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.

[Round 1] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

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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

Some day after that, Natasha walked in on Steve sitting in a nest of bottles both unopened and empty and looking into the barrel of a gun.

She paused at the entrance to his apartment with her hand frozen on the door handle. She blinked and said, slowly and cautiously, the way she would to the Hulk, “Hey, big guy, I don’t think the serum can heal that.”

Steve flicked his eyes from the gun to her. He knew what he looks like – eyes red from crying, spilled alcohol on his shirt, a bruise on his cheekbones and a black eye from when he started a fight and for once didn’t fight back. A bottle of alcohol in his left hand and a gun in his right, held at his own head, pointing right where the bullet blasted through Bucky’s.

“It’s not what it looks like,” He said, voice brittle and yet still more intact that most of himself. It’s not. It wasn’t an unhealthy coping method or depression or losing it or him wanting to die without Bucky in his life. It was just… punishment.

Natasha stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She raised an eyebrow, not at all convinced and for good reason. “What is this then?”

Steve shrugged. “You’re right. He wouldn’t want me to die, not when he – he -” His voice broke, and tears were again stumbling down the well-traced tracks on his face. The words “not when he killed himself to get away from me and my ridiculous expectations” drowned in his throat.

Steve takes a drink for being too cowardly to say the truth.

He wondered if the serum speeded up tear production too. With shaking hands, he moved the gun to point into his thigh, right at the femoral artery. “You should – l-leave. Shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

She ignored the suggestion and took a cushion from the couch, set it on the ground in front of him, and sat on it with crossed legs. Slowly, she placed her hands halfway between them, palms up. Meet me halfway, the action telegraphed. He hated her for reminding him of how he didn't even do that for Bucky.

His head is throbbing now, and he's puked twice, but the game isn't over yet. He drinks again.

“Steve, will you give me the gun and talk to me?”

He shook his head, and the moisture in his eyes wobbled in complaint. She didn’t understand. How could he explain that he was searching for forgiveness from a dead man?

“Steve -“

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Steve stared into the bottle, and it blurred as more tears welled up. He wouldn’t mind being small again. Small enough to plunge into the bottle and drown, this time with fire instead of ice searing his lungs.

“We can talk about something else. There’s a camp nearby for children whose parents are in the military; the kids will love it if Captain America showed up. Or that retirement home on Oregon Avenue? There are a lot of vets there.”

“Natasha, stop. You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

"I’m not a hero.” He paused to wipe his eyes. “Captain America helped save the world from HYDRA and aliens… but Steve Rogers - but I failed twice to save what mattered. I –“ Hiccuping sobs overtook him, and the gun clattered from his hands. Natasha took it out of his reach while he wrapped both hands around the bottle and clutched it to his chest like a stuffed animal. She asked really sincerely, “Would Steve Rogers like to go shopping for really tight pants to go with his shirts?”

"No." Steve didn’t think he could ever smile again, but he did.

“Will Steve Rogers let me be a friend and talk to me then?” Natasha grabbed another cushion from his couch and held it out to him. “Trade you for a drink.”

“Sure,” he said through a sigh, and it emptied his lungs of air and his body of strength. He took a deep breath before accepting her trade. Natasha shifted over, and they sat side by side, each drinking from a bottle and staring ahead of them at the wall honeycombed with holes and saying nothing. Steve couldn't remember the last time he drifted off into a companionable silence.

He broke the silence. “I found books and research papers in his room. On cognitive neuroscience, psychology, and… fucking electrotherapy.”

“Oh?” Natasha nodded and waited for him to continue. He didn't know if he could.

“And I found this.” He took out a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Natasha. He focused on his feet while Natasha read and silently repeated the words scrawled in Bucky’s messy handwriting. He had memorized every word, and he knew the location of every tear stain – they were not all placed by him.

Steve, the letter began

I told myself tonight to try to be him one last time, and if I couldn’t do it, then you will not wake up to a failure. I tried, I really did. I started getting some of his memories back, so I knew what he was like. I’m jealous, you know. He knew how to be happy, and he was so in love with you. I would have given my right arm to be him. I would have been happy pretending even, but the screaming gets so loud when I try.

