hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Welcome to Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves 2: Electric Boogaloo. AKA the seamy sexual-violence-and-violent-sex underbelly of Captain America fandom, AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. As usual, BLANKET NON-CON AND NSFW WARNINGS apply: just assume going in that everything in this landfill is unfit for human consumption.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.

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Round 2 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 3.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

There's too much beer involved. That's usually the case whenever Brock does something so fucking stupid. Jack looks down at his boots, the leather is wet with beads of piss.

Murphy's still in shock, his mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. Mercer looks like she's going to kill Brock right here and now.

"What the holy fuck was that?" Anders asks, pouring a glass of water on her boot and scraping it against the wet grass, her mouth curled with disgust.

"You're MY team. I'm your Alpha. Felt like marking you." Brock shakes the piss droplets off of his cock and tucks himself away. "Now, you're mine." He crosses his arms and grins with all his neat white teeth. "You're all now officially STRIKE."

"Um, Boss?" Westfahl raises his hand like a kid in the very back of the class who finally wants to ask a question, "You didn't pee on me."

Brock shrugs, "Ran out." He grabs another beer from the cooler, cracks the cap and swigs. He leans back against the table as if peeing on your co-workers at the company picnic was no big deal. "Next time, don't fuck up the op and I'll make you a part of the official team."

Westfahl nods and sighs, actually looking forward to getting pissed on. Looking forward to belonging to the club. Jack shakes his head at Mercer who is smiling with tight lips and running her thumb over the spork in her hand. He walks back into the house to get some paper towels and Brock hollers, "Bring out some more tater salad!"

Just another day with the usual bunch of assholes. Tomorrow though, tomorrow they get to babysit Captain fucking America. Jack carries out a roll of towels under one arm and a bowl of potato salad in the other. "You gonna piss all over Rogers too?" Jack asks.

Brock slyly smiles and elbows Jack in the side, "Only if he asks for it. Real pretty like." Anders snorts. "Tell you what. You pull this off and all of you can pee on Cap. All over him."

"That's so fucking gross." Mercer makes a vomiting sound, "Anyways the logistics aren't right for Anders and I, so you boys can do all the pissing, " she waves her hand vaguely, "Things." Anders nods in agreement, but she looks more thoughtful about the offer than Jack trusts.

"Let's hear it for Captain America!" Brock holds up his beer, "He has no idea what he's in for. Let's make it fun and messy!" Jack laughs in spite of himself as Murphy frantically wipes at his special vegan boots. "Here's to the best bunch of assholes I've even had the pleasure of working with. Look at me, I'm getting misty. I should mark you all again..."

The chorus of "No!" "NO!" "NOO!" echoes out of Jack's backyard and everything's pretty much perfect.

This should not be as fantastic as it is.

Dammit, Westfahl.

Ahahaha, Westfahl. I can just see his sad little left out puppy face.

Thanks, anon. My day is at least three times better now.

Author's note: Okay, so apparently my trash wants some plot, and wants to be long. It also wants masturbation. I at least promise to have sexual content in every chapter one way or the other. I don't know what I'm doing either, but here's your Buckynat trash.

Chapter 2 (Natasha)

Natasha Romanoff woke up to the sound of raindrops on her window, 20 minutes before she had set her alarm. It was late afternoon already, but she had spent the morning sparring with Clint, and she had learned to take her sleep where she could get it. There were no alien invasions or other threats to humanity today, so it was a good day to relax. Sometimes a nap could work wonders. She uncuffed her hand from where it was attached to her bedpost. She didn't really sleep with the handcuff anymore, most of the time...but sometimes there seemed to be some twisted sense of comfort in it.

It was a dreary day; it had been from the start. She didn't mind rain, though. Today, she even found the menacing clouds quite invigorating.

She had been invited to one of Stark's party events, and while she had genuinely considered declining, she actually considered these opportunities to bond with her team important. Sometimes she even enjoyed it.

The new girl would be there. The weird one, as Maria Hill described her, and Steve's back-from-the-dead-former-assassin friend. It was bound to be more awkward than usual, but she though it would be strategically interesting to find out what they were like in civilian environment. If all else failed, she could try to get them drunk and test out how well they responded to Russian jokes. Potentially not well, she thought, but then that too would be part of the learning process.

She tried to block from her mind who would be absent. It didn't matter now, anyway. He had made his choice, and she'd been a fool to think she could engage in something resembling a normal human relationship anyway. She was good as a weapon. She was good at gathering intel. What she wasn't, in any case, was the kind of girl who married a doctor and settled down in a nice picket fence house with 2.4 children. Not that she really believed she wanted that...but still, she had enjoyed the fantasy of love. It was time to bury it deep now, though, and get rid of it along with other childish desires.

She ran a bath - one of the luxuries she'd allow herself today. The foam smelled sort of floral, more girly than she'd associate with herself. The scent was inviting, nonetheless, and she curled up in hot water that felt almost like a warm blanket. She picked up a puff of foam and blew on it, and small bubbles dislodged and floated.

This was probably not how the other Avengers imagined her, and she liked that. That she had a little part of herself that was her own. She lay back in the tub, allowing herself to relax, allowing her body to feel good. She stretched out like a cat, and even the parts of her that were hurting responded favorably. Her fingers found their way between her legs, almost absent-mindedly. She grinned and thought that this might be something some of the Avengers had imagined, but alas for them, this was all for herself.

Her breathing grew heavier as she teased herself there, her fingers finding her clit and sending jolts of pleasure through her body. She didn't think of anyone in particular - in fact she specifically avoided that. She thought of bodies entwining. Of mouths meeting each other hungrily. Hips thrusting and hands grabbing...and she must have been more ready for this than she thought, because even just those vague flashes in front of her eyes made her excitement grow.

