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They sent you in to do this job. Valentina. Bucky. John. The other Thunderbolts may not have a vested interest in who you fucked but John and Bucky always seemed to give a shit when you flirted with one or the other. And now, who do they send you after? Baron Helmut Zemo. Because he doesn’t know you. And you find yourself at his roulette table in Monaco, stunning in a Schiaparelli haute couture gown that was almost completely transparent except for shimmering silver kelp motifs that kept your nipples, pubes, and ass-crack covered. Zemo is on the other side, trying to make eyes at you, and you only occasionally acknowledge him, not too eager, not slamming the door. Yes, you were having to whore yourself out for The Company again. Or for Shield, or some shadow organization.
A waitress shows up at your elbow with a wicked looking cocktail. “I didn’t order this,” you said in French. But she explained that the handsome German gentleman had ordered it for you. You look over at him first and he catches your eye and nods. You nod back and take the drink from the tray, thanking the waitstaff. You see, out of your peripheral vision, Zemo saying something to the dealer, and the dealer nods and moves all of Zemo’s chips and money to the empty slot next to yours, and then Zemo is moving around the table to sit next to you.
As he settles in, you take a better look at him. He is actually quite handsome, and you wonder if he’s the devil he’s been made out to be. But then, he had something to do with Hydra, and even with your limited knowledge of the complexities of these “superheroes” you were assigned to work with at the Watchtower as a special operative, you knew that he was supposed to be a bad guy.
“Thank you for accepting my drink in the spirit in which it was meant. I do appreciate someone with impeccable style. That is a Schiaparelli, is it not?”
“Why, yes it is,” you demurred. “Although, I must admit, it’s an older dress. I wish I had the money to buy the latest models every year, but I do enjoy gambling so I must make compromises somewhere. I’m not that wealthy. Just enough to have a little fun and keep up with the Joneses.”
“Well, my dear,” and Zemo looks you up and down admiringly, “You could do that in a cotton frock. You are quite beautiful.”
“You flatter me, Mr.?” And you look at him innocently, inquiringly.
He takes your hand and says, “Baron Helmut Zemo, at your service.”
“Oh, Baron. I’m afraid I’m in over my head, little ol’ commoner me. My name is Liluana Allegra De La Cruz McLovin.” You saw him stiffen imperceptibly but you didn’t react.
“Allegra? McLovin? You’re with the American CIA?”
“Me? No. My father and my aunt? Yes, big time. I have no interest in that. I did some time in the Army, and all I got for that was a dishonorable discharge. Work for their government? Fuck their government. I’d rather spend my trust fund money and find my own sources of income.” You smile slyly at him. “And entertainment.”
“That sounds a little too perfect,” Zemo said, suspiciously.
“What’s perfect about it? Pray, tell me, what are trust fund babies supposed to do with their time? You know, my father tried to groom me to follow in his footsteps, but he made me so good that I wanted to be a sniper. He didn’t like that, so I joined the Army. He didn’t like that either, so he fucked that up for me and in the process, I went through some nasty stuff as an enemy captive. Believe me, Baron Zemo, I want nothing to do with them and their manipulation.” You drain the liquor from the cocktail Zemo has bought you and say, “Thanks for the drink,” gather your chips, and move to another table, walking in full supermodel walk, hips swaying seductively, hoping you’ve left the door open just enough, and sitting at a table with an empty seat next to you on either side, leaving nothing to chance. You start a countdown in your head… ten… nine… eight…
You don’t even make it to “four” before you sense a presence next to you. It’s Zemo, and he’s gotten his chips and followed you to the new table. He sits down next to you and says, “I apologize for offending you, Miss Liluana. That was not my intention. It’s just that people in my line of work are often watchful for people in law enforcement and intelligence.”
You turn to give him a fake resentful look that you obviously soften before him, and you say, “Yeah? Well, what line of work is that? Or maybe I shouldn’t ask, and we should just play table games instead. Just fun, no suspicion, what do you say, Helmut, is it?”