Steve, are some crimes so great that you can’t smile without being punished?

I read a whole lot of books too thinking I could reprogram myself, but that didn’t work either. I found one of the machines they used on my head and tried that too, but I’m no HYDRA neurologist. I tried to find a HYDRA neurologist, but they all seem to be dead from thorough extermination. Look through the books and notes on my desk - you gotta believe I tried.

Sorry that I’m taking him with me. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he was ever coming back. I'm also sorry for being too selfish too pretend.

It ended with the name “Bucky Barnes” written and crossed out a dozen times before he gave up trying to be Bucky Barnes, and then, tacked on as a final thought:

:) Do you know that’s a smiley face? They don’t hurt to write. :) :) :) :) :) :) :)

“Oh Steve,” Natasha gingerly folded the letter when she finished. Her hand settled into a comforting weight on his knee. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

He does this to himself and finishes another bottle.

Some days or weeks after that, Steve stumbled back from a mission with plans to drink until he blacked out.

“Your boy Barnes was thorough,” Clint had said in the comms. “What?” Steve had said, too confused and shocked to say, “He’s not my boy.”

“He seems to be a great guy. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.” Clint had explained. “He sent Hill the layout and location of every active HYDRA cell before well, you know, and he even marked sniper nests for me.”

“Yeah,” He had said. “I’m glad someone appreciated him.”

Steve had been sober for 48 hours for the sake of the mission. He uncapped a bottle to start a new round of the game.

Today, Steve wakes up on the couch with a blanket wrapped over him. He thought he passed out over the toilet. The stack of mail on his coffee table has grown, and there’s also a note from Sam calling him heavy and reminding him to pay his utilities and eat the soup he left on the stove. Thing is, he now hates chicken soup – he hates anything to do with the word “comfort.”

Steve shoves the blanket off and surveys his apartment. Empty bottles lie everywhere, and new holes decorate the walls. This is the way Bucky liked it. This is the way it should have been. He should have known to leave well enough alone.

His phone helpfully reminds him that today is Monday, two weeks since. Or maybe it’s three. Or maybe he spent another eternity passed out again. He dials Bucky’s number and pretends he can’t hear Bucky’s default carrier ringtone playing from his empty bedroom. Bucky’s default voice mail prompts him to leave a message after the beep. He chokes out, “Bucky, you can come home now.”

"We've been having such a great couple of weeks," Rumlow happily says to Steve with a friendly little elbow to his side. "First, the Asset came back to us all by itself, and then you dropped in for such a visit, and on top of that we have a brand new pet! Things could not be going any better."

He pauses to check that Steve's still listening. Steve doesn't see how he could be doing anything but, since he's fully strapped into a dolly from head to toe, being wheeled next to Rumlow by two assistants as they head quickly down a featureless hallway. Every part he could possibly flex or move, each of his fingers and even his toes, is tightly bound. The only thing he can still maneuver is his eyeballs, and he's doing his best to glare Rumlow to death at the corners of his eyes, but alas that isn't one of the super powers the serum gave him.

"Aw come on, don't look at me like that! Not when I have a special treat lined up for you!" They stop before a heavy metal door and Rumlow opens it with a flourish. "You're really going to enjoy this," he promises.

The first thing Steve sees when he's wheeled inside is the cage.

The second thing Steve sees is Bucky, Velcro strapped into a chair sitting upright, with a contraption over his face that held his eyelids open. It reminds Steve of the movie "A Clockwork Orange," which Sam had shown him when they went through a list of the best-made artistic films and got him all caught up on Stanley Kubrick.

Steve keeps taking in the details of Bucky, compliant and relaxed in his horrible chair, and keeps thinking about "A Clockwork Orange," because his eyes and his brain keep skittering over the cage and refusing to truly accept it.

Sam is inside the cage.

