multifandom oneshots/preferences

lxxvi. cute waiter-- helmut zemo (marvel)

a/n: dad!zemo. characters are fluent in sokovian/czech/english

"Which car shall we take? Your call, love," your father gently asks as you buckle your heels at the ankles.

"Depends on who's driving," you stand up and step over to him.

"I'd never make you drive on your birthday."

"Aw, thank you. The Mercedes would be nice."

"That's what I was thinking too. Come on," Zemo snags the car keys from a box and walks out to the garage with you. He lets you play your favorite music in the car as he drives you to a more upscale tapas restaurant. 

Soon enough, your dad is handing the car keys to a valet and you're both stepping inside the dimly lit restaurant. Being a little early for your reservation means you and your dad take seats at the bar for a little bit. Zemo orders a martini for himself and a mocktail for you, then raises his drink for you.

"Cheers on your 19th, Y/n," he smiles. 

"Thank you, Papa" you tap your glass against his and sip your drink. 

You talk as you nurse your drinks and are eventually sat, then a waiter comes to politely interrupt your conversation. And you have to take a minute as he hands you a menu. He is easily one of the most gorgeous men you've ever seen. A gentle smile, longish hair, and brown eyes that sparkle a bit in the warm lamplights. 

When the waiter steps away to attend to other tables, your dad smirks and switches to speaking in Sokovian. 

"Pretty, isn't he?"

"Tja," you scoff and sip your drink. "All servers at these kinds of places are. They're liked clothed strip clubs to tease more money out of rich people for another glass of port."

"And shit if it doesn't work," Zemo raises his glass to you again.

"Damn straight."

You order a collection of tapas over 2 or so hours, along with fancy drinks. You must admit it's lovely to see the cute waiter every 20 minutes as well. He's very friendly and noticeably hesitant to interrupt your conversations while you speak in Sokovian. 

As he places down the fifth plate of tapas, the waiter stays for a moment longer than usual and asks, "if I may, you both have an accent. Where are you from?"

Zemo sips his martini and nods for you to speak.

"We're from Sokovia originally, but we live in Prague. He's here visiting some colleagues and brought me along," you compose yourself enough to answer in the clearest english your command of the language allows.

"Sokovia?" the waiter quirks an eyebrow. 

"It's a crater now, you can't visit, but that's where we are from."

"Right.. I'm sorry that happened," he scans both you and your father, seemingly hoping he said the right thing.

"It's alright. It's been 10 years."

"10 years already? God, I was like, 9 when that happened, then."

Your dad flashes you a smile. "Oh, really? So were they." He motions to you with his glass.

"I was," you nod.

"Exactly 10 years ago," Zemo smirks. "It's their birthday."

"That's subtle."

"Oh, happy birthday," the waiter smiles. "I don't know how to say it in Sokovian, sorry about that."

"З Днём Нараджэння," you tell him. "I wouldn't even bother trying to learn that."

"Wow, that is different. Sounds cool, though. Grab me if you need anything else, yeah?" the waiter quickly slips away and goes back to the kitchen. 

You watch your dad blankly as he finishes his martini. 

"I scared him off," you groan.

"Not even close," Zemo carefully bites into a shrimp.

Your dad must have been right, because about 30 minutes later, a plate of light cake ornately decorated with fruit and chocolate that writes out "З Днём Нараджэння" along the bottom of the plate appears in front of you. 

Beneath the lip of the plate is a taped slip of paper with the waiter's instagram and number on it. You subtly slip it into your purse. 

Zemo is pleased to note that the dessert never shows up on the check, but he never tells you that he saw you exchange a little smile with the waiter as you leave.

...

i will say this till i die- zemo was born to be the dad of a diva teenager.