She yanked her own hand away, her body disappointed at the sudden absence of pleasure as she reached for the shower head. She had picked this one out herself; she knew it would serve her well. As she turned on the water and let it spray on her palm, she knew the temperature and intensity were exactly right. She felt the current tease her thigh as she pushed the head underwater, then carefully positioned it the way she liked it. Heat and pressure flooded between her legs and the sensation made a content sigh escape her lips. She moved her free hand to one of her nipples - already erect - and started teasing herself there. She writhed against the stream that gave her pleasure and felt the water engulf her, bubbles sticking to her chin just under her mouth. The sensation was light and tickled, but fired up her touch-yearning skin, and she was almost tempted to lick at them despite the taste. Her own breath felt even hotter against her own lips than the damp coming from the bath. She bit her lip as the shower head worked its' magic, teasing her in just the right spot, until it finally carried her to orgasm. The intensity of it almost made her go under, and she had to brace herself against the tub, panting.

It had taken her a while before she was able to get to this point: doing this with confidence. As a young Widow, during her training, privacy had been an issue. Later, her sexuality has been more of a tool - a weapon, even - to entice men whose brains went south when they saw a pretty girl. She could entice, manipulate, extract information and even kill, all with a charming smile on her lips - and her target wouldn't even realize until it was too late.

Giving herself pleasure was far removed from that world, that life, and maybe that's why it gave her so much satisfaction, more than could be explained by the physical act alone. This was all hers and nobody else's.

After she finished bathing, she started getting herself ready. She opted for a knee-length all-black empire waist dress. The back had a lace pattern with rose-like flowers, that went down in a V-shape and ended up in a bow at the waistline. It was simple, but she liked the way it made her look: hot, but not to be messed with. She styled her hair so it would flow to her shoulders in waves, and finished of her make-up with bright red lipstick. Her last addition were heels that made her legs look even longer, and looked like they could trample the hearts of men - possibly literally.

Yeah, she liked herself today.

She could take anything the party would throw at her.

An hour later she was sitting on a bar stool, sipping her cosmopolitan cocktail and overseeing the room. She hadn't been very sociable today, but her position gave her a prime position to observe the room.

The party was not entirely private. Stark had invited some investors and was entertaining them. The presence of some of the Avengers has probably sweetened the deal, or even been part of it. While he seemed very cheerful on the outside, the little lines around his mouth made her conclude he was growing more and more annoyed with these people, but he hadn't come up with an elegant way to ditch them...yet.

Pepper Potts was sitting at a table with Maria Hill, and whatever they were talking about, it made them genuinely laugh every few minutes, and sometimes one of them leaned in to whisper into the other one's ear, followed by more laughter.

Thor and Jane were one of the few people dancing, looking into each other's eyes longingly, currently blissfully unaware of the world around them. Natasha couldn't help but smile. Despite their obvious differences, they seemed so genuinely in love and it was lovely to see.

Near to what served as a ballroom, a small boys' club had formed. Steve was sitting there with Barnes next to him, talking to Sam and Clint. The conversation seemed to be amicable, at least. She couldn't really read the newcomer, though. Barnes' looked tired; his eyes betrayed him. She saw him making attempts at reciprocation in the conversation, even laughing at jokes - but all of it was slightly...off. His reactions always came a split second too late - like it was something he had practiced, or was scared to be reprimanded for. He held his left hand in his pocket, while the right one played with his drink somewhat nervously.

She was pulled away from her observations by laughter over at the other side of the room, where an unusual duo had formed: Rhodey and Wanda Maximoff, both somewhat inebriated, were seemingly having the time of their life. She actually listened to his stories with interest, and laughed at his punch lines - while he looked on with genuine wonder when she used her powers for party tricks, the last of them being manipulating a pink balloon to reshape into a floating cube.

The girl was perceptive, and soon noticed Nat's eyes on her. She excused herself to Rhodey, who promptly found another victim to tell his stories to - this time it was Darcy, Jane's assistant.

Wanda walked over to her, smiling and holding up her hands, possibly as a sign of not meaning harm.

"Natasha, what are you doing here all alone? We have to show these American boys we know how to party!"

Her smile was genuine, and inviting. She hooked her arm in Nat's, guiding her into the room.

"Come, you are not the type to be a wallflower!"

That made Nat smile in return.

Though as they stood closer, and their voices were drowned out by the party, Wanda's demeanor changed, despite the alcohol.

"You are all right, yes, Natasha? If not...well, sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger? No obligations. I just wanted you to know you could."

It genuinely surprised her. She had only really talked to the girl on a few occasions, and most of those times involved combat strategy. But she seemed thoughtful for her age, and kinder that her history would suggest.

"You too, Wanda. Should you need to."

"I might take you up on the offer. But not today. I think today is a good day."

"Hey Nat," another, familiar voice sounded. Steve was waving at her from his table, beckoning him to his table.

"Go," Wanda said as she gently shoved her a step closer,"be with your friends."

"You could join us, too."

Wanda shook her head. "No, the Captain's friend - what's his name, Bucky? - he's uncomfortable around me. It's the mind control thing. I don't want to push it. Go. Have fun. I'm fine."

Natasha turned to Steve's table, and could still hear Wanda murmur: "Who calls their child Bucky? Do Americans hate their children?"

It brought a grin to her face. She decided she might like the Maximoff girl.

When sitting down, Natasha specifically chose a spot next to Barnes, as she wanted to get a feel for the guy. She greeted him, and he gave her a nod. They had talked before briefly, which had mostly involved him apologizing for shooting her - extensively and awkwardly. Despite his unmistakable tiredness, he did clean up nice. He still wore his hair longer, but it was less messy now. When he spoke, he was actually charming. His smile, while used sparingly, was positively disarming.

The rest of them brought up old Avengers stories. It served a double purpose, really. On one hand it made him feel like they trusted him enough to treat him like one of them. On the other hand it was an indirect way to bring him up to speed. As the evening progressed, she got the feeling that he did actually realize that, but played along, appreciating what they were doing for him. Every now and then Rogers would throw her a knowing look, thinking her silently for involving his friend in normal conversation and treating him like a regular human being.

