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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The problem is that once they get their hands on each other they can’t stop. Or maybe it’s their saving grace. Either way, it’s how they get from a kiss in front of the mirror to grinding up against each other, Bucky’s left hand shoved down the back of Steve’s pants, dragging him closer, to Bucky hitching himself up onto the rim of the sink panting, “C’mon, don’t make me wait any longer.”

When he finally pushes into him, Bucky throws back his head and growls. Sweat coats every inch of his body. The lights around the mirror make him gleam. It’s as if his whole body is flexing as he takes Steve inch by torturous inch, the plates in his left arm rippling as they align and realign as he fucks himself up and down. Steve wants to drag him down onto the floor, pin him and bury himself so deep in Bucky’s body it’d feel like he’d never get free, fuck him until he stops biting his lip shut and Steve can hear how he really sounds, but instead he grabs onto Bucky’s hips to ground himself and follows the pace he sets, slow but brutally hard. The mirror rattles with every thrust. He can feel rivulets of sweat running down his own back, and when he catches a glimpse of his face over Bucky’s shoulder, he sees himself flushed down past his collarbone.

Bucky doesn’t make a noise when he orgasms – there’s a crack that must be his head hitting the mirror and he stripes come all the way up Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t last much longer, Bucky’s heels digging into the small of his back, urging him on.

They finally pull apart, and a chunk of granite countertop falls away when Bucky lifts his left hand. They stare at it for a moment. Steve bursts out laughing before Bucky does and they fall back into each other’s arms, breathless.

“Oh hell, what am I going to tell our landlord?” Steve manages gets a handle on himself.

“What landlord? Do you even pay any rent?”

“Tony charged me a dollar for a hundred-year lease,” he admitted.

“Well, I don’t think you’re getting your security deposit back,” Bucky snorts into his neck. “Who’s gonna come in here except me? And if they do, just tell ‘em you slipped on the bathmat and hit your thick skull against it, everyone’ll believe that.” A moment later he pulls back. “Lemme out, I gotta take a shower.”

“Skip the shower, come to bed with me.” They don’t have anywhere they have to be tomorrow, unless Steve has a world emergency.

“Steve, I can’t go to bed like this, I feel like a whore.”

They both stiffened up at the same time, but just as Steve reached out Bucky pushed him away. Again. There was rock dust on the tops of his bare feet and he was still loose and sleepy-feeling the way he got after sex but Steve could feel a hard ball of dread forming in his stomach because this was all happening again.

“Is that really how you feel?”

“Don’t make a scene,” Bucky snaps, “Just get into bed and forget about it.”

“I don’t think I can – just look at me, please?”

“Why? So you can hear more about it?” Bucky’s voice is rising, getting out of control. “Why are you so fucking obsessed with making me talk about it? Does it get you hard? Do you get off on getting me naked and making me humiliate myself?”

Steve feels himself get hot, then cold, then – something else. “I don’t know how you can even say that,” he finally manages. Then, “You’re right, maybe I should go.” If he stays, it’s going to get ugly.

Steve’s through the door and into his bedroom when he turns around. “Sometimes,” he says, fighting very hard to keep his voice level, “I really wonder if you mean half of that shit you say.”

Bucky kicks the door shut in his face.

In the hallway he gets a glimpse of the couch through the living room door and pauses. Less than an hour ago they were sitting side-by-side, not really watching a documentary on TV, the way you used to have the radio on in the background, Steve sketching and Bucky reading one of his ridiculous novels. Bucky had fallen asleep slumped against his shoulder and Steve had quietly drunk in the feeling of him, warmth and weight and soft breath on his neck. He had surreptitiously reached over and laced his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones, run his thumb over the plates in the back of his hand. Now, he slips into Bucky’s bedroom. There’s an extra toothbrush next to the sink, just the way there’s an extra one and a little pile of black rubber bands next to his, and they’re near enough in size not to make a difference when it comes to drawstring pants. He tucks himself in under Bucky’s blue-gray covers and pulls an extra pillow on top of his head, breathing in the scent. Steve swallows until the lump in his throat goes away.

A/N: Sorry for the short update, but I hope not to make you wait so long until next time!