“Yes, Liluana.” He’s starting to look at you with large eyes, taking you in: Your body, your face, your mouth.
You turn to look at him and smile. “You can call me Lilu. It’s my nickname, everyone calls me that. People only call me ‘Liluana’ if I’m in trouble or if they’re going to kiss me.”
“I hope I can call you that before the evening is over,” Zemo says, eagerly.
“Maybe,” and you smile again and give him a cheeky wink.
Zemo orders more drinks and you play poker now. You’re not very good at it and you bet conservatively. After a while you sigh in frustration. “I should have stuck to roulette,” you laugh, ruefully.
“Why don’t we get a private poker room? I’m a member of this casino’s VIP club, I can get us a private room where it’s much quieter and relaxing, and if you want… only if you want, I can give you a few pointers where money is off the table. You seem to have the right idea but maybe I can show you a few tips that will really perfect your game. What do you say?” Zemo seemed earnest, but he also was a little tipsy and seemed like he might just want to get you alone and to himself. Still, the bug was in your little bag, it should be ok.
“You know what, Baron… I mean, Helmut, that would be great, thank you.”
“Get your chips and come with me.”
You obediently did as you were told and took his proffered arm, and accompanied him across the casino floor. You definitely turned heads, and you could tell he enjoyed the attention. While you were waiting to talk to the concierge, you decided to amp up his “customer satisfaction” by standing closer to him, prompting him to put an arm around you, and you leaned in to give him a little peck on the cheek. You didn’t dare look at him, though.
Once you were in the private poker room, you sat your bag down just so, and you sat yourself down at the table. Zemo sat across from you. He looked at you hungrily and you knew what he really had on his mind. So you decided to take control of the situation.
“Let’s play a different type of poker, since we’re alone now, Helmut. It’s pedestrian and childish but I think you’ll like it.”
“Really, and what kind of poker is this?” Zemo looked amused. Could he possibly not know?
“Strip poker, Helmut. You’ve been buying me drinks and sitting so close to me I could feel your breath in my ear for the last two hours. Don’t think I couldn’t see your erection. It’s taken everything I had not to reach under the table and grab it. But we’re not going to just go for it, I want to have some fun, so we’re going to play. But just know this. I’m not wearing anything under this dress, so when the dress is on the table, it is automatically double or nothing, understood?”
“The dress is double or nothing, understood. And I’ll be careful with it, I know it’s one of a kind.”
“I love a meeting of the minds. Shall we begin, I’m so ready to feel your hands on me, Helmut.”
He licked his lips. “Perhaps… a kiss, a real kiss, just to get the juices flowing?”
You walk forward, grab him by the lapels, and press your mouth against his, and his tongue is in your mouth immediately. The kiss is torrid and passionate, and you break off quickly. His breathing is hard, and he looks desperate.
“That’s enough. I want you needy for more. Now sit at the table.”
He took his place, and smiled. He knew he was a better poker player. You both poured a shot of whiskey, clinked glasses and slammed them back, and began. You started playing better, and you had his coat off, and then his shoes. Your shoes. Your necklace. His tie. Your earrings. His suspenders. His socks. His belt. Your stockings. Your hairband. It was the dress next, and he still had two layers.
The next hand up, you got lucky, and he had to take off his shirt, but he still had his undershirt. You were breathing hard on this hand. Double or nothing. And you lost. Your eyes met his triumphant ones as he moved towards you.
“Let me give you a hand out of that,” he said in his polished German accent. He turns you around and finds the zipper at the nape of your neck, and carefully, slowly, lowers it… all the way down your back to the top of your ass crack. Carefully, he spreads the fabric at the shoulders and takes a moment to touch the skin across your back. Then he turns you around and gently pulls the fabric from your shoulders down from your chest, exposing your naked breasts, the nipples standing at attention from both the cool air and in anticipation of being touched. He stops to admire them for a moment, and then he leans forward to take one, then another in his mouth, making you shiver and gasp. He then slides the material down over your hips until it lands in a puddle at your feet. You step out of it, and he picks it up and carefully drapes it over the chair.”