She noticed that despite having a version of the super serum, Barnes' didn't quite metabolize alcohol as fast as Rogers. As the evening progressed, and he consumed an impressive amount of vodka, he was becoming progressively more tipsy. His defenses weakened, and his reactions became more natural and less calculated. She decided to test the waters.

"So guys," she said charmingly, "do you know how every good Russian joke starts?"

She looked around the table, and saw some worried faces there. Barnes himself looked mostly like he was bracing for a punch.

"By looking over your shoulder," she said casually, and sipped her drink.

It was Barnes who laughed first, and it was bittersweet, but the fact he laughed put the others more at ease.

Good, she thought, that opened up some options.

"So Sergeant," she said, "you're a charming man. Any luck with the ladies in the 21st century yet?"

Barnes seemed to be taken back by that, and shook his head shyly.

"I swear she asks that to everyone, Buck, " Steve informed him, laughing.

Barnes' face seemed to be in deep contrast with Steve's cheerfulness now. There was something going on there.

"I could set you up," she continued, "have you met Nicole, she does accounting for Stark?"

Barnes bowed his head and shook it again.

"Or Ana Sofia? She works in Helen Cho's lab?"

"I'm really not interested in that."

"Or if you prefer guys, it's a brand new millennium - there's Mike from -"

"Goddammit, Romanoff, I said no!" He practically spat at her, his body language switching completely in a mere second.

He got up and stormed out.

Steve looked a bit baffled: "Sorry Nat, I'll go see what's up."

"No, Steve. I made the mess. I'll go clean it up. Hang on."

---

She found him leaning against the wall in the hallway that lead to the restrooms, taking deep breaths. He gritted his teeth when he saw her.

"You really don't know when to take a hint, do you?"

"Look, I'm sorry I apparently said something to offend you, but -"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you apologies shouldn't come with a'but'?

She took a deep breath.

"Look, really, it's just that gay sex is more accepted now and it can come across as a little homophobic to -"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Romanoff. You want to educate me on modern times? Now? Really? Trust me, there was just as much buggery in my day as there is in yours, people just shut up about it more. And I don't hate or fear gay people, for the record, I just don't particularly want a cock up my ass."

He spoke with such intensity, and such pain in his eyes, that the picture painted before her became crystal clear.

She felt her own face drop.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He looked at her with panic now, with eyes she remembered seeing looking over a mask once, bewildered and hurt.

"Oh no no, don't you dare say it, don't you dare -"

"They raped you," she said flatly. It was a statement, not a question, and she could tell from the way his face turned pale that she was right.

She reached for him, but he flinched like he expected her to hurt him.

"Are you talking to someone about it?" she asked, with determination.

She saw him move his hand over him mouth then shake his head.

"Are you insane?" he finally managed. "I have no illusion about privacy with a S.H.I.E.L.D. head shrinker. They'd tell Fury, I'm sure. Steve, too."

"You mean he doesn't know?"

The panic in his eyes grew even more now, and this time it was him who reached for her, grabbing her firmly by her shoulders.

"He can never know, do you understand that? No one can know. Everyone already looks at me like I'm a mistreated dog they rescued from a shelter. If they knew this...promise me, Romanoff, promise me."

She could see something glistening in his eyes, and she could feel his right hand shaking on her shoulder.

She softened both inside and out. It seemed almost wrong to see him this way, this man who could snap anyone's neck in a heartbeat. She had seen men vulnerable before. She had made men vulnerable before. But this intrusion was uninvited, and it made her feel like she was just adding to his violation. The thought made her shiver and feel a bit dirty.

"I promise."

That seemed to calm him down a little.

She reached into her purse, and handed him a small card.

"Look...this is my private number. If you ever need to talk. Everyone knows I'm good at keeping secrets."

At the other side of the hallway, Steve's voice sounded. "It everything okay there?"

"Yes," they replied in perfect unison.

Barnes moved away from her and turned to Steve. "But...I think I've had enough of people for today. Makes me on edge. It's best if I go home."

"Sure, Buck," Steve said warmly, "C'mon, I'll bring you."

As they were leaving, Bucky turned around once more, his lips mouthing 'you promised' without sound.

She nodded to him in return and actually made a gesture over her chest as if she was crossing her heart.

As he walked out the door, she couldn't help but notice he tucked her card safely in his pocket.

It made her feel a little better, at least.

Uuugh, few mistakes snuck in, but can't change them anon. Might clean it up and put it on Ao3 eventually, if anyone is interested.

That last line got a good chuckle out of me.

Inspired by another fill on this meme:

HYDRA captures Steve and they make him watch a particularly brutal trash party gangbang on the Winter Soldier. They usually just hose him down afterwards, but with Steve there they decide to make Steve help his brainwashed assassin former best friend by cleaning up the Soldier's messy, gaping hole with his mouth and sucking out all those fluids and soothing the pain with his tongue.

Bonus points if that's what gets the Soldier off. Extra bonus points if Steve gets off on the Soldier getting off.

Fffffffffffff yes this a lot of this

All of my yes!

