you said, and Zemo laughed.
"Of course not," he chuckled. His hands slid up your body, carefully delving under your shirt, and he added, "I haven't seen you in so long, it's almost like I'm starting from the beginning." He pulled out of the kiss, and you saw his eyes canvasing you, and he said, "My name's Helmut. And yours, beautiful lady?"
"Goodness," you huffed. "You've already married me, silly."
"Indulge me, mein lieber," Zemo said. Even though it was an act for the security cameras, he truly wanted to know your name. Maybe, with that, he could piece together why you were there. "Won't you play my little game?"
You rolled your eyes, but played along. You told him your name, and he gave you a tight smile. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he said gently, and you could see that he really meant it. Married or not, you could tell that Zemo– Helmut– was grateful for your presence. "Can I offer you a dance, mein lieber?"
You pressed your arms around his neck and laid your head on his chest, and he squeezed you in a tight hug. Softly, he began to hum something in your ear, only for the two of you to hear, and he sighed as the two of you began to sway to his humming.
"Who are you?" he whispered, planting a kiss on the side of your face. "Who sent you?"
You swallowed thickly. You remembered that James had instructed you not to speak of him, and you mumbled, "I can't imagine how it must feel to be here."
"What are you talking about?" Zemo snarled, and he pushed his leg in-between yours as an "explanation" for the sudden change in temper. "I asked who you are."
"Helmut, you have to trust me," you whispered quickly.
"Trust?" he huffed. "You come in here, lying about yourself, and ask me to trust you? You, the bitch who claims to be my wife? That's a big ask, sweetheart."
"I–" you began. You really didn't want to anger James by breaking from the meticulous plan he had made up, but you were more afraid of the man between your legs at the moment. He was a more urgent threat. You took fistfuls of Zemo's off-ginger hair and pulled him closer, pressing your forehead against his, and you whispered, "A man came to my apartment two days ago. He said he needed my help, and he told me to come here and deliver a message."
To the outside onlooker, when Zemo put his hand on your throat, it might have looked innocent. Not truly innocent, but certainly harmless. But it scared you shitless. His fingers were strong, and his thumb dug straight into your windpipe. It hurt, and your throat immediately began to burn with the urge for breath. "I'll ask again," he said easily. His eyes were a new sort of dark, not by exhaustion or confusion or arousal, but by rage. "Who sent you here?"
"I don't know who he is," you said quickly. "I only know his first name."
"Which is?"
"James," you choked out. "Light eyes, dark hair, prosthetic arm."
Zemo's grip loosened for only a moment, but then his thumb went back to its place. "He sent you to give me a message, didn't he?" he asked. "About the winter. What did he say?"
You felt lightheaded, but you tried to stand your ground. "It comes in a week," you said quickly. "Please let go of me."
"Why you?" Zemo asked. "Of everyone in the world, why you?"
"My mother was killed in Sokovia," you said, and fought back the urge to gag. "I only found out because I heard her name on the radio. Her apartment is still there, and James promised me that he could bypass the military blockade and get me there to say goodbye."
Zemo's hand fell slack around your throat, then off altogether. He took a small step back, and his eyes fell to the floor as his brain whirred to life. "He lied to you," Zemo said carefully. "There's nothing left. Not when I last went, and certainly not now."
Your heart sank, and you pressed your hand to your neck, right where he had been. "You're lying," you said. "Th-There has to be something there."
"That military blockade is there to keep people from settling on the land," Zemo said. "Most of it was taken by surrounding countries, but the worst of it was... Is, just barren land. There's nothing left for you to mourn."
"How do you know?" you sniffled. "You've been in prison for nearly a decade."
"Because I was there," Zemo said. "My wife, son, and father were killed there. You wasted your time coming here; James can't do anything for you."
You hesitated for a second, then said, "But you can, right?"
Zemo froze. It was momentary, and you wouldn't have noticed it if you yourself hadn't said the words that triggered it, but he let out a heavy breath and resumed with the close-quarters dancing, his grip suddenly gentle again. "What makes you think that, mein lieber?"
"I'm not stupid," you chuckled lightly. "I was young when I lived in Sokovia, but I recognized you when I saw you. Baron Helmut Zemo, locked up in a German prison; how aristocratic is that?"
"I have no power anymore," Zemo mumbled. Sometimes, he nearly forgot his lineage, especially since the country he served didn't exist anymore past his memories. "I cannot do anything."
"Right," you whispered slowly. "I figured as much... Who is James?"
"A man that I used to know," Zemo said. "A man that I've never been friendly with, which is why I'm surprised that he would seek me out. He didn't say why he was coming, did he?"
You shook your head, and Zemo laughed humourlessly. "Of course he didn't," he mused. "Shouldn't have expected that... Next week? Guess I have to keep you here, make sure I stay plenty warm, huh?"
"I wish," you chuckled. "You are rather cute, Helmut."
Helmut Zemo laughed, the tops of his cheeks going pink. "And you tease me about my charms," he said, his voice finally above a whisper; suddenly, the act of estranged husband and wife was back. You could easily pass off the bought of anger and crying as Helmut being too passionate, as Sokovians tended to be. "If you don't watch yourself, Y/N, I might have to marry you all over again."