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.

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Thank you so much, OP, I'm so glad you like it! <333 This one was pure self-indulgence: I just really wanted to write them communicating. And I've had this prompt bookmarked forever, because DAMN. (Honestly, I wrote this super quickly and then got weirdly attached to this version of the characters, like look how HEALTHY they are, I just want to hug them. But, no.)

"It's a drug." Bucky starts unstrapping his knives, his guns. "It's not dangerous, as long as you don't fight it. Get your gear off."

Steve stares at him, breathing hard. "What does it—"

His clothes are next. "Part of Hydra's evil science pharmacy. You get hit, you get aroused, you gotta fuck. Call it a weaponized aphrodisiac." Steve's eyes go wide. "But you're gonna be okay, Stevie, I promise. I'm here, I'll get you through it."

"I'm not—" Bucky's got his jacket off, his shirt, his boots; his hands are at his belt. "What are you doing? Stop it, Buck, wait a minute—"

He doesn't stop, and Steve flushes at the sight of his bare skin. "I'm sorry. I wish we had more time, but you're gonna feel it any second now. Don't be scared, okay? We're safe: this place is abandoned. You're gonna fuck me, as much as you need, and when it wears off I'll still be here, I'll clean you up, I'll get you home. I'm gonna take care of you."

"Jesus Christ, Bucky. I'm not going to fuck you." But the flush is spreading; his pupils are blown wide. He shifts uncomfortably. "If this is some kind of Hydra fuck drug, I can—I'll manage it on my own. But what kind of sick fucks—" He bites it off. The look he shoots Bucky is appalled, and apologetic.

Bucky bares his teeth. It's not quite a smile. "Yeah, exactly. And you can't do it yourself. Doesn't work." He spits into his palm, examines the results and does it again. Then he gets on his knees, his legs spread, and presses two fingers to his hole. "You fuck, or it jacks up your blood pressure until your heart explodes." He is careful not to let the pain show on his face, in his voice, as he starts to work himself open. "Please feel free to rely on my extensive personal knowledge of the sick fuckery that went on around here." He grits his teeth, and softens his tone. "I'm serious. Don't fight it, Stevie, that's dangerous. You gotta trust me."

Steve is panting now. The bulge in his trousers is obvious. "But you—you can't." He sounds lost. "We can't take things too far too fast, that's what you said, or you get—it hurts you. We haven't even—we've barely—"

"You should take your clothes off now," Bucky says, "or you'll be ripping them off in a minute. Listen to me. I know it's not what you want to hear, but—I've had worse. I'll be fine. And so will you. This time isn't going to count, not between us. You're gonna feel like shit, because you're you, but you shouldn't, I'm saying it now and I'll say it again after, because this is not your fault. Rape never is." It breaks his heart, a little, the way Steve flinches. "It's okay to say it, Stevie. That's what it's called when you don't have a choice. I'm fucking sorry, and I'm gonna kill every last one of them for doing this to you, but that's later. Right now, I'm gonna get you through, so take off your damn clothes and get over here."

Steve doesn't move. "There has to be another—oh, fuck." He staggers, and one hand flies up to clutch his head. "Fuck, I can't—" He drops heavily, gracelessly to his knees, and hunches over, gasping. "I think—something's wrong, I—" And Bucky feels panic slice through him, because he's seen this before, he's lived it, but Steve's different, isn't he, because of the serum, his metabolism is different, and what if that changes the effects, enhances them, what if Bucky can't help him, what if it's already too late? He scrambles over, and fumbles at Steve's belt, and then the Asset's cool response to crisis takes hold and he has it off in moments, his hands perfectly steady despite his racing heart, and he opens Steve's pants and gets his cock out, flushed and hard and leaking, and then he grabs Steve's hair and drags his head up and backhands him across the face.