When Steve regained consciousness, he took stock of his situation. Bag over his head. Check. Some sort of gag. Check. Restraints. Heavy-duty. Check. Naked as a jaybird. Unfortunately, check. He didn't expect the slow caress of a soft hand traveling up his thigh, the side of his hip and trailing up to his chest. The motion was repeated several times. "So beautiful. The perfect specimen." A woman's voice. Rich and accented. Italian? “Have you ever seen such perfection outside of the Louvre?” "Look at the definition here." Another voice, male. Bostonian. Fingers pressed into his side, not hard enough to hurt. "Latissimus dorsi, sculpted by the hand of God." "You mean by Stark and Erskine." Stark wouldn't have minded the comparison, Steve thought. What were these HYDRA mooks up to? A pinch on his nipple. "Vascular response, normal and efficient." Someone rolled the sensitive flesh between their fingers, the glove caught on tiny hairs. Cold tape on his chest, wires trailed off the electrodes, Steve felt them before they warmed to his skin temperature. "Respiration, cardiac response... Within normal limits." So far, they weren't hurting him, but Steve never really believed in luck. "Begin testing of specimen Alpha 2. Compare and contrast with Alpha 1's measurements." Who was Alpha 1? Steve wondered, Schmidt? “Testing. Recording. Full body scan.” A machine whirred and hummed, a tiny beep. “Completed. Subject has been analyzed.” That wasn’t so bad. “Blood sample.” Steve felt gloved hands upon his arm and the sting of a needle. He clenched his fist and heard the collective hiss of their surprised inhalations. “Subject is conscious. Sedatives metabolized.” The Italian. “Much faster than the other subject. Amazing. Truly spectacular.” “Well, he’s got the true serum, not the bargain basement version. Administer 200 cc.” Steve strained against his bonds, the table creaked beneath him and his restraints groaned, but the flood of sedatives made his head spin and his vision darken. His head flopped back against the steel. “Very good. Set up a drip. We don’t want any more surprises. Call in the rest of the team, we’re going to need more samples.” Those were the last words he heard before he lost consciousness again. Steve felt the cold steel of the table on his chest. They’d flipped him over in the minutes or the hours that he’d been out. There was something under his abdomen supporting his weight. His legs were spread apart and his ass was up in the air. This was bad. New voices murmured. He’d lost track of the Bostonian and the Italian. “Respiration increased. BPM increased. Subject is conscious again.” He tested his bonds again, this time there was no give. They’d reinforced his restraints. “Commence with prostatic fluid collection.” The fresh holy fuck what? “Look at that. Not a defect, not a flaw.” Steve wondered what they were looking at this time with such frank admiration. A cold slick finger circled his hole. He inhaled sharply and at that sound someone gripped his ass cheek firmly and pushed inside. Fingers rubbed at the nob of flesh inside him until he felt fluid leak from his penis, someone wiped the tip of it upon something slick and cold. “Prostatic fluid obtained. Slide prepped. Occult stool sample obtained. Card prepped.” A fiery burn as they forced a catheter up his penis. “Urine specimen collected. Clean catch protocol.” It was withdrawn with the same care with which it was inserted. Steve winced, a sharp inhalation. “May I assist with the next sample?” The Italian woman again, admiration thick in her voice. “Semen collection commencing.” Oh hell no, Steve thought. A slick gloved hand began massaging his dangling penis, rubbed and rolling the flesh. Steve bit down hard on the gag in his mouth and thrashed against the restraints. “Essere un bravo ragazzo. Lasciarsi andare bel ragazzo...” The Italian cooed, her voice oddly soft for a HYDRA mad scientist. “I require assistance. Yes, all of you.” More hands rested upon his naked skin, hot and greedy. He lost count of the fingers that touched him, kneaded his muscles. More voices murmuring in many languages, accents and genders. It was disorienting, confusing and more off-putting than the drugs that still flooded his system. He sweated, flushed and his penis reacted to the steady stimulation predictably. “Erection obtained. Size beyond normal parameters.” The Bostonian said with a sniff. “Larger than Alpha 1 in girth and length.” “Grande uomo.” Someone fondled his testicles, tugged on the sac of his scrotum. Another stroked his perineum and dipped wet gloved fingers into his anus, Steve gasped around the gag, air hissing in between his teeth. It was torture, it was wrong. It felt so good. Steve’s penis jumped in her hand. Was it still her hand? His orgasm left him trembling and vulnerable on the cold steel table. “Semen collection complete.” Someone patted him on the ass like a good obedient dog. The hands on his body withdrew one by one and left him feeling strangely lonely and abandoned. “Analysis complete. It’s a shame.” The Italian said. “Such a tragedy.” “What is?” The Bostonian asked. “That we have to dissect this perfection to get all our answers.” She made a tsk-tsk sound. “But we do what we must. Scalpel.” And a white hot searing fire trailed down his chest. “Skin sample. Acquired.”

When Steve regained consciousness he laid there quietly and took stock of his situation.

Bag over his head. Check.
Some sort of gag. Check.
Restraints. Heavy-duty. Check.
Naked as a jaybird. Unfortunately, check.

He didn't expect the slow caress of a soft hand traveling up his thigh, the side of his hip and trailing up to his chest. The motion was repeated several times. "So beautiful. The perfect specimen." A woman's voice. Rich and accented. Italian? “Have you ever seen such perfection outside of the Louvre?”

"Look at the definition here." Another voice, male. Bostonian. Fingers pressed into his side, not hard enough to hurt. "Latissimus dorsi, sculpted by the hand of God."

"You mean by Stark and Erskine." Stark wouldn't have minded the comparison, Steve thought. What were these HYDRA mooks up to?

A pinch on his nipple. "Vascular response, normal and efficient." Someone rolled the sensitive flesh between their fingers, the glove caught on tiny hairs. Cold tape on his chest, wires trailed off the electrodes, Steve felt them before they warmed to his skin temperature. "Respiration, cardiac response... Within normal limits."

So far, they weren't hurting him, but Steve never really believed in luck. "Begin testing of specimen Alpha 2. Compare and contrast with Alpha 1's measurements." Who was Alpha 1? Steve wondered, Schmidt?

“Testing. Recording. Full body scan.” A machine whirred and hummed, a tiny beep. “Completed. Subject has been analyzed.” That wasn’t so bad. “Blood sample.” Steve felt gloved hands upon his arm and the sting of a needle. He clenched his fist and heard the collective hiss of their surprised inhalations.

“Subject is conscious. Sedatives metabolized.” The Italian. “Much faster than the other subject. Amazing. Truly spectacular.”

“Well, he’s got the true serum, not the bargain basement version. Administer 200 cc.” Steve strained against his bonds, the table creaked beneath him and his restraints groaned, but the flood of sedatives made his head spin and his vision darken. His head flopped back against the steel. “Very good. Set up a drip. We don’t want any more surprises. Call in the rest of the team, we’re going to need more samples.” Those were the last words he heard before he lost consciousness again.