Uaahhh feels feels feels

The contrast between seeing things work and then realizing they really don't, or not in the way you'd think they do - amazing gut punch material! <3

I keep watching that gif. It's mesmerizing. And I have so many questions. Who is the dude? How did they train that fish? Or was it a one-time occurrence? Will the fish just leap up and latch onto anyone's nipples nearby? Did the dude plan for this to happen? If so, why did he lurch out of frame? Was this a staged porno? How many people have jacked off to it? Is it technically sfw? Could the fish be CGI? What's with the tail wiggling as it tries to bore through his body? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck???

(gif link: https://38.media.tumblr.com/0f31aea9c1e5d866fc64347dd0276608/tumblr_nsxhd0HLGj1s2yegdo1_500.gif, of a fish leaping up from a tank and clinging to a naked man's nipple)

I DONT MIND THIS IS AMAZING SCREAMING SCREAMING FOREVER

(OP) Aw, I love these rollercoaster sex scenes. You emotional-whiplash me so good. I love their hot making-it-work sex and it was especially effective with the adorable banter (they're both such shits, especially Bucky with his "everyone'll believe that," omg I love them), and then -- well, I can't provide you with a series of emojis on here, but it would start with an angry face and end with crying. I feel bad for Bucky all the time, of course, but something about this fic makes me go POOR STEVE. Bucky's so guarded, and so ready to defend his fortifications, at the drop of a hat, with verbal acid -- okay I'm back to crying over him, there's something about characters who mess themselves up trying to protect themselves that gets me, this is such great characterization, but ANYWAY, STEVE -- and Steve just has no idea how to handle it.

I think it's really interesting character work; Steve has such willpower and he tends to bulldoze his way through problems, but he can't smash through the barbed wire surrounding Bucky without hurting him. It's the perfect terrible/great position to put him in. Steve just wants to talk it through and instead he keeps tripping Bucky's defense mechanisms. It's too sad to read about shit like Steve feeling dread the moment sex goes sideways, and Bucky kicking the door shut, and Steve sadly remembering affectionate snuggles, and falling asleep hugging something that smells like Bucky, like wtf? Why are you hurting my heart, I need it to live??

I will mention that I LOVE that Bucky feels dirty after sex. I am all about the complicated headspace you imply where he wants sex but sometimes it makes him feel the bad kind of nasty and it's tangled up with the interwoven aftereffects of his rapes and sometimes it seems like he wants to get those stories off his chest and other times he reacts like Steve is attacking him. It is so good. I love it so much.

It's really good until it's awful, isn't it? That warmth and passion is what's going to carry them through, but in the meantime..... The worst thing is that from Bucky's point of view, he let that slip because he was relaxed and happy and not watching what he said. The counterpart of that last scene is totally Bucky lying in Steve's bed going back and forth between beating himself up over getting careless and letting that slip because Steve isn't supposed to hear that shit and telling himself that look, Steve oughta know what he's getting into and it's not Bucky's fault if he can't handle it. It's possible that if that conversation had happened in the cold light of day when Bucky wasn't feeling emotionally and physically vulnerable it might have gone differently. But that would have required Steve just letting that comment slide and Steve is just not cut out to do that. It's not who he is.

As to what's going on in Bucky's head, well more about that later, but in short – vulnerability is scary, admitting that you were hurt and it's still fucking you up is scary, shame and desire are really powerful emotions. Why can't Steve just use him for sex and let him say degrading things about himself like normal people? And if Steve cares, does that mean that other people should have cared and didn't? Does mean they... could have not hurt him? Should have not hurt him? It's easier to pretend that it was right, and he wanted it, and Steve just has some kind of weird problem than to confront that.

~~You'll be fine without a heart, I lost mine a long time ago.~~

Honestly this thing is like 75% feels porn 25% porn porn for me.

I know, they're so close! They have so much going for them! But then unfortunately.... trash is forever.

Can't wait! \o/

Why can't Steve just use him for sex and let him say degrading things about himselflike normal people?

*wounded noise* Everything about how thoroughly Bucky has normalized and internalized his abuse, and the worldview imparted thereof, is emotional catnip to me. And it's interesting; he knows it did hurt him and he doesn't want that kind of treatment anymore (like this, calling it humiliation, or when he steers Steve away from upsetting things in bed), but at the same time that's not enough to allow him to accept it was wrong.