Sam is naked and bent over, neck and arms cramped into uncomfortable angles folded over his knees, the cage perfectly sized so tightly that he has no choice but to hold that position, ass up in the air. Steve doesn't know how long he's been left like that already.

"Now, isn't that a sight," Rumlow sighs next to him. He gives Steve's shoulder a brotherly pat, like they're in this together. "I think you have the best view, but you just let me know any time you want a change in angle and we'll make sure you get it, okay?" Having said that, Rumlow leaves Steve's side and walks around to the other side of the cage, nearer Bucky and to where Sam's head is.

Steve struggles harder than he ever has before in his life, but it's no use. His bonds hold secure and he has no choice but to keep facing forward like a useless slab, staring straight at Sam's helpless ass.

"Nice birdy," Rumlow says to Sam, and it's like a signal because three other HYDRA agents melt out of the shadows and move towards the cage. One already has his flies open, his meaty fingers wrapped around his even meatier cock, stroking it up and down lightly.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what's about to happen, and Steve's ma always said he was too smart for his own good.

Rumlow pulls a knife from his utility belt, non-standard issue and heavy, and skims the wicked blade over the back of Sam's head, lightly tracing a trail to the base of his neck, and then the side. "Anybody tries anything funny, and this little birdy's getting carved like a thanksgiving turkey, you understand?"

Sam says nothing, but a fine tremor runs through his body. Steve swallows hard. Bucky doesn't react at all.

And then it begins.

-------------------------------------------------------
(A/N: okay, so this is just a teaser for the beginning. I have more written and I already have the whole thing planned out so I promise it's coming, but I really wanted to dip my toe in the water first and get some feedback. Encouragement, suggestions, wish list for what happens, pointing out mistakes, anything else, all welcome!!! Also, surprise Steve pain and surprised Bucky pain! I have more surprises up my sleeve for the rest of this too.) :)

A/N: I live for the "Bucky, come home" lines in Stucky fics. Those lines made me fall in love with the concept of "home."

It follows that the reasonable conclusion was to stab Steve in the feels with that.

I didn't know I wanted this garbage until now.

OP

*rips an industrial-sized garbage bag into shreds, bunches the shreds up into rosettes, and strings them on rusty barbed wire to make a flower crown to present to author!anon* Bless you bless this trash omg everything about this is amazing.

Oh. Oh yes. I have such a thing for 'steve has to watch' scenarios.

OMG this is the saddest thing in the history of ever.

The first time I read this through I was so sad and horrified and almost nauseous with the feels but i re read the last part when I was going through the HTP email notificaitons in my inbox and I am very sorry to report that all the sadness of the first read through had evaporated and all I did was grin sadistically while imagining how sad Steve would be for the rest of his entire existence and how fuzzy that made me feel on the inside

New anon sorry to butt in but
I have always been squeamish about ''major character death" (ie I don't care about snuff unless it's my faves getting snuffed then I just cry) except this discussion is so hot and has opened my eyes to so many new horizons. I didn't think I even had any new horizons left to have my eyes opened to after wallowing in this meme but apparently I am wrong because wow wow that is so hot! I know it makes me a bad person but when I was reading this thread I was grinning madly and actually cackled aloud a little bit❤️❤️❤️

I'll probably get my dumpster diving credentials revoked for admitting this but I read the last part first just because I couldn't handle the thought of Bucky suffering so much without Stdve making it better. And the last part was so sweet and perfect and I read the whole thing and it just made the last part more sweet and perfect. I know I shouldn't be looking for sweetness and happy endings in this landfill but they are what sustains me

Natasha doesn't figure it out until their mission in Mogadishu goes tits-up because Steve can't get a grip on his anger management issues. Or, to be specific: she doesn't figure it out until after the debrief, when Tony, who probably is trying to be helpful under his usual layer of charming asshole, tells Steve he needs to loosen up and get laid.

"Seriously," Tony says, "I know so many people who'd jump at the chance to pull that stick out of your ass. Hit me up."