"Listen to me," he hisses. "This is for real. If you literally die because you are too fucking noble to have a little non-consensual sex with the person you actually love, you fucking idiot, I will never forgive you, do you hear me?" Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, maybe, but at least Steve's looking at him now, at least he's focusing. His eyes are dark, and wide, and frightened. Bucky kisses him hard, apology and forgiveness, and then he shoves him down onto his back and swings a leg over so he's straddling his hips, and he grips Steve's cock to line them up.

And something snaps. Steve's hands close with bruising force on his waist, and then Steve is moving, fast and preternaturally strong, Steve is flipping them, dumping Bucky to the floor on his face. Steve grabs his hips to haul his ass up, and Bucky struggles to get his knees under him, to brace and offer himself. He feels the big, blunt head of Steve's cock nudge against his hole, thank god, and he's barely open at all, barely wet, he didn't have time, but it doesn't matter, because Steve is going to survive this, and when Steve shoves into him, forcing, tearing, he feels relief so profound he could cry.

It hurts, but there's nothing to worry about now. The drug will run its course, and Steve will be all right. He closes his eyes, and makes a conscious effort to slow his breathing, relax his body. He's used to this. What he needs to do now is hold it together, and not make it worse for Steve. He can't let himself struggle, can't take the risk that Steve will stop—or, more likely given the progress of the drug, that Steve will subdue him. Steve is going to feel awful as it is, afterward, and that would wreck him. Bucky needs to stay calm, stay quiet, so that when Steve plays this back to himself, when he tortures himself with it, there will be no memories of Bucky's distress or fear. He's promised Steve to get him through it, and that means he has to guard Steve's poor kind heart as well, all the way through to the other side.

It hurts, but he wasn't lying: he's had worse. He's had teams that used him like a toy, one after another until he was gaping and ruined. He's had big things, sharp things stuffed inside him, anatomical impossibilities, because people thought it was funny when he screamed. He's had handlers who touched him gently, and gave him little rewards, and demanded to be told that he loved it while they fucked him. There's no comparison, not really, not even with Steve's hands digging bruises into his hips, Steve's weight pinning him down, Steve's cock stabbing him open, too deep, too fast, too rough.

It hurts, but Steve's breath is hot against his neck, and for a second Bucky thinks Steve is going to kiss him there, in sympathy, to let him know they're in this together. Then Steve's teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder, and his thrusts turn vicious, and Bucky makes a sound, fuck, can't help it, and Steve's hips snap still and he groans and he's coming, he's coming and pulling out, and Bucky lets himself collapse, lets himself rest a moment with his face against the cool tile of the floor.

Steve grabs his arm, and rolls him over. He's still hard, which isn't a surprise, not with the drug in his veins, and not with the serum, which—fuck, better not to think of it, actually, no use worrying. Bucky's own cock is soft and defenseless, exposed now that Steve's put him on his back, and he resists the useless urge to cover himself. This isn't Steve's fault, but it isn't his fault either. He's got nothing to be ashamed of, even if the old sick feeling is back, choking him, even if the blood on Steve's cock makes him want to vomit. The hunted confusion in Steve's eyes is gone: he looks intent now, determined, greedy. He drags Bucky's thighs open, bends his knees back to expose his ass, and then he shifts his grip, uses one hand to pin the metal arm across Bucky's body, plants the other on his throat to hold him down. Bucky tenses, because this position is worse, and it's on his tongue, wait, but Steve is already sliding into him again, slower this time, making him feel every inch. It burns, and a sense of alarm washes through him, because it feels like injury now, like damage.

He makes himself go limp. He knew it would be scary, he'd told Steve as much, and now it is. Steve's hand on his throat presses cruelly, cutting off his air, and he doesn't understand, he's not fighting, there's no need to hurt him to make him submit. He wants to wrench his arm free, push Steve away, defend himself. But he can't do that, he has to—and he knows better anyway, doesn't he, he'll be punished if he fights, they will fucking tear him apart, except—fuck, that's wrong, there is no they, there is no punishment, it's only Steve. It's Steve, he thinks, and makes himself take in the details of the familiar face above him. It's Stevie. It doesn't help. He doesn't like the way Steve is looking at him: avid, predatory, merciless. He feels himself reduced by that gaze, until he's nothing but a trapped creature, sick with helplessness, trembling with shame. He shuts his eyes.