[Aaaand… it’s done! I hope the ending was worth the wait. We’ve definitely come full circle, because Bucky’s tmi-ing like whoa in the final two chapters. ;) Thank you so much for sticking with me!]

14 Bucky

He’s too late.

Looks like Wilson already reported him, and as expected, Steve’s furious. His cheeks are flushed from what must have been a heated argument, and behind him there’s damage to the furniture. He calls out Bucky’s name, steps forward to seize him, but then seems to change his mind.

Bucky tenses, hyper-aware of his body, of all the ways it’s not nearly as unbreakable as he’d like. If Steve decides to make up for lost time while he’s in this mood, there’s gonna be real damage. Bucky’s stomach churns. He cannot fuck this up.

"I thought you knew," he blurts out, eyes fixed on Steve. "I didn’t tell you because I thought you knew."

A drop of water trickles down his neck. He rushed up here straight from the shower, didn’t even towel off properly in the wild hope of catching Wilson before he had time to talk to Steve. Tough luck. Now he’s got to convince both of them that they can’t use him the way HYDRA did. He’s got to think on his feet.

"I knew what, Buck?" Steve’s voice is tight. Ah, for god’s sake, he’s playing innocent. Bucky’s so sick of the games.

"You know damn well what," he grinds out between clenched teeth. He glares at Wilson, who stands a few steps back. "You’re gonna pretend you didn’t tell him 'bout last night?" Bucky’s face burns at the memory. He’s painfully aware that he probably just interrupted Wilson impersonating his pathetic begging. He squares his jaw and shoots Wilson the most contemptuous glance he can muster. "Bet you had the time of your life watching me grovel at your feet like a fucking dog. Of course you told him." Bucky screws up his nose, snorts as Wilson’s expression crumbles.

Steve’s eyes dart between the two of them. "Wait, what…"

"James," Wilson chimes in, "Just – before you say anything further: Yeah, I told Steve we had a run-in yesterday, and that you thought you had to offer sexual favors. That’s about it. If you don’t wanna say any more than that, then I won’t either, to no one. Up to you."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "What, you got something to hide?" Like hell. It’s not Bucky’s fault he didn’t get to give Wilson a proper apology. Not that he minds, but. He’s not willing to take the blame. "I offered," he says, turning to Steve. "I hope he told you that? I offered, and it was him who turned me down."

"Yeah," Steve murmurs. A shudder goes through him, and he straightens up. "God, Buck, when I said apologize, I never meant –"

They’re blaming him. It’s obvious from the hard line of Steve’s mouth, the disappointment in his eyes: they found his performance lacking. "I did all I could!" Bucky cries out. He’s dizzy from the vicious tangle of dread and anger in his gut. They’re not gonna listen. They’ve already passed judgement before he even entered the room.

"I knelt," Bucky spits, "For him. I knew he was out for revenge, but I got on my knees anyway." Bucky can’t help the ugly noise that rips from his throat. "You don’t know what that’s like! You never had to lick anybody’s boots, have you?" He half expects a punch to the stomach for the mere suggestion, but Steve squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

"No," Bucky says, "Didn’t think so." He bares his teeth. "It’s not just going through the motions. It’s ugly. It hurts. Did you know I’m human enough to feel that?"

Steve’s mouths drops open. "Of course you are." Bucky sees Steve’s hands tremble before they turn into white knuckled fists. Bucky braces himself.

"Yeah, so don’t tell me I wasn’t trying hard enough!" He wants to gouge Wilson’s eyes out for seeing him like that. "And I was joking when I said you’ve got to keep it to my mouth," he says instead, not quite truthfully. It sounds less pathetic that way. "Since when is that even my decision?! If you’re actually using that against me, you’re being fucking ridiculous."

Steve’s gone very, very still, and Wilson raises his hands in submission. "Hey, nobody’s blaming you for anything. Quite the opposite." His voice is wrapped in that soft tone that’s usually a prelude to pain. (Shh, sit down, hold on tight. We’ll make the delusions go away.)

"It’s us who fucked up, not you. Nobody realized you’d have a completely different understanding of an apology, you know? We usually just say sorry."