Steve looks up at Tony, his face starting to heat up, and when he responds it's in that strained voice that means he's barely suppressing the need to punch something. "Trust me," he says through gritted teeth, "needing to get laid is not my problem right now," and Natasha feels the entire situation click into place with a certainty that's like lead in her gut.

She fixes her expression into something wry and teasing. "Good luck," she tells Tony lightly. "I spent a year trying to get him a date back at SHIELD. Pushing just makes him dig his heels in."

Tony spreads his hands. "Just saying, Cap. It won't be my fault if you die a virgin."

Steve slams his drink down on the bar and leaves the room.

Natasha gives him a polite head start before she goes looking for him. The training room isn't the first place she tries, but she's not surprised that that's where she finds him. He's beating the crap out of one of Tony's improved punching bags, bare-knuckled, his hair dark gold and sticking wetly to his face. At first she thinks he's worked up a sweat already, but his white undershirt is still dry. When she opens the door, she catches a whiff of the locker-room soap. He must've hit the showers first.

"You should wrap your knuckles," she says by way of greeting. "We could have another mission tomorrow."

Steve pauses, breathing hard through his nose, dukes still up like he's covering himself. "I heal fast," he says. There's a bitter undertone to his voice.

Physically, he's right. Mentally...

Maybe she shouldn't bring it up. Her own approach to the things that have been done to her is cold and ruthlessly focused on whether she has anything to atone for. She could try the sympathy-and-comfort act, but Steve doesn't have much patience for insincerity.

She doesn't have to go digging in his wounds to be here for him, though. "Wanna spar?"

Steve barks out a laugh. "Aren't you worried I'll pound you into a bloody pulp on the floor?"

"I'm not wearing a lab coat," Natasha says, kicking her shoes off and pulling her hair up into a ponytail.

He's still got his fists raised. "Stop prying," he says flatly.

She throws one of her shoes at him, and he slaps it away, his reflexes as good as ever. "It's not prying to state the obvious. Whatever you saw in that lab last week fucked you up, and you aren't feeling too charitable towards Hydra doctors right now. It happens."

His shoulders relax minutely when she says 'whatever you saw.' He thinks she's off the track.

Truth is, none of them know what happened in the two hours after Steve dropped off the comms and before they found him locked in a sub-sub-basement with three dead men in lab coats and his uniform in tatters. They could only guess based on the wreckage of a gurney and a metal table in one corner, and the hideous array of surgical instruments strewn across the blood-smeared floor. Steve had squared his shoulders, strode out of the room, and cut off all their questions with a grim "I don't want to talk about it."

Natasha tosses him a roll of tape. "Wrap your hands, Rogers, and come spar with me."

She keeps the upper hand in the first round, taking advantage of his distraction. The second round goes for a long time, and they've both worked up a sweat by the time they agree to call it a draw. They take a break for water and get right back to it, and Natasha's just starting to think she's got an edge on him again when he turns one of her own moves back on her and pins her facedown on the mat.

"You sneaky son of a bitch," she groans. Steve's weight shifts on top of her as he lets out a shaky laugh.

Normally, he'd roll off and offer her a hand getting back to her feet, just to grin when she refused. But right now he's staying put. His breath is coming sharp and fast behind her. Natasha wriggles over onto her back, and Steve stares dizzily without quite seeing her. His eyes finally focus and he springs back like he's been burned.

"Sorry," he stammers, "sorry, I--" He crumples, no other word for it, and turns his head so she can't see his face. "You should go," he says, his voice thick.

Natasha scoots over and arranges herself to sit cross-legged in front of him, not touching, but not going anywhere either. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?" she says softly. Steve doesn't answer, but his breath hitches. Natasha throws caution to the wind. "Medical torture's a bitch. I've done that, and I've done rape, but never both at once. I think you're holding up pretty well, considering."

Steve freezes. For a long minute, he barely breathes. Natasha sits there with him, calm and matter-of-fact.

Finally, without looking at her, he says in a ragged voice, "What tipped you off?"