This time, when Steve comes, he doesn't bother pulling out. He crouches over Bucky's body, his chest heaving with exertion, and Bucky lifts his free hand tentatively to Steve's face. It's not please, it's not stop, it's just—he wants them to be reminded of each other. I'm here. Are you there? Steve lets go of his throat to grab his wrist, and slams his hand back to the ground. He squeezes, in warning, until the bones grind together.

He holds still, to show his surrender. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and after a moment Steve bends down to lap at one wet cheek. His hips jerk hard, driving his cock deep again. After a few more thrusts, though, he makes a discontented noise. He digs his fingers back into the bruises on Bucky's wrist, a painful reminder, before moving his hand between them, to feel at the place where their bodies are joined, where Bucky is looser now, and slick with blood. When he forces two fingers in alongside his cock, Bucky hates himself for the hurt animal sound he makes.

It's been too long, he thinks, when Steve starts fucking him again. That's his problem. He's been free, and safe, for too long, has tried too hard to become a person again, a person and not a weapon, and now he's crying, shaking, pathetic, because it worked and he is no longer so used to pain, no longer so insensible to humiliation. (Was he ever those things? Maybe not—but he knew how to still his mind to suffering, to bear it without such panic, with a measure even of patience, because he had no choice, and because there was always the idle hope that this time they would manage to kill him.) I can't, he thinks, please, I can't, and then he knows what he's going to do, and he feels the fear slip away from him, and in its place is exhaustion, and a sort of abject pity. He'll go away, and hide himself, and he'll let it happen to the Asset instead. Poor thing, he thinks, poor thing, his mind taken again and again, made innocent again and again so that he emerged from the ice mystified by the cruelty of his keepers, uncomprehending, unsure what he had done to earn their hate. And with no protectors, not ever, because the same person who praised and fed him one day might order a surgery without anesthetic the next, and there was no one he could trust not to hurt him. Not like Bucky, who has his friend.

The Asset takes his handler's cock without complaint. He doesn't know who this handler is: all but a select few of his torturers are interchangeable. He assesses his injuries as best he can, and concludes that the impairment so far is minor. He feels the usual nausea, the usual horrified rejection of what is happening to him, and pushes them down. His face is wet, and he wonders if he's been crying, and dismisses it as unlikely. He is not yet hurt badly enough.

It goes on and on. Something is wrong with this handler, he thinks, this is unnatural—but there's nothing he can do but take it. He manages the pain, and periodically recalculates the damage, and eventually determines that he is likely to require medical attention when this is over. It's not over, though, it shows no signs of being over, and now he has to contain his noises as well, because there are sounds that want to escape. This is closer to what he would expect from a group, a team, but there is only the one handler, his blond hair dark with sweat, his blue eyes narrow rings around dark pupils, rutting into him with a savagery that is beginning to frighten him. He studies the flushed face more closely. He is less certain, now, that he doesn't know this handler, because there's something almost familiar, something teetering on the edge of perception, some buried memory that refuses to tip over into consciousness. The man on the bridge, he thinks nonsensically, and then, I knew him.

His vision blurs. There's another face, bleeding and filthy, superimposed on the one above him. The same man, hurt, desperate. You know me. Bucky, you've known me your whole life.

"Steve?" His voice is weak, rough. "Steve, is that—" And then he takes in the rest of it, what Steve is doing to him, and his hands come up to Steve's shoulders, entreating. "Stevie, what are you—stop it, stop, you're hurting me. Please." Steve snarls at him, a wordless growl, and clamps a hand over his mouth. Bucky feels panic flare along his spine. This isn't right, this can't be happening, they'd agreed to take it slow, Steve had promised to let Bucky lead, so what is he doing? He shoves Steve away, hard, and quick as a snake the hand on his mouth slides up over his face to seize a fistful of his hair. Steve yanks his head up and then slams it back to the ground, stunning him. Bucky feels his eyes well with tears: shock, hurt, betrayal.