Yeah, Bucky thinks, Like people do. And they counted him in until yesterday, until he gave himself away. But he’s not letting go of the best chance he’s ever had that easily. "So do I," he states. He aims for a casual tone, silently reminding himself that their file on him is incomplete. If he’s convincing enough, he can sell them anything.

"I gave you the wrong idea with my little act yesterday," he tells Wilson. "I felt bad for attacking you, and I was excited about the mission training. I wanted to make sure you’d be okay with me joining, so I… went overboard. What I did, that’s not my usual protocol." He shrugs at Steve, who nods gravely. Wilson stays silent, but Bucky knows he doesn’t buy it. No wonder, considering everything Bucky told him about his secondary function.

"It’s true that I’ve been providing sexual services for my superiors in the past," he says, because he’s not getting out of that one anyway. "Wasn’t a regular thing though. You know how it is, no matter how careful you are, there’s always a chance of damage." He forces a laugh up his throat, but nobody joins in. "So, um. As a soldier, I usually got sent out when nobody else could handle it," he continues. "Believe me, you want your best weapon to be battle ready at all times."

"You’re not a weapon," Steve says, a sharp edge to his voice that makes Bucky straighten his back. "You’re not a thing." Not a thing, not a machine. (Think of him as an animal rather than a machine. If you value your life, you gotta show him who’s boss)

Bucky’s head hurts. It’d been a mistake to sleep all night. He hadn’t rested that much in weeks, and now the rampant flashes of memories get more frequent than ever. He shakes them off angrily. He’s more than a filthy animal. Or he could be, if they let him.

"I know what I said," he continues, glancing at Wilson. "But I wanted to get you going, so – " he shrugs. "I’ve only been ordered to provide stress relief a couple of times, when there was no other option available. But people like hearing how I can’t get enough, right? So I exaggerated."

Wilson shakes his head, "You don’t have to justify yourself to me, man."

Steve seems discontent. His mouth is twisted to a thin, hard line. "They like hearing…" His voice breaks off as he clamps his mouth shut. "Stress relief."

Bucky shrugs. "Yeah, to come down after a mission. A reward for the team."

Steve just stares, and Bucky feels his cheeks heat up. His headache’s getting worse, but he needs to focus. "I follow orders," he says defensively. "My opinion doesn’t matter. But just to be clear, I never enjoyed it. I’m not like that, I – I never got off on it." (Wanna see something weird? He totally loves it. No kidding, lick his neck or some shit and watch him lose it)

"Of course not!" Steve exclaims, sounding offended at the mere suggestion. Bucky wants to crawl out of his dirty skin.

Wilson shrugs. "Physical reactions mean nothing though, right?"

Bucky’s stomach coils. Wilson’s seen him brought so low, no wonder he’s not falling for his cheap excuses now. (Struggle all you want, you know you need it. If we didn’t take care of you, you’d go wild. You’d be humping the furniture left and right in no time)

Bucky shudders, wills the memories away. Bad enough they taunt him at night, whisper to him as he digs holes into the blanket, praying for the footsteps to pass by his door, just tonight, just one more time. Hypocrite. It’s his duty to provide sexual services. More than that: his purpose. That’s why his body craves it – he’s been going without for long enough now to know that with sick certainty. There’s no denying the growing hunger of his skin. And yet he’s risking everything trying to cheat his way out.

Bucky licks his lips. He thinks of Steve’s warm body cradling him close, of the traitorous weight stirring between his legs from nothing but Steve’s breath on his naked skin. No. He’s got to fight it. He can’t lose his mind like they said he would. "I didn’t like it and I never got off on it," he repeats, but even he hears the edge of desperation in his own voice.

Wilson raises his hands. "Understood. Just saying human bodies react kinda unpredictable sometimes, no harm done."