"You walking out tonight."

"So you didn't--"

"Know all along? It wasn't written above your head in big flashing letters. All we knew was that something happened. I won't tell the others."

Steve almost sags with relief. "Okay. I... okay." Slowly, he rearranges himself until he's sitting cross-legged too, mirroring her. He stares at his lap, still unable to make eye contact. Natasha is struck by how young he looks--he's the only one on the team younger than her, by a couple of years chronologically speaking, probably a couple decades in terms of life experience. His face, now that he's not trying to hide any of it anymore, is a mask of pain. "They drugged--" he says haltingly, then shudders and breaks off. "I don't know why they didn't just cut me open. I could've healed from that just fine."

Natasha silently reaches across and clasps one of his hands in hers.

Steve gives her hand a convulsive squeeze. He grimaces. "Sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with any of this," he says, but doesn't let go.

"I'm not. You are. But you don't have to deal with it alone."

Natasha gets back to her feet, not letting go of Steve's hand. "Another round?" she says, and tugs a little, silently offering him a hand up.

Instead of taking her up on the offer, he lets go of her hand and stands up on his own. "You're on."

Natasha grins and drops into a fighting stance.

So, maybe Bucky's whole body has been fucked and used in trashy ways by HYDRA, and for him, it doesn't matter if he's fucking Steve or if Steve is fucking him or he's using his hands or mouth or ass or the back of his goddamned knee. There is always an unpleasant association. Except, when he was with HYDRA, his metal arm was permanently attached because they had to keep him ready to deploy at all times, but after Bucky comes in from the cold, he gets a replacement arm and this arm is easily removable. And under the metal arm, he still has two thirds of his upper arm intact. And no one from hydra ever touched him sexually there. Or at least, he doesn't remember it.
So Bucky fucks Steve's ass with his stump and he loves it.

+1 if Steve is super into it too, even though he is simultaneously horrified
+10 if they've tried all kinds of alternative solutions to sex like jerking off in the same room or vibrators that buzz in time to music or actually sticking a dick in crevices like bent knees and elbows and foot sex and knee sex and jerking off while the other person pretends to be ignoring them.
+1000000000 and my eternal soul and my first seven children if after Bucky stump fucks Steve, he falls asleep and his dream is a new memory of the very early days, where a lab tech or a surgeon or someone is operating on his arm but before they finish up amputating the jagged remains of his limb, they guy sticks his dick in the raw pulverised mess of flesh and bone and fucks it until Bucky is screaming in agony and there is cum streaked along with the blood. Then Bucky wakes up and Steve is already mouthing at his stump and wanting to go again.

YOUR CHARACTERIZATION IS PERFECT AND THIS IS SO WONDERFULLY UNDERSTATED AND I LOVE IT. TEN THOUSAND MORE CHAPTERS PLEASE

I'm sort of laughing with horror and I love you

As well as having a metal arm, Bucky also has a metal armpit. Anything inspired by this would make my day. (Hi if u follow me on tumblr and was there when I realised this last week. It was a world changing perspective shift)

This isn't a trash prompt, though. I'm wracking my brain, but I really can't come up with a way to make a metal armpit bad-dirty-wrong. Maybe try another kinkmeme?

Oops wrong kinkmeme!!! Trash mod could you please delete the prompt? It was meant for a another meme. (That's what you get for tab switching too much. :P my actual prompt for the trash is the stump sex one above)

Haha, I'm sure we've all done that! Good luck with your prompt! :>

Haha, I was grinning sadistically while writing this too; I was so happy every time I came up with a new knife to twist in Steve's feels. Idk if that's an effect of knowing everything that's going to happen. The only part about writing this that made me really sad was researching suicide notes. :(

Anyways, I'm glad I could make you sad and then sadistically gleeful with the same fic.