“I think the game is over,” he said, staring at the crux between your legs.
“No, Helmut,” you say, breathing huskily. “I think it’s only just started. I get another hand.”
“Very well, you don’t mind if I amuse myself?” He unzips his pants and pulls out his cock and starts stroking it.
“Be my guest, but sit down.”
You deal another hand, and win it. He has to take off his pants. You win again, the undershirt comes off. He wins. He wants a favor.
“Suck my cock for two minutes.”
“Come here, then. And don’t cum, you’ll want to save it.”
He smiles broadly at that, but he gets up and walks up to you, his turgid member in your face. You lick off the pearlescent drop of precum and then take his cock deep into your mouth. You cup his balls gently, and you reach around to cup his buttocks and urge him to thrust into your mouth.
“Oh God, yes, baby, that feels amazing. You are incredible. So beautiful.” Then, abruptly, he pulls out. “You make me want to cum, you’re so good at that, I’ll wait. Next hand, so I can calm down. I want to fuck you.”
“Don’t worry, Helmut, you’ll get your chance. Let’s play.” The next hand, he loses. His boxers come off, he’s completely naked. Here’s where the rubber hits the road. Next hand: He loses. You could call on him to fuck you, but why not make it look realistic, like you want your fun, too?
“I’m going to bend over the card table, Helmut, and I want you to eat my pussy and make me cum. I’m literally going to serve it up for you.”
“Put it right here, You won’t regret it.”
You walk over to where he’s sitting, move between him and the card table and turn your back on him, then lay across the table with your legs astraddle as wide as you can get them and your ass and pussy just at the edge. Zemo slides his chair in like he’s about to have a meal, and maybe he is. He runs a finger up and down your folds and you whimper, and then he leans forward and licks your dripping wet center and you moan. He sticks his tongue into your opening and tongue fucks you for a few moments, then rims your asshole before putting a finger in it and two in your vagina. He finger fucks you for a few seconds before twisting his face down to suck on your clit and licks your folds.
You go wild. Your moans and cries fill the air, punctuated by the sounds of his lapping. Occasionally, he takes his freehand away and slaps your ass, hard, or bites it before shifting position, slurping on your clit, biting at it, rolling it with your lips, until you were there.
“Helmut, I’m coming, oh Jesus.”
And then he was on top of you, his large cock was in your ass, forcefully splitting you, and you cried out in pain as he began ass-fucking you.
“No…” you started to say but he put his hand over your mouth.
“Take it,” And he grabbed your tits hard as he pounded into your ass, biting your neck as he rutted into you. “Take it, you cheap whore with your fancy dress. Tell Valentina to send a professional if she wants to spy on me. I’ll own them like I’m owning your ass right now.”
You tried to wriggle out from under him but you’d put yourself at a disadvantage the way you’d draped yourself over the table. His member pistoned into you, over and over, as hard as he could fuck you, each thrust landing with a solid thud.
“Take… it… all…” and he shot his load right into your rectum, hooking an arm around your throat in a headlock where you could hardly breathe, and slapping your ass viciously. He choked you until you were barely conscious, and you felt him grow soft and slide out of you. He threw your limp body to the floor. He put on his clothes, picked up his money and yours, walked back to spit on you, and went out the door.
It took you about twenty minutes to pull yourself together enough to get out of there. You didn’t clean up. There was a reason you did what you did, and your mission was accomplished, just not exactly in the way they would be expecting it. And you didn’t expect to be raped. You thought you were being clever. You should have known you didn’t yet possess the finesse for this type of job. You were tasked with getting a DNA sample from one Baron Helmut Zemo. And you got it. You were the transport vial.
There were watchers and listeners to the game of strip poker. Some of them were definitely overstimulated by it up until it became non-consensual. Somebody had the sense to call Valentina. She was mortified. “Who told her to do that?” No one had an answer for that.