Steve felt the cold steel of the table on his chest. They’d flipped him over in the minutes or the hours that he’d been out. There was something under his abdomen supporting his weight. His legs were spread apart and his ass was up in the air. This was bad. New voices murmured. He’d lost track of the Bostonian and the Italian.

“Respiration increased. BPM increased. Subject is conscious again.” He tested his bonds again, this time there was no give. They’d reinforced his restraints.

“Commence with prostatic fluid collection.” The fresh holy fuck what? “Look at that. Not a defect, not a flaw.” Steve wondered what they were looking at this time with such frank admiration. A cold slick finger circled his hole. He inhaled sharply and at that sound someone gripped his ass cheek firmly and pushed inside. Fingers rubbed at the nob of flesh inside him until he felt fluid leak from his penis, someone wiped the tip of it upon something slick and cold. “Prostatic fluid obtained. Slide prepped. Occult stool sample obtained. Card prepped.”

A fiery burn as they forced a catheter up his penis. “Urine specimen collected. Clean catch protocol.” It was withdrawn with the same care with which it was inserted. Steve winced, a sharp inhalation.

“May I assist with the next sample?” The Italian woman again, admiration thick in her voice. “Semen collection commencing.” Oh hell no, Steve thought. A slick gloved hand began massaging his dangling penis, rubbed and rolling the flesh. Steve bit down hard on the gag in his mouth and thrashed against the restraints.

“Essere un bravo ragazzo. Lasciarsi andare bel ragazzo...” The Italian cooed, her voice oddly soft for a HYDRA mad scientist. “I require assistance. Yes, all of you.” More hands rested upon his naked skin, hot and greedy. He lost count of the fingers that touched him, kneaded his muscles. More voices murmuring in many languages, accents and genders. It was disorienting, confusing and more off-putting than the drugs that still flooded his system. He sweated, flushed and his penis reacted to the steady stimulation predictably.

“Erection obtained. Size beyond normal parameters.” The Bostonian said with a sniff. “Larger than Alpha 1 in girth and length.”

“Grande uomo.” Someone fondled his testicles, tugged on the sac of his scrotum. Another stroked his perineum and dipped wet gloved fingers into his anus, Steve gasped around the gag, air hissing in between his teeth. It was torture, it was wrong. It felt so good.

Steve’s penis jumped in her hand. Was it still her hand? His orgasm left him trembling and vulnerable on the cold steel table. “Semen collection complete.” Someone patted him on the ass like a good obedient dog. The hands on his body withdrew one by one and left him feeling strangely lonely and abandoned.

“Analysis complete. It’s a shame.” The Italian said. “Such a tragedy.”

“What is?” The Bostonian asked.

“That we have to dissect this perfection to get all our answers.” She made a tsk-tsk sound. “But we do what we must. Scalpel.” And a white hot searing fire trailed down his chest. “Skin sample. Acquired.”

GOD DAMN IT. Can you delete this mess Trashmod?

WELL THIS IS HORRIFYING YET INTENSELY EROTIC.

OP here. BLESS, AND THANK YOU.

ii.

Steve tries not to let himself agonise over that little incident because he’s almost one hundred percent certain that it really was just his nerves. He’d been overwhelmed and overloaded, and frankly he thinks he had quite the right to be, thank you very much. After all, teasing Sam on their jog and kind-of-maybe-not-really inviting Sharon Carter out for coffee had been the closest that he had come to flirting with anyone in years, and now suddenly he’s back together with the long lost love of his life, who had spent most of the past seventy years being horrifically abused in some way? Of course a guy is gonna have a little performance anxiety.

So, he decides to practice. Like Bucky had done, and like Natasha said everyone needs to do.

After an invigorating session at the gym leaves him feeling particularly frisky, Steve heads straight home intending to make the most out of the way the physical stimulation from the workout is already evolving into a distinctly different kind of arousal. It’s nothing fancy, simply a good old-fashioned jerk in the shower, straightforward and almost laughably unimaginative, but it does its job of keeping him hard and carrying him through to the very brink of orgasm, which is where he keeps himself teetering for way longer than is necessary, just to prove to himself that he can. He’s so reassured by this accomplishment that he steps out of the bathtub still sporting a fucking raging boner - in his giddy relief he’d almost forgotten that there was still one last crucial step to this process. With a bit of a hysterical laugh, he takes care of that in a quick, perfunctory way, cleans himself off, and leaves the bathroom feeling extremely pleased with himself.

It’s just so relieving to know that it’s not a matter of faulty equipment or some other failure on Steve’s part. Rather, it confirms his suspicion that what had happened with Bucky must just have been because everything had been too much too suddenly too soon, but next time will be different because he’s ready now.

God, is he ever ready.

He’d been apprehensive at first, dreading the next time Bucky would make a move because he feared he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate in kind, but that still has not stopped him from feeling an indomitable pull towards Bucky in a way that being physically apart from him for too long makes him feel as if he’s neglected to attend to one of his body’s natural drives like hunger or fatigue. His body is drawn to Bucky’s in some cosmic, inexplicable way, like how salmon are able to return to the very riverbeds in which they were born even after spending years being thrown about in the ocean. No matter how far apart they are torn from one another in space or time or mortality itself, they always end up finding each other again, quite literally through hell and high water, for better or for worse.

Bucky must feel some version of that pull, too, because he seems to want to be closer to Steve than ever, as if the cumulative effect of decades of being denied any kind of gentle human touch has unleashed itself upon him all at once, leaving him desperate to make up for seventy years of isolation and pain. It’s in everything from tiny gestures like a teasing tickle in the ribs as they pass each other by, to bigger, bolder, hungrier, ones – the kisses that catch on clavicles or nose-tips or shells of ears, or the way that they huddle together at night, skin-to-skin, no cumbersome barricade of cotton or pesky polyester between them.

The way they relearn to navigate each other’s bodies is a lot like mapping a route through perilous uncharted land. Winding trails of scar tissue, muscles shuddering unpredictably like tectonic plates, danger lurking at every turn. No paths, no guides.

No shortcuts.