When you really think about it though, Steve lost Bucky, then Peggy and everyone he grew up with and fought a war with. In Steve's case, the time period he grew up in is a type of home too, and now he's in a new century where mannerisms and life experiences are different from what he's used to, and he's also a vet pulled out of war and trying to live some semblance of a civilian life in between missions. Bucky is his last attachment to home, he's been given a second chance to make it all work, but he was too stuck on an idealized version of Bucky from the past and blew it.

Oh Steve.

Omg, really, the saddest thing? Thank you so much.

:) :) :) :) :) :) :)

(I still can't decide if Bucky was being passive aggressive or genuinely excited to discover a way to express happiness with the smiley faces.)

Here's something quick to tide you over until somebody with legit skills takes a crack at this amazing fill!!

-----
Steve collapsed onto be bed, panting and sweaty and satisfied. Bucky laid beside him in a similar state of sweaty satisfaction. Steve cuddled up to Bucky, who graciously allowed the contact because he was muzzy and relaxed from the amazing orgasms. He had been apprehensive, when he first decided to push Steve against the bedroom door and make his move, because Hydra's uses for him didn't end with assassin and sniper, and Bucky was afraid fucking Steve would bring back the memories. He was right, the sensation of Steve's skin against his and the slick sound of lube and the painful bright ball of pleasure when he orgasmed all reminded him terribly of his secondary function as a fuck toy, especially at their so called staff parties, but Steve was pliant under his hands and his eyes were soft and damp and his moans were sobbing needy hitches, so unlike the brutal noises and brutal touch of everyone who used him at those parties. They were never gentle when they used him. That came after. Steve's presence kept Bucky grounded against the memories buffeting him and kept him from being overwhelmed, and Bucky found that he even enjoyed the sex as more than just a way to satisfy a need Steve wouldn't voice himself, the noble idiot. Bucky was good at anticipating needs.
Steve groaned after a second, and pushed himself off the bed.
"Be right back, Buck." He said, and headed into the bathroom. Bucky wasn't too worried, because he could hear the sounds of Steve wiping himself off and getting a drink of water. He wriggled into the soft mattress and softer duvet, luxuriating in the endorphins coursing through his relaxed body, even as he was aware that the dark abyss that followed him everywhere had crept worryingly close to his mind. It was fine. Bucky took a gamble, and it paid off. Steve wasn't Hydra, wouldn't hurt him like that. His memories were just memories.
Steve clanged around in the bathroom for a moment, emerging with a glass of water and two hand towels, one dry and one damp.
"You thirsty?" Steve asked, offering the glass of water. Bucky sat up and held out a hand. Steve handed Bucky the glass of water, and he chugged the whole thing, the water sweet and cool and - bubbly and heady, the taste of light honeyed alcohol so far from the slop of his nutrient shakes that his head almost hurt at the joy of it. The champagne flute was removed when he had finished drinking, and a warm hand carded gently through his sweat and come drenched hair. "Good B-" Bucky set the half empty glass on the bedside table, and looked over at Steve to reassure himself. Steve was naked. No one at Hydra ever got completely naked. They just unzipped their trousers or hitched up their skirts. Bucky relaxed again. Steve crawled back into bed besides Bucky, and plastered himself against Bucky's side. Bucky melted into Steve as Steve pressed a loving kiss to the side of Bucky's head and petted his cheek. "Such a good boy for us, aren't you? You did so well, my sweet." and turned his head so he could press a kiss to Bucky's already kiss swollen mouth.
"I love you so much." Steve confessed, his eyes so huge and liquid and trusting Bucky relaxed again. Steve wasn't like them. He never told Bucky how good he was.
Steve kissed him again, then prodded at him. "Spread your legs a bit." Steve said. "Gotta clean up before the lube and come dries. Bucky spread his legs obediently, holding himself still as a sponge wet with warm water and a gentle soap ran over his flanks, washing away the come and piss and lube. The agent paused to wring out the sponge and wet the sponge, then brushed it with aching tenderness across Bucky's wrecked and gaping hole. "That's better now, isn't it? I'll get you all cleaned up." Steve said. He folded the soiled towel in half and wiped away the mess on Bucky's stomach, then tossed it over his shoulder and ran the other hand towel between Bucky's cheeks and over his stomach, leaving him dry and clean.