Bucky shivers. Wilson knows. He’s like the Widow, they make you underestimate them to get into your head and – Bucky’s going to be exposed. The sudden certainty is like a needle, puncturing the ever growing lump inside his chest. His lungs flood with ice cold horror. No, no, no. Steve can’t see that he’s made to be used, that he’s been lying to spare himself. They’re gonna make sure he’ll never forget his place again, they’ll let everybody have a go and he’s gonna scream himself hoarse and underneath his carefully crafted human mask there’s nothing but raw animal shrieks and his headache’s killing him he can’t think he’s – (Howl all you want, should’ve thought about that before you attacked me) (Ask for it ask for it look at that fucking animal he loves it come on say thank you kiss it kiss it are you okay Bucky it’s alright do you hear me)

Steve’s back hits the wall with a crack, metal hand clamped around his throat.

"Don’t touch me!" Bucky knocks Steve’s head against the wall with each word; thud, thud, thud. Not much more than a wheeze comes out of Steve’s mouth, but Bucky recognizes his name. "B-cky. M-s-rry."

Steve. He’s with Steve, he’s attacking Steve – they’re gonna put him in the chair for this. Everything he’s worked so hard for, they – Steve doubles over as Bucky drops him. Wilson’s behind him, ready to attack, backup’s gonna come through the door on his right – no way in hell can he take all of them down. The intel he’s collected, his chance to end this someday, he’ll lose it, he’ll lose everything.

"I didn’t mean to do that!" Bucky whispers feverishly. His eyes dart towards the glass wall. Ninety-second floor. There’s the tracker, and even if he lives, he won’t be in any shape to run. But if he stays, the punishment… and at nights before a wipe, the usual rules don’t apply. God, no.

"Buck," Steve rasps, getting back to his feet.

The wingpack. They tested Wilson’s new waterproof wings at the pool, and didn’t he come straight up here from the training? There, leaning against to sofa. Bucky’s heart races.

"Ssh, it’s okay," Steve says. Nothing is okay. This is insane. Best case he’s gonna steal SHIELD property, worst case he’s gonna destroy it. He swallows. Either way, he’s gonna break the rules one more time.

He dives for the backpack, flips and runs up full speed towards the glass panel. The moment his shoulder collides with the window, something hits his side full force, throwing him off balance. There’s a sick crack as his head breaks a floorboard, and the dull pain behind his temple explodes into a nauseating firework. The last thing he feels as his vision goes black is someone pushing him down, pinning his hands in a death grip. It’s over.

15.1 Steve

While Steve waits for Bucky to wake, he might as well clean up the mess they’ve made of the room. He picks up a broken plate and various chunks of what used to be kitchen furniture. Nothing to be done about the wall. He wipes the floor. Makes tea. Reminds himself that he’s gonna have to assure Bucky that yeah, of course it’s for free. He’s sick again, but this time makes it to the sink. Brushes his teeth. You never had to lick anybody’s boots, have you? He drinks the tea too hot, sets the rest of it on the table. Bucky hasn’t moved from the couch, chest slowly rising and falling under the thin blanket.

Steve forces himself to stop pacing and settles into the armchair. Every time he looks, the dark bruise on Bucky’s temple has shifted further towards purple. He’s healing, but the fact he got knocked out at all is painful evidence of the dire state he’s in. It’s no surprise. I’m not hungry until you say I am.

Steve rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his face. Besides the lack of food and water, and his brain struggling to undo decades worth of damage, Bucky must have lived in a constant state of stress. He never showed any weakness, but who knows if he even slept at all, expecting torture and rape any moment.

A wave of dread rolls up Steve’s stomach: Was that why Bucky kept insisting to be signed up for field work? You want your best weapon to be battle ready at all times.

Another piece of the horrible puzzle falls into place. The missions itself were never the point – Bucky’d been fighting for a reason to be kept in good physical condition. So that they couldn’t just – Steve squeezes his eyes shut. And he’d turned Bucky down every single time. How often has he told Bucky it wasn’t important? And Bucky’d merely pressed his lips together and looked away.

Steve shivers. What must have gone through Bucky’s head when Steve reached for him then? He feels the warm skin of Bucky’s neck under his lips, remembers planting apologetic kisses there. Bucky’d probably counted the seconds until he could scrub himself clean afterwards. Steve gags. What kind of man doesn’t realize his touch is unwanted? You’re glowing, Peg had said. What’ve you been up to?