"Please," he begs. "Stevie, oh god, please stop." And Steve doesn't.

It goes on and on, and he turns his face to the side, so he won't have to look. I need you with me, he'd told Steve, that night in the covering dark, and Steve had seemed to understand. But Steve is insatiable, Steve is taking and taking from him without care, without remorse. Steve has turned on him, and he has no friend here, no protector, no one to help him. He's alone.

Oh. My. God. D: Author!anon, you're amazing.

This AMAZING chapter is everything I need right now! It is so fucking heartbreaking how it seems like Steve is not there--it's so terrifying, I can't help being mad at him, even though it's not his fault--and you are a genius making Bucky lose and get his memories back in one scene making everything that much worse.

(OP) a!a, what a terrible thing this is :D I love all the little touches you've employed to add extra layers of awful to an awful situation, like Steve's unbelievable bestial brutality. Bucky expected the drug to cause Steve to subdue him, so I'm assuming it causes similar aggression in everyone, but still, OUCH. Also: how totally unprepared Bucky was for the way Steve's stamina was going to turn this ordeal into torture, that hurts SO much and the pain makes me SO happy. Bucky trusts them and their relationship so much and he was so confident that if he could just safeguard Steve's body and heart through this small bout of non-consensual sex, then the worst thing on the other side would be Steve's emotional reaction -- but no!! No one is getting a break in this trash heap, Bucky! The progression in Bucky's perspective, from grounded coping to broken begging, it just, it absolutely killed me.

Other things I am crying about / loving are: Bucky thinking it's hard to handle because it's been too long since he was last raped and he's out of practice; Steve manhandling Bucky and lapping up his tears like an animal and responding to his attempts to reach out with violence and hurting him; Bucky trying to hold back his noises and hide his fear to ameliorate Steve's trauma, and then later, as the asset, because that's what he always has to do; and then, most terrible, the sliding scale of dissociation Bucky goes through, from an asset-era mental state where he can deal with this clinically because it's just another handler whose torments he has no choice but to endure, to a Bucky who doesn't remember why this is happening but remembers Steve promised not to hurt him, which is just the. worst. and my heart can't take it.

I can't imagine how horrible the aftermath of this is going to be -- Bucky promised to be there for Steve on the other side and now he's badly injured and he's lost track of reality and whatever happens, whether Steve wakes up to Bucky in that state or Bucky forces himself to get it together for Steve, I am so looking forward to it. Ugh!! My poor tortured emotions. Great job!

ugh I was just reading this again and I forgot to tell you how much I adored Buck thinking he was gonna get a reassuring kiss and instead Steve bit him. And getting sidetracked even before he does it intentionally, thinking the reason he can't fight back isn't to save Steve's life, but to avoid punishment. And just the image of Steve fucking him rough on his back with a hand on his throat. So good!!

You produce content and we love you for it!

OH jeez oh jeez this part was amazing, all the ways that Bucky's trying to cope -- but it not working because a part of Bucky still identifies Steve and the sense of emotional betrayal is just so overwhelming, even though logically Bucky knows that Steve's not at fault. <3333

ILU OP, seriously you are the sweetest, I woke up this morning to find your lovely comments (and let's never, ever examine what it says about my life/choices that I check the HTP before getting out of bed) and spent the next ten minutes just kind of mashing my face into the pillow in happiness. I'm so glad you liked it! I will come back later with an actual reply, right now I'm being dragged off on a ~~death march~~ fun family hike in the hills ~~on an exposed track, in the hottest part of the day, like what's that line about mad dogs, Englishmen, and stupid fucking tourists?~~ so if I don't come back, just assume I expired hot, sweaty and undignified on the graceful hillside, RIP a!a, but I just have to ask: are you my OP from more for less? Like am I ~~procrastinating~~ cheating on you with you?