After Bucky had been cleaned up, Steve climbed back under the covers and cuddled close, his breathe steady and warm against Bucky's flesh shoulder. See, Steve wasn't one of them. Bucky was clean and all tidied up at Steve still wanted him and didn't move to wipe him or put him away or apologise. Steve wasn't hydra. Bucky relaxed and snuggled up closer to Steve. Just as Bucky was about to drift to sleep for the first time in forty six hours, Steve shifted besides him.
"Hey Buck?" Steve said.
"Yes Stevie?" Bucky replied, the nickname slipping out.
"I'm sorry." Steve said, and Bucky's veins turned to ice. "I was kind of hesitant about having sex because of what happened to you, but I guess I should have trusted you to know your limits. I'm sorry we argued before. And thanks. For, you know. I really enjoyed myself. Sorry if I was kind of on a hair trigger there."
"I'm always happy to serve." The Asset replied as sweetly as he could manage beneath the haze of fear and betrayal suffocating him.
"I'll keep that in mind for the next time." Steve said.
Had the Asset failed to perform? Why was he being evaluated? Was he to be punished? Maybe he wasn't sweet enough. The Asset had been so flippant to the Agent who took care of him after. He wasn't grateful enough. He should have been good and he should have been grateful be he has been bad and now he would get what's coming to him.
The Asset tried to look sweeter and more obedient. It wasn't supposed to bargain against its punishments, but sometimes the Agents didn't mind if it begged. "I should have been better. I'm so grateful. You took such good care of me, sir. I was bad and ungrateful. I'll be so quiet during maintenance and correction, sir. Please please, sir, I'll be so good during correction, I'll be such a good boy, please, I didn't meant to be ungrateful. Please don't send for punishment."
The agent beside him tensed. Oh god, did the Asset make him even angrier with his pathetic begging? The Asset thought he might have been less angry if it begged pathetically enough but sometimes that made the agents angrier. This one had looked so nice and so kind. The Asset should have learned by now that appearances were deceiving.
"Buck." The Agent besides him said softly, pulling away from the Asset. The Asset's eyes were wet but he still tried to look as sweet and obedient and eager to please as it was supposed to. The Agent was pulling away and he had started apologising, so the good parts of the evening were over. The thought of punishment, real punishment, not just maintenance or even correction, was to terrifying. They let him keep the memories of his punishment the only time it hadn't been a good and sweet enough boy when they maintained him, and the mere thought of it frightened it terribly.
"Oh Buck, Buck, I'm sorry. Shh, I'm sorry Buck." The Agent said, sounding even more upset, and the threat of punishment loomed ever louder.
"It was necessary." The Asset replied. The liked it best when the asset responded to their apologies by accepting them and telling how necessary it was to hurt him. "It was necessary, I can take it. I can be so good, sir. It hurts but it's necessary, sir. Please sir."
The Agent looked guilty and sad and that wasn't good. Whenever he made the agents look sad and guilty the Agents always wiped him at setting seven instead of the regular setting five. But that's not right. How did it remember maintenance? He could- it- he- the Asset wasn't supposed to remember maintenance. The asset wasn't supposed to remember the agents taking care of him. He sat up despite not having been ordered to do so, and registered his surroundings with confusion. This wasn't a Hydra facility? Had the agent been granted use of the Asset as a reward? The Assey remembers being a reward for agents who performed well the asset remembers— The asset wasn't supposed to remember.
Bucky usually came out of flashbacks gradually, but he snapped out of this one all at once. He couldn't look at Steve, who looked so distraught. He should be comforting Steve. He knows this. Steve isn't supposed to be sad. But Steve also apologised. Steve wasn't ever supposed to apologise. Bucky ran into the bathroom, locking himself in and digging through the medicine cabinet for the knife concealed there. He clutched the weapon in his hand as he bent over the toilet bowl and threw up. All he'd had today was some water, because he couldn't stand the thought of eating this morning, and Steve had- Steve had looked sad but he had understood and he- Steve - Steve apologised. Bucky felt tears of betrayal pricking at the back of his eyes.
Steve's voice sounded outside the door. "Bucky? Bucky, are you alright in there? I'm so sorry, Buck. Please tell me if you're okay."
Bucky flinched when Steve said the word sorry. He'd trusted Steve. Steve had been so good to him. Steve didn't even hurt him when he used his hole. Bucky say ok the floor beside the toilet, his knees curled and his eyes closed. He'd go and be good and obedient when Steve came in to get him. He'd take his punishment. For Steve, he'd even try to keep quiet for as long as he could. But for now he wanted one last moment to pretend.