Not that Steve minds. He tells Bucky he’ll wait for him for as long as it takes, that for him it doesn’t feel like waiting at all, since waiting implies impatience in anticipation of something better, and as far as Steve is concerned, he already has everything he needs right here.

Bucky doesn’t buy into this claim too easily, though.

“Everyone has needs,” he says tersely. “Or at least... wants. Like, ok, maybe you technically have what you need in me being here with you, but be honest with me, it’s not always enough, is it?”

Steve shifts his weight uncomfortably, not knowing how to respond. Bucky is right, in a way, but wrong in others. Steve will admit to wanting more with Bucky, sure. Ideally, he’d like to be able to kiss Bucky without having to ask first, to touch him without worrying it’ll shake loose some horrific shard of memory that had been lying in lethal wait within his body. But just because there are some things they cannot do doesn’t mean Steve loves him any less, and it certainly doesn’t mean that their current interactions are merely meaningless stepping stones leading up towards some ultimate destination.

“You’re right,” Steve says carefully after a long pause. “I do want more with you. I want... I want everything, okay? But that doesn’t mean I’m not already perfectly happy right now.”

He winces a little, frustrated by his own inability to express the complexity of his own feelings in a way that makes sense and is not hurtful. He can only hope that Bucky doesn’t misunderstand him or take it poorly, because he is still prone to misinterpreting literally anything anyone says or does to mean that he has done something wrong.

Steve chances a glance towards him to see his reaction, bracing himself for exasperation or maybe frustration, or, in a best case scenario, a relieved gratitude, but what he ends up seeing is something completely different.

Bucky is just sort of staring at him, looking stunned and lost, like he hadn’t understood the punchline to a joke that has the rest of the room in uproarious laughter.

Steve is trying to figure out what could have put this expression on Bucky’s face when Bucky says in a strangely small voice, “You... you want more? With... I mean... you want... me...?”

Steve is at his side in a second, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and steering them both towards the couch because it looks like this might end up turning into A Talk.

“Of course I want you, Buck,” Steve says, taking Bucky’s flesh hand in his own and giving it a little squeeze.

He tries to smile, all while attempting to recall how exactly he’s been treating Bucky recently, because if Bucky seems surprised that Steve wants him, then Steve is definitely doing something wrong. He just doesn’t know what. He doesn’t think he’s been acting distant or absent – to the contrary, he was under the impression that they had become closer to each other than ever before, in every way possible.

But apparently not.

When he can’t come up with an explanation on his own, he asks Bucky, “Why would you think I didn’t want you?”

Bucky stares down at his mismatched hands and mumbles, “You never... do anything... With me, I mean. I’m always the one– no, y’know what, never mind, this is stupid.”

Suddenly everything falls into place in Steve’s brain with a horrible clarity. Ever since he’d told Bucky he’d let him set the pace in terms of how their relationship advances from here, Steve had perhaps been adhering to his own proposal a little too strictly – by never once initiating any kind of physical interaction with Bucky.

He could fucking punch himself in the face for being so stupid. He should have realised that Bucky still harbours a deep-rooted insecurity about whether or not his company is truly wanted, or even tolerated, so to him it must have looked like Steve was trying to drop subtle hints that he wasn't.

“Oh, no,” Steve says once he realises his mistake, “Buck, listen, I didn’t mean... Remember when I said I’d let you lead? Well, I guess I... kinda just kept stickin’ with that approach, which I now realise might have given off the impression that I... But it’s not like that. It is the one hundred and eighty degree polar opposite of that. I want you, all of you, so much, but didn’t want to make you feel... pressured, or anything, I guess.”

Bucky lifts his eyes to meet Steve’s for the first time since they’ve sat down on the sofa. The vague bewilderment is fading, tempered by what is likely a relief so palpable that Steve feels even guiltier for the impact that his actions – or rather, inactions – have had on a still-vulnerable but trying-oh-so-very-hard Bucky.

“I don’t think you have to be like that all the time,” Bucky declares. “I think... It’d probably be okay if you... did some stuff... without me doing it first. And if I don’t like it, then I’ll just tell you to stop.”

He sounds so convinced, so self-assured, that Steve finds himself having to swallow through what feels like a bowling ball that’s unexpectedly materialised in his throat. Bucky’s recovery has been a long, arduous, nonlinear process - and an unending one, at that. In the beginning especially, the progress he made often felt disproportionately minute compared to how hard he had to fight to attain it, and more than once he would wrap himself in all the blankets in the house and stay in bed for days because he didn’t see the point in moving if things were just doomed to stay the same forever.

It’s times like these, however, when Bucky’s eyes gleam with self-determination and he speaks clearly and unapologetically with the voice he’d once believed he did not deserve to use, that Steve is reminded of just how much things have changed. The buoyant sensation rising in his chest is an odd blend of relief and gratitude, and perhaps even a bit of shock, but the good kind, the kind you feel when you narrowly get away with something that you were certain you’d never be able to pull off.

“So,” Steve says slowly, wanting to make sure he has all his information right. “It’s okay for me to make the first move sometimes? Like, with kissing and stuff?”

Bucky shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed. “God, this makes me sound so desperate, but yeah, basically. That kind of stuff, you don’t need to ask me about first. Actually, I think as long as we’ve still got our clothes on, we’re good for anything.”

“Anything,” Steve echoes dazedly.

“And don’t get me wrong,” Bucky continues, “I want stuff to happen with clothes off, too, but... Well, that’s where we gotta start being more... careful, I guess. But I do still want it to happen. I just wasn’t sure if you still wanted it...”

Steve knows he should be reassuring Bucky that he still wants him, but right now all he can do is sit there and blink as he tries to take all this in. Thankfully it’s not being dropped on him all at once in the form of a hands-on demonstration like the last time they’d discussed getting intimate, and even though this conversation is so uncomfortable that he can feel a flush of heat in his cheeks (damn pasty Irish skin, always so quick to betray him), he is thrilled that it’s taking place.