Unfortunately one of the things you can't do on the internet is strike a dramatic pose while crying YES! 'TIS I!, but yep, you've sussed me out! And honestly I also suspected you were the author of both those works of genius <33 If you feel like procrastinating in the future please feel free to hunt down more of my prompts.

If you die of heatstroke on the hilltop today, just know your work has been a gift to trashkind.

DA but "and let's never, ever examine what it says about my life/choices that I check the HTP before getting out of bed." Oh, don't worry, you're not the only one.

OH LOOK I LIVED. And also, hi!! Another thing you can't do on the Internet is fling yourself at someone in ecstatic embrace, but this just makes me smile so hard, like I slink over to Dumpster 2 to blow off steam and here you are, apparently your prompts just speak to my trashy soul, and I think that's beautiful. :D Did you like how I dispatched the entire more for less plotline here like:

b: hey let's not do the thing where my consent is kind of compromised by my desire to please
s: lol yeah that sounds bad let's not do that
b: ok cool good talk
CURTAIN

Okay this part, don't laugh (you can laugh) but although my default mode is evil cackles I kind of accidentally broke my own damn heart with this one, just a little, like I wrote it all in one sitting and when Bucky realizes that he's just like the poor Asset after all, with no friend to protect him, I was like WAIT NO—but hah, too late. I'm glad the brutality worked for you, and the undermining/betrayal of Bucky's confidence in himself and trust in their relationship, and the dissociation in its various forms. :D

Re: the aftermath, I was so tempted to dodge the issue altogether and just end it with them getting (re)captured by Hydra, like "we're safe: this place is abandoned" LOL NO, you've been the subject of a riotous viewing party and now you're going back to your captors, sorry not sorry. But no, I suppose they will go home now and try to pick up the pieces. I'm definitely leaning toward option three in your prompt, Bucky being viscerally afraid of Steve, but if there's anything specific you'd like to see, just let me know!

OH GOOD. :D

Thank you, nonnie! <3

Thank you so much! <3 Yeah, despite his familiarity with the drug Bucky still on some level thought they were going to get through this together—but like you said, Steve's not there. And I'm so pleased you liked the losing/regaining of memory, I didn't initially plan for that to happen but it just made sense, like Bucky thinks he can escape this by letting it happen to the Asset instead but he forgot that the Asset knows Steve.

Oh nonnie it's one of the canonically sweetest things about their relationship, isn't it, the way WinterSoldier!Bucky still knows Steve in spite of everything. And it just—doesn't help them here, because Bucky wants to forget what's happening but he can't, in the end, he can let the Asset take his place but even the Asset recognizes Steve. I'm so happy you liked it!

DA

a) omg you two are like trash brOTP

b) not the OP but please don't have them be recaptured by HYDRA. D: Anything but that -- Bucky using the chair to fry his brain to erase his short term memory, or flinching from Steve and moving out, or whatever else horrible you are contemplating... just, not hydra-pounce please??

Yeah, it just HURTS SO MUCH that Steve doesn't know Bucky, that this part is just pure re-victimization. I know the sex pollen is pretty hand-wavy here, but I find myself wondering how it works, because Steve is *so* NOT Steve here. Specifically -- does it tap into some sort of brutality inherent in everyone? (Like that gas in the season 1 finale of Agent Carter?) Does it flip a person's good emotions into negative emotions? (As in, is it worse for Steve because he's normally so good? And if Steve is somewhere inside and trying to fight it by thinking good thoughts, does it make his actions even worse?)