----

BTW, Bucky has sex with Steve because he thinks Steve wants it, and he does it because he wants to be good for Steve, not because he wants it. There is no way he was actually ready for sex, even though it didn't go badly until after. I don't know if I made it clear enough but he went in expecting trash party like treatment. :D

The Red Skull spewing HYDRA propaganda while fucking Steve in front of an audience. Wow. This was so disturbing and hot.

A tiny continuation snippet BECAUSE I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON. Probably not what you had in mind. Several missions further down the line...

-

"For the record, this is not what I meant when I said 'hit me up.'"

"Unnngh. T'rn th' lights off."

"In fact, I'm not even sure it counts as getting laid."

"I remember blowjobs. That's laid."

"Yeah, blowjobs that ended in whiskey dick and crying about--oh jesus christ."

"Wha?"

"Fucking hell. I'm sorry. I don't even know how to--I can get you a therapist? Bruce has made it really clear he's not a therapist, but I'm sure I can get you a therapist."

"The hell are you talking about?"

"I swear I did not mean to... re-traumatize you or... okay, you know what? It's cool. I can roll with it. Look at it this way, if anyone decides to be a flaming asshole and ask if you're sure it wasn't just bad sex you regretted afterwards, now you can say, nope, know what that feels like, not the same thing."

"Why would anyone ask... it's too early in the morning for this."

"You're right. Don't think anybody's gonna try that one on you. Most sketchy hookups don't end in dead bodies."

"Did Thor leave any Asgardian aspirin to go with the mead?"

[six cups of coffee and a greasy breakfast later]

"I told you about the what?!"

Lol, oh my gosh, you're darling

Bucky's dick got broken early in his captivity, which means that modern-day Hydra operatives don't know why he's like that. How would that affect their sexual use of him? Maybe some people pity him, to others it makes him more of an inhuman freak, and others fixate on it sexually, etc.

If anyone wants to fill this, pick your particular flavor of broken dick, I'm not picky!

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Page 140 of 222

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

Fill: Drinking Games (4/4)

FILL: Anyone/Sam, general trash, birdcage "Bird of Paradise" 1/? (teaser)

Re: Fill: Drinking Games (4/4)

Re: FILL: Anyone/Sam, general trash, birdcage "Bird of Paradise" 1/? (teaser)

Re: Fill: A Superior Man 3/3

Re: FILL: Anyone/Sam, general trash, birdcage "Bird of Paradise" 1/? (teaser)

Re: Fill: Drinking Games (4/4)

Re: Fill: Drinking Games (4/4)

Re: Winter Soldier, hanging/strangulation

Re: 5+1 fill: +1: Bucky

Aftermath minifill, Steve&Natasha h/c

Bucky fucking Steve with the stump of his arm

Re: Aftermath minifill, Steve&Natasha h/c

Re: Bucky fucking Steve with the stump of his arm

Metal Armpit

Re: Metal Armpit

Re: Metal Armpit

Re: Metal Armpit

Re: Fill: Drinking Games (4/4)

Re: Fill: Drinking Games (4/4)

Minifill

Re: Fill: A Superior Man 2/3

Re: Aftermath minifill, Steve&Natasha h/c

Re: Bucky fucking Steve with the stump of his arm

the Hydra agent perspective on Bucky's broken dick