The Thunderbolts team had been listening in/watching as well. Bucky knew Zemo all too well. It killed him to know Zemo had put his hands on Lilu at all, but when it turned violent, he was burning inside. He would have pulled Zemo’s head off with his bare hands had he been given an opportunity. John was right there with him in that camp. They both had to watch her in the aftermath through the tiny camera planted in her handbag, lying naked on the floor, barely moving, groaning. How did she get through all the pain inside her, both physically and emotionally, to get her clothes back on and stumble through that casino, and find her way back to her handlers? She was possessed of an inner core that was stronger than steel.
Yelena said, “I think we should not say anything specific about what happened. Let her bring it up. She may not know that we even saw.”
They all agreed this was a smart move, and waited for her to come home.
When you returned to the Watchtower, you were greeted with the general bonhomie at your return. Everyone was in the lounge. Yelena was excited, she found a new show for you two to binge-watch. Bob was talking about decorating. Alexei talked about soccer she had missed. But both Bucky and John were acting standoffish.
You cross over to them where they’re sitting on the sofa and say, “What’s going on with you two?”
A chorus of mumbled, “nothing, not much, the usual, same ol’-same ol’” came from them, and you said, “Uh-huh. What’s really going on?”
Bucky broke first. “Ok, look, we know what happened with Zemo, and that wasn’t ok.”
“Obviously, it wasn’t. He took me by force.”
“It’s not just that. You were going to have sex with him, anyway, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I was going to in order to get what I wanted. And?”
“Is that what you do to get what you want, be a whore?”
“You know what, Bucky, you’re lucky I don’t slap the shit out of you right now. Sex work is work. Although I’m not a sex worker, using sex for trade is honorable. What I have between my legs isn’t sacred, no more than what you have between yours. Because I guarantee you that you’ve put yours in plenty of places that weren’t sacred, and you did it for free. You come from the goddamned 1940s when everything was so old fashioned? I bet you think I got what I deserved, don’t you, Bucky? But you were fucking girls you didn’t intend to marry, weren’t you, Bucky? Did you leave any in the motherly way that you may have left to fend for themselves?” He looked down immediately. “That’s what I fucking thought. So don’t lecture me on the morality of how I use my own vagina.”
“There wasn’t any other way you could get a DNA sample?” Walker asked.
“Not the quantity they wanted. I couldn’t pocket enough glassware, he’d have to backwash into his glasses like a drooling fiend. I could try to give him a blowjob or a hand job and put the residue on something without him noticing, or I could let him fuck me. The last one was the easiest. I mean, Christ, you guys are taking it worse than I am, none of us are in a relationship, and I’m the one that got ass-raped. You can both fuck off.
You turn to leave when John says, “Wait.”
You turn back around and put your hands on your hips. “What?” Your sigh of exasperation sets everyone on edge.
“I think,” John says, “it’s because we’re angry at what Zemo did to you. We saw it, the feed from your purse camera. It was… pretty awful. And we were helpless to do anything but watch. You put yourself willingly into that situation. Do you think that maybe you could avoid jobs like that? You know Bucky and I are both sweet on you. I know it hurt you a hell of a lot more than it hurt us, but it still hurt.”
You look at them for a long moment, then you walk back over and force your way between them onto the sofa. You look from one to the other, then say, “Trust me, I’m not planning to do another job like that again.” Then you put your face in your hands and cry.
John and Bucky don’t know what to do. Both want to reach for you to hold you, but you don’t take up that much space, and they know they’ll be grabbing each other. But Bucky shrugs and leans into you, and so does John, so you’re sort of like the meat in between the sandwich bread. You take your hands from across your face, cross your arms across your body and take one each of their hands, and you nod your head. “I’m ok, I’m ok,” you whisper.
Alexei sees and says, “Group hug time, Lilu needs some love!” And they’re all on you. Bob, Alexei, Yelena, and Yelena is yelling for Ava. It’s like a barrel of monkeys on that sofa.
“Do you feel better now, Lilu?” Yelena’s muffled voice came somewhere from under the scrum.
“Emotionally, yes. Physically… I can’t feel my legs anymore.”
“Working as intended,” Yelena groaned. “The healing power of family.”