Steve dashes for the sink again, but there’s nothing left in his stomach. He washes his face with cold water till his hands go numb, then presses them against where his throat still throbs from being grabbed by metal fingers. Bucky should have given him a few punches to the gut too, for good measure. Couple of dozen or so. Steve sucks in a steadying breath, turns and – he jumps. He hasn’t heard Bucky get up.

He stands with his back to Steve, facing the window. After a moment’s hesitation, Steve walks up from the side, making sure Bucky notices him approach. He stops at more than arm’s length. "Hey," he says softly.

Bucky acknowledges him with a side glance before looking back outside. He raises his hand, the right one, and runs his thumb over the crack his shoulder left in the glass.

"Yeah," Steve says, clearing his throat to make his voice sound less hoarse. "Can you believe they call that security glass? Stark should ask for his money back." He makes a dismissive gesture that suddenly feels awkward, drops his hands and shoves them into his pockets. Bucky exhales deeply and doesn’t move.

"Sam offers his apologies," Steve says quickly before the silence festers. He tilts his chin in the direction of Bucky’s torso, where most of the bruises must be hiding underneath his t-shirt. "When he saw you going for the window, he grabbed my shield and full-body dodged you. You hit your head pretty bad." Steve chews at his bottom lip. He’s supposed to avoid upsetting Bucky, but he refuses to lie to him. What Bucky deserves more than anything right now is honesty. So he says, "Buck, I get what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I startled you into it. I made the wrong call reaching out when you were obviously disoriented." He feels Bucky’s eyes on him again.

"But Bucky, the wingpack… Sam suggested a couple of tweaks to the generators after the test run. Everything that makes those wings fly is spread out on Stark’s workbench right now."

If Bucky’s shocked, he doesn’t show it. Steve prays he’ll never have to see an expression like that on Sam’s face again, and he himself has firmly postponed even thinking about the incident, but Bucky… if anything, he looks tired. Steve shifts his weight. "So erm, Sam’s with Natasha, we can join them later if you wan–"

"What happens to me now?" Bucky turns to Steve, eyes dropping to his throat and flicking back up quickly. Oh. Steve realizes he’s probably bruised, too.

"It’s alright," he hurries to say. "Dunno if you remember, but I used to have worse all the time." He gives a sorry excuse of a laugh.

"Don’t reset me." Bucky works his jaw. "Do what you have to do, but don’t–" he tips his fingers against his temple and makes a frustrated sound.

"Reset you," Steve echoes, flexing his hands. "You mean –" His breath rushes out of him as Bucky grabs him by the wrist, holding on tightly. It’s the right hand; clammy and hot. Steve hardly dares to breathe, afraid to scare him off.

"I can be trained," Bucky says, eyes boring into Steve’s. "You don’t have to start over every time I fuck up. It’s a waste of time and resources, and there are other ways now."

Oh Jesus. Of course Bucky’s worried about being brainwashed again, even though Steve told him several times that all those torture devices had been destroyed. He wracks his brain for a way to make Bucky believe it.

"At HYDRA, we’ve been testing conditioning techniques," Bucky says. "It works." He frowns at Steve. "I know I can’t grasp morals the way you guys do, and I can’t control my impulses. But I can be trained not to do bad things! I don’t need to understand, you just … you gotta make sure I connect bad behavior with pain and –"

"Bucky!"

"Please!" Bucky’s hand tightens around Steve’s wrist. "Please listen. Yeah, it takes some repetition, and I can’t ask you to let me attack you again and again until I learn, but I promise, if you see this through I won’t be able to even think about hurting you again! If you wipe me, nothing changes."

Steve feels sick all over again, dizzy with images of Bucky being hurt and told it’s because he can’t keep himself in check. As if he was some kind of beast, not human enough to see reason. And god, those sick bastards, that’s just like them, but Bucky – Bucky believes it. How could anyone believe that? And how on earth has Steve not noticed?

"You don’t even need special equipment," Bucky says, "l remember – ah. Look." Bucky guides Steve’s hand to his stomach and Steve tenses as Bucky rucks his shirt up. He’s about to draw his hand away, but Bucky merely places Steve’s fingertips on a rough patch of skin, about an inch left of his navel. "Here. Do you feel that?"