Bucky had always been a pretty sexual person, embracing it from both ends of the spectrum – acknowledging sex as something that doesn’t necessarily have to be backed by sentiment, that you can do simply because it feels good, while also recognising its potential to be a special experience you share with someone close to you. But sex has not been either of those things for Bucky in over seventy years, and Steve hates that this is yet another one of Bucky most intrinsic parts that HYDRA got their taloned hands on and wrung right out of him.

He also feels guilty for placing so much importance on Bucky’s sexuality, though. He knows it shouldn’t matter, that whether or not Bucky is able – or even wants – to be sexual again is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, and it’s not right to think of sex as the finish line that has to be crossed in order for someone to be able to say I’ve made it.

There are a lot of things like this that Steve has had to accustom himself to. He’s had to get it into his head that recovery isn’t about getting things to go back to how they were before, it’s more about adapting and learning to live with the way they are now, and Bucky has done exactly that.

Suddenly gripped by a rush of adoration and pride, Steve leans in towards Bucky and kisses him, slow and deep and careful, handling him with a gentleness not born of condescension or fear of damaging something fragile, but with the reverence of a lion tamer who is wise enough to respect the power that he’s playing with.

He draws away after an extended moment, but keeps his face close enough to Bucky’s that their foreheads are touching when he whispers, “This is how much I want you, Buck. You gotta believe me.”

Bucky manages a smile that’s both shaky and sly. “Dunno if I’m fully convinced yet. You might have to show me again.”

Steve’s mock-exasperated chuckle is lost in Bucky’s breath as he moves in for another kiss, his tongue quickly taking advantage of Steve’s slightly parted lips. Steve lets out a startled sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a moan and he throws his arms around Bucky’s neck, looping one hand in his hair so that he doesn’t quiver away into nothing. He’s suddenly incredibly conscious of the shudder in his breath and the sloppy sounds of their mouths, the skin surrounding his lips growing wetter and shinier as Bucky’s kisses bloom into what could almost be desperate gulps for air and Steve’s cock begins to stir.

He feels perhaps more triumphant about this than is warranted.

He sinks onto his back on the couch, bringing Bucky down along with him, and he can’t stop himself from rutting helplessly up against Bucky’s thigh in tiny, erratic bursts of movement.

“Okay, I think I believe you now,” Bucky says, lips crooked into a self-satisfied smirk.

Steve looks up at him, again struck dumb by the sight of Bucky so open and vulnerable and wanting.

“Y-you’re okay, though?” Steve eventually manages. “Are we... We good?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, trailing his flesh hand down Steve’s chest. “We’re definitely good. And I can make it even better.”

“W-what do you– oh...”

Steve can’t help the way his jaw falls slack when he feels Bucky’s hand slip into his pants to rub his cock over his underwear. His back arches uncontrollably before he curls up into himself, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder to muffle his gasp, the heat of his breath settling into the cotton of Bucky’s t-shirt and staying warm against his cheek. Everything is heat right now, trembling and molten, and Steve knows a thing or two about defrosting but this is the first time he thinks he’s ever truly melted and –

The hand disappears.

“Fuck, Bucky, why–” Steve groans, hips thrusting jerkily as his body scrambles to find friction again before he realises that this just might mean Bucky needs to slow things down and suddenly he feels like a real asshole.

“Oh, shit,” he says, alarmed, and he lets his arms drop from Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I– Do you need to stop? We can–”

Bucky says, “I want to use my mouth.”

This was just about the last thing Steve was expecting to hear, and his shock must show on his face because Bucky lets out a nervous laugh.

“I mean, if it’s okay with you,” he says.

Steve gives him an incredulous look. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bucky’s grin widens. He slides down off Steve’s body, tugging Steve’s pants and underwear off as he goes and shifting a little to the side to let Steve kick them off onto the floor, his erection bobbing free, thick and full between his legs.

“Lie back down, knees apart,” Bucky tells him, his voice husky and ragged and with just the slightest edge of demand that has Steve going deliciously tense all over.

Steve does as he’s told, reclining back onto the couch and spreading his legs so that Bucky can position himself between them. Steve cranes his neck to peer down at him, going to pieces at the sight of Bucky framed by his muscled thighs, so close that he can feel the swish of Bucky’s breath ghosting across his cock.

When Bucky takes him into his mouth, it somehow feels both like nothing he’s ever experienced while simultaneously being everything he remembers, and it’s good, it’s so good, but –

– how many other people must have thought exactly that as they thrusted mercilessly into Bucky’s mouth, uncaring of the way it made him choke and gag? How many times had someone wound their hands in his hair and forced themselves further down his throat until tears streamed from his eyes and his face went red from lack of air?

Steve is only thrown into even more of a tailspin when Bucky splutters a bit around his cock, apparently having overestimated how much he could take at once. There is a crawling feeling of revulsion that’s started to build up in the pit of Steve’s belly where there should only be pleasure, and although Bucky recovers quickly and resumes a more manageable pace, the damage has already been done.

All Steve can think about now is how he is wanting the same thing from Bucky as HYDRA had wanted. He is greedy for Bucky’s body in the same way that they were, share the same appreciation for the toned planes of his abdomen and the curve of his back and the firm tightness of his ass. They too looked at Bucky and saw something to be taken.

He’s shaken from his thoughts by the sudden sensation of cool air on his cock - Bucky has released it from his mouth. For a moment Steve panics, thinking it’s because he’s gone soft, but no, his erection is curved up against his belly, glistening and heavy.

Bucky’s head reappears in Steve’s line of vision. His face flushed, precome smeared almost obscenely across his lips, and a sight that Steve once found to be one of the most sensual things he’d ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on is instead just horrifying and guilt-inducing. He is pretty sure that his arousal is now only strictly physical, in body only, and suspects that soon even that will wane, too.

Still, he’s desperately hoping that it won’t, and he thinks he might even have a fighting chance until Bucky says, “Would it... D’you think it would be okay if– if you don’t come in my mouth?”