Don't worry, nonnie, I won't take it there! The idea just had a certain lazy appeal, like I'm not really sure yet how to fix this, and that would've been an easy way out. ALSO I like your thinking—Bucky using the chair is an idea that wouldn't have occurred to me! Suggestions are always welcome. :)

These are all wonderful ideas! (I confess I haven't seen more than a few episodes of Agent Carter, but it sounds like maybe I should go ahead and finish it.) You're of course right that the sex pollen here is hand-wavy, like "evil science pharmacy" is pretty much your tip-off that I didn't take that part too seriously. (Although ACTUALLY there's a line in my story notes that just says, "the peculiar progressive history of Hydra's fuck drug," because I did come up with a backstory for it, which was that the stuff used in this booby trap is a weaponized/much stronger version of something invented by a Hydra scientist in like the 1970s for her personal use, that is her use on herself, Hydra having a policy similar to what I understand Google's to be [disclaimer: I know literally nothing about Google's corporate culture] where employees are encouraged to pursue their own creative/innovative work on company time. There was obviously no reason to work that into the story, so it didn't make the cut, but I thought it was funny.) Anyway, my concept for the sex pollen here was basically that it provoked lust/ruthlessness while suppressing reason/empathy. I don't think Steve's reaction was worse than average in terms of violence or brutality, although of course his serum-enhanced stamina made the experience worse for Bucky—but I really like your idea of a drug that flips a person's good emotions into negative emotions, like the inverse of the serum which "amplifies everything that is inside" so good becomes great/bad becomes worse.

whew! :D

Yeah, a mental image had come to me of traumatized and bloody Bucky dragging himself to the room with the chair to reset himself so that this doesn't ruin his relationship with Steve, which made me cry sad Bucky tears. But that's probably too much of a cop-out from actually dealing with things. (Unless Steve still remembers, and Bucky still keeps subconsciously flinching at certain moments)

But man, what a rough aftermath this is going to be regardless! Between Steve's guilt and Bucky's broken trust.... *rolls around in the trashiness of it all*

Eh, Agent Carter's decent if you like 50s style spy thrillers. The scene I was referencing is like the last 10 minutes of Ep. 7, and mostly involved perfectly nice people being turned into murderous rage people thanks to Handwavy Evil Gas.

I pretty much expect any sex pollen fic to have handwaviness. I think what surprised me about this fic was how aggressively non-Steve it made him -- often sex pollen stories just end up with a slightly hornier version of the same character. So... much respect for going dark!Steve! If I were Bucky I'd wonder if that violence was inside Steve all along, or whether the violence was a result of Steve's natural goodness being flipped on end.

:D You smiling makes ME smile! This is some trashy serendipity shit. And yes, I deeply enjoy how this Healthy & Wholesome Stucky skimmed right on over the bottomless well of fuckedupness that more for less delves into; and I also cry because James in that story COULDN'T have avoided falling into the well, even if Steve had initiated a similar conversation somehow. Because he doesn't understand what this consent thing is. Or how it could relate to him, the non-entity. And I cry for this Bucky, whose trusting heart got thrown in a fire. Basically: I cry all day.

I am laughing a little, but mostly because it took you until the very end of all this tragedy and torture to feel sorry for your poor victim. It's fair, though. Bucky's got a motif running of asking Steve to be in this with him, and when he realizes he's alone... IT IS HEARTRENDING. Look, if there's anything that always works for me, it's brutality -- and the equally terrible emotional aftereffects thereof. Which you have a knack for delivering so beautifully.

It would have been fairly hilarious to introduce Hydra voyeurs as, like, a Diabolus Ex Machina, but yes tbh I would prefer to see fallout, assuming you're up for it. Um um given the choice between options, I would also choose Door Number Three, just because all the branching paths of emotional torture down that road are too good to miss. I was picking over this in my head today and the element of choice here is so interesting to me. I mean, obviously, for Bucky, the choice between enduring rape and letting Steve's heart explode is no choice at all... except it was his decision to fling himself down on the sacrificial altar and offer himself up in exchange for Steve's life. And Steve took him up on it. It's just that this situation is painfully, inextricably tangled -- because Bucky consented to some non-consensual sex to save Steve's life; but he didn't consent to that level of torture; but I can't imagine he would have backed out if he could have; but the point stands that he couldn't have and he knew it; his pain and fear are totally valid, it was agonizing, so horrible, it would have traumatized someone who didn't have preexisting rape trauma waiting to get renewed; and it wasn't Steve's fault, except it is Steve who will now send danger signals screaming through Bucky; Steve is a victim too, one who is going to literally, actually hate himself for this; and it just compounds everything to have Bucky trying to crush the fear in his stomach whenever Steve is near, telling himself it's Steve, who also got raped, and Bucky signed up for it anyway. How do you unfuck your head when you went with the lesser of two evils and that's what destroyed you? Or when the person who's supposed to be in it with you is who you're terrified of? How much worse would freshly-traumatized!Steve's self-blame be, confronted with Bucky's trauma and fear? lmao okay this paragraph is so long. And btw none of this rambling is meant as a specific request, I wish to leave the story open to your writerly creativity; cherrypick something if you like it but mostly I just have SO MANY THOUGHTS ALL THE TIME.