It’s something Steve’s noticed on himself: even though his scars are hardly visible, the skin feels different there. "Yeah," he murmurs. He owes it to Bucky to look, no matter how much dread’s bubbling up inside him. He never used to be a coward. He’s not starting now.

"Yeah, I feel it." Steve traces the outline with his thumb. It goes from Bucky’s waistband almost up to his navel, where it makes a sharp turn, giving it a kind of flipped v-shape. "What happened?" Steve asks. He realizes Bucky’s holding his breath, so he withdraws his hand quickly.

Bucky smoothes his shirt down. "Flat iron," he says. "Safehouse. We were improvising. I was lying on my back, and each session, they gave me a page from the newspaper – weird stuff, weather and horoscope and so on. I was supposed to read it out loud and they –" he gestures down, "held that there until I was done."

"Wha –" Steve’s mouth drops. "Why?"

"Because it works," Bucky says. "Or did you catch me steal any newspapers lately?" He cocks his eyebrow. "You can search my room. Ask JARVIS. I don’t even skim the headlines when they’re lying around. Sounds good, huh?"

"Sounds horrible," Steve whispers. "Buck, I swear, nobody is gonna try to train you ever again."

Bucky’s expression hardens. "You don’t think I can learn? The goddamn guard dogs can be trained, and you think I can’t?" The plates of his arm click and hiss. "You have no idea of the things I can do! You just grab stuff so HYDRA can’t have it, but you don’t bother to find out how it even works. Do you think I was created knowing how to fight like this? How to disable alarm systems, how to drive, how to fly? Hell no. I learn new stuff all the time!"

"Of course you do!" Steve’s voice raises almost to Bucky’s volume.

"And more than that," Bucky spits, "I can improvise! I adapt! Look at me, I have human parts! I’m alive, look at me!" Bucky’s clamps his mouth shut, holds back with visible effort. His fists tremble with how hard he’s clenching them.

"I’m looking" Steve says, fiercely over Bucky’s ragged breathing. "And you know what I see? I see my best friend. A good man who’s been tortured and brainwashed until he forgot who he was. But that doesn’t make it any less true!" Bucky frowns at him.

"Hey." Steve raises his arm carefully, squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. "I don’t know what HYDRA told you, but they lied. They lied, Buck. You’re a person, human head to toe, I promise. And for what they did to you they’ll never see the light of day again." Bucky swallows, and for a moment Steve thinks he’s getting through to him. "They way they treated you, it felt wrong, didn’t it? That’s 'cause it was. Come on, Buck! You deserve so much better."

"Stop it!" Bucky shakes Steve’s hand off, and Steve jerks back at the look of pure hatred on his face.

"God, I used to suck that up." Bucky’s voice is acid. "How often did you do that to me? Hm? Three times, four times… every time?" He screws his eyes shut. "I was so stupid."

"Buck, I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"I remember now." Bucky makes a sound that could have been a laugh if he’d put any more effort into it. "You always swept in when things were rough. My savior." Bucky shakes his head. "You know that the guards thought you were crazy when you ordered them to unlock my restraints, right? But you were not afraid."

As quickly as it had come, the hostility drains from his face. Instead, he smiles almost ruefully, glancing over at Steve with a strange fondness in his eyes. God knows what he sees, because none of what he says makes sense.

"You mean… in Austria?" Steve asks. "When I broke you out of Schmidt’s facility?"

Bucky shrugs. "I don’t know where. Many places. When I’d been malfunctioning, there was nothing but the lab for me anywhere." He turns back to the window, watches the tiny figures on the street below. His brow is wrinkled in thought. "You got me out of there whenever possible," he says. "Upstairs, to your private rooms. I tried to act as if I was used to being treated like a guest, and you let me. That was… that was good."

He keeps his gaze fixed outside, starts tapping his fingers against the glass in a soft rhythm. "I never really talked much, did I? You must have wondered if I even understood everything you said. I did. Got your jokes, too." Bucky hums. "I liked them. Guess I should have laughed. Should have talked, too, and I… I shouldn’t have played down how grateful I was." He sighs. "I realized too late. When your visits became rarer and rarer, I kept scolding myself because I let you lose interest." He wipes his palms on his thighs. "Could have spared myself the effort, right? There was an expiry date on your little experiment right from the start."

Steve can hardly