142. (MCU) Zemo - Me and My Husband

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summaryin the process of making sure zemo is okay after a fight in latvia, you find a way to put captain john walker in his place.
pairing
baron zemo x fem!reader (y/n)
word count
1.6k
warnings
explicit language, itty bitty tfatws ep. 4 spoilers, john walker being misogynistic and a Total Dick

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As far as you were concerned, John Walker could rot in hell.

You had only just heard the fight break out, the smashing of glass making your quicken your step, and you had rushed into the room the moment that Walker, in his infinite prickishness, had hurtled that dumb metal shield through the air. You had watched it collide against your husband's cheek, and Helmut had gone limp instantly and crumpled to the floor.

"What the hell?" you had cried, enraged, and Bucky and Sam were quick to come in after you. "What the fuck was that for, you prick?"

John Walker had given you a confused look, then looked to his partner, then to Sam and Bucky. Originally, Sam had initially been opposed to bringing you along on their mission to retrieve information about the Flag Smashers, but your husband had extended an ultimatum: "She comes with me, or I don't come at all." They needed Zemo to get into Madripoor, so the Americans sighed and allowed you to come. You yourself weren't quite sure why Zemo was insistent that you come with him, but, the moment you saw him get hit by Captain America's shield, it made sense: to vouch for him when he couldn't.

"Who're you?" John had asked carefully, and Sam huffed out a laugh.

"Aw, this'll be good," Sam had mumbled as you stormed towards John. Your shoes clicked against the floor as you came chest to chest with him, and you planted your hands on your hips.

"My name is Zemo," you had told him. "And you just gave my husband a concussion."

John stared at you for a minute, then at Helmut at his feet, then back at you. "Husband?" he replied. "But he's been in jail for seven years."

"Of all the people to explain my relationship to, you are not high on that list," you spat. "Now, get him up."

John looked around at his compatriots in obvious confusion, and Bucky sighed. "Just do it, man," he mumbled.

"And why won't you do it?" John asked.

"Because he's not the one with the giant metal trash can lid strapped to his arm," you said. "You are. You are the one who hurt my husband, and you are going to fix this. So, Captain, I suggest you move him from the middle of the floor."

And now, finally back in the small Latvian flat, you were able to properly tend to Helmut. He had come to just as John had set him on the sofa, and you could gauge that he was concussed. It didn't seem too bad, but he was still a bit disoriented. Helmut gave a small groan, certainly one of pain, and you whispered, "There he is. How're you feeling, love?"

Helmut glanced around you for a moment, trying to get his bearings, and he mumbled, "What happened?"

"An American oaf with a trash can lid took you out," you explained. "He got you in the face pretty good." Gingerly, you skimmed your fingers over his cheek, testing for any tenderness, and you heard a low groan escape him when you touched the red patch on his face. "Let me get you an ice pack."

"I can do it, mein Schatz," Helmut began, but you gently pushed on his chest to keep him down.

"Hel, please," you sighed. "You need to rest. Let me take care of you."

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