P.S. One of the other commenters mentioned how unusual it is to see anything but extra levels of horniness result from sex pollen. STORY TIME: I read this fic in an old fandom of mine where Villain X doses Character A with sex pollen that incites violent rape, then locks him up with Character B. It's X's intention that A totally destroy B, but while A does rape B, his inherent goodness shines through and he makes it gentle and as caring as possible, so that at the end of fic, A is like it's alright, you were forced to rape me, but your instincts toward gentleness are so strong that, even in the grip of a violent-rape-sex-pollen, you were as kind as you could be, and I felt loved. I mention this only because your trash is a dark mirror of that trash, and the contrast makes me even sadder for your Bucky: he went into this hoping for merely that, for Steve to be as kind as he could be, for those little moments of connection like a kiss or touch. And instead he got BRUTALIZED. And I love it.

Oh this is really really helpful, thank you, teasing out the themes like this definitely gives me a better sense of where we're going. <3 How do you unfuck your head . . . when the person who's supposed to be in it with you is who you're terrified of? is exactly the question that needs answering now. Bucky made his choice (that wasn't really) but then it got taken from him, he's already broken the promises he made to himself, not to show fear or pain, and he's set up to break the promises he made to Steve as well, starting with when it wears off I'll still be here. Steve is going to have to push through his self-hatred enough to help his friend if they're going to fix this—Steve, who also got raped. Branching paths of emotional torture FTW!

That sex pollen story is also interesting and helpful in terms of giving shape to Steve's guilt. He's Captain America, and whatever the effect of the drug on other people it shouldn't have affected him like this, he's supposed to be stronger and less vulnerable, he should have been able to fight it, like if anyone should have had the inherent goodness and instinctive gentleness and moral groundedness and sheer physiological resilience to be able to make gentle love after being dosed with violent-rape-sex-pollen, it should have been him! And then it turns out that in this way, against this weapon, he was just completely ordinary, with no special defenses at all.

Ahh, thank you so much!

At the end of the day, the reason these two people are going through all this shit together is that they love each other and I felt it was important to show that besides all the heavy stuff – loyalty, passion, a whole lot of angst – there's some sweetness to their relationship, too. Although if Steve hadn't gotten them back on track there would've been some drama – Bucky was totally pushing him there going go ahead, tell me not to joke about my delicate condition, I dare you.

Well, all will be made clear in the fullness of time. (This porn grew a plot tumor and it's very awkward). You know, a while ago I was daydreaming up potential jobs for pre-War Bucky to have (because it can't be all Docks all the time) I was thinking about something that would leverage the skills we know he has as a sniper – keen eye, steady hands, patience – and one of the answers I came up was working with cloth.

Yeah, unfortunately for them/fortunately for the readership these things are never "one and done." And they really were trying very hard! Like I've said before, one of the things that made me keep thinking about the initial prompt was, how do you recover a sense of agency and autonomy when you've had your response changed for good? And that feeds into his reluctance to talk about it – although there's a little more to it than that. The ultimate road to "making it work" is going to be about feeling differently as much as doing the right things.

As always, thank you for your comments and I'm sorry for having been such a bum about replying!

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

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Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 8/?