His eyes are cast low in humiliation, as if he thinks he’s doing Steve a terrible injustice, and Steve knows for sure that there’s no way he’ll be able to keep it up now.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve sighs, “Of course that’s okay... You know what, why don’t I just go finish off in the bathroom right now?”

Bucky frowns, a hand straying up to lay on Steve’s inner thigh. “Could I at least watch you? You know how much I love to see you coming undone.” He allows himself a tiny grin. “Or just coming, in general.”

Steve swallows hard, trembling beneath Bucky’s palm. His dick is flagging in almost record time; he needs to get out of here before his erection is gone completely and Bucky notices and inevitably blames it on himself.

“You’re gonna give me performance anxiety,” Steve tries to joke.

“Do you want my hand?” Bucky asks, almost hopefully, and Steve feels his heart fracture in his chest as he remembers Bucky telling him in a quiet voice dripping with shame and self-loathing about how he used to actively try to please his handlers before they had the chance to become angry with him.

“Just... Maybe next time,” Steve says in a rush before he stands up and hurries away, acutely aware of Bucky’s confused gaze following his every move.

He shuts himself in the washroom, hunching over the sink with his elbows propped up on the counter and his head hung low. He feels sick to his stomach, and it’s only when he’s certain he won’t throw up if he opens his mouth that he fakes a quiet moan, his dick hanging completely limp between his thighs.

Ohhh, this is so good. Thank you, anon!

aw I love your characterizations

So, ok, hear me out here. I really love HTP fics. My faves are generally the ones involving Brock Rumlow and/or Jack Rollins (insert swooning over Hydra Husbands here), because I adore those two trashtastic fucking losers the most. Of course, I don't see NEARLY enough stuff with Jack, so I am a little bit of a thirsty motherfucker for this dude. No, I mean i'm so fucking starved of what I want with him, that my cravings have gotten more gross and more fucked than what they started out as.
And just what do I want? I want someone to come and totally fucking wreck this bitch. I mean, just abuse and humiliate and torture the fucking soul (assuming he even has one) out of him. I don't care who does it, I don't care how it's done. I like Jack so much, and I want to see him absolutely fucking destroyed.
Give me trash about trash happening to this trash: rape, assault, humiliation, forced anything and everything, experimentation (the horrible Hydra sciencey kind), torture/sexual torture/torture porn/gore porn, etc., you can even fucking kill him off at the end if you fancy. You could give me a 5k-word sickeningly graphic description of Brock tying him up, letting the whole STRIKE team and the Asset and Brock's goddamn dog rape him repeatedly, and then cutting him open and fucking his guts while he bleeds out on the floor- and I would simply love you for it.
So, c'mon, guys, this poor bastard is such a painfully under-abused character in this fandom! Show him some trash love (as opposed to real love, which definitely does NOT involve wanting to see the object of your affections in excruciating pain and anguish- see? I am totally self-aware!)!
I issue this challenge to the terrible-fantastic writers here: ***MAKE JACK ROLLINS SUFFER***
<3

Yes, please!

Wow this is painful. Please more!

There's so much I love about this, but I think my favorite thing is how unintentionally awful Steve is being to Bucky. He's reacting with such horror because he cares about Bucky, and because he hates so deeply that they raped him, but he's gone so far that caring so much has become caring too much, and about the wrong things. It's like as soon as Bucky gets into a position where Steve can see him as he thinks Hydra saw him, he reduces Bucky to just... a person who was raped. It's unfair, man! And I can only imagine how hurt Bucky would be to know that his consent, his mind, and his life are eclipsed in Steve's eyes by the weight of what happened to him.

Yeah, it's aaawfuuul.

But damn, what I love so much here is that they both seem to feel like they're selling the other one short, which is heartbreaking.

This is a remix of a prompt that got posted ages ago, which I now cannot find, where Bucky gets sex pollened and has to have sex before he's ready. Kudos go out to you, anonymous genius.

In this prompt: it's Steve who gets hit, with a fuck-or-die kind of sex pollen. He and Bucky are alone together, so it's Bucky who has to take care of it for him. Sure, Bucky wasn't feeling up to sex yet, but he's had worse. He'll be fine. Right?

Cue Bucky absolutely not being fine. My dearest wish would be for Bucky to run the entire trauma gauntlet, from discomfort and shame all the way to flashbacks, and he still makes himself push through it for Steve's sake. Meanwhile, on Steve's part, there is a lot his pollinated brain just isn't registering, so he's... not cruel, but it's also not like he stops even when Bucky is visibly freaking out. Also ++ for Steve's enhanced stamina and diminished refractory period becoming terrible, terrible things.

And afterward maybe they both feel like they took advantage of each other, or MAYBE Steve's forgotten everything and Bucky has to decide whether to tell him, OR Bucky is kind of viscerally afraid of Steve now and hates himself for it, or?? anything works for me

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Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

MINI FILL: Brock marking his territory by pissing on Jack, Bucky, and the whole STRIKE team.

Re: MINI FILL: Brock marking his territory by pissing on Jack, Bucky, and the whole STRIKE team.

Re: MINI FILL: Brock marking his territory by pissing on Jack, Bucky, and the whole STRIKE team.

Tainted Touch 2a/?

Tainted Touch 2b/?

Re: Tainted Touch 2b/?

Re: MINI FILL: Brock marking his territory by pissing on Jack, Bucky, and the whole STRIKE team.

rimming/felching as cleanup from trash party

Re: rimming/felching as cleanup from trash party

Re: rimming/felching as cleanup from trash party

FILL: Steve, medfet + objectification

Re: Steve, medfet + objectification

Re: FILL: Steve, medfet + objectification

Re: Steve, medfet + objectification

Re: MINI FILL: Brock marking his territory by pissing on Jack, Bucky, and the whole STRIKE team.

FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2a/?]

FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2b/?]

Re: FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2b/?]

Re: FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2a/?]

I'm in a fic drought here, i'm so thirsty, plz save me. :(

Re: FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2b/?]

Re: FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2b/?]

Re: FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2b/?]

Re: FILL: vibrations in an empty room [2b/?]

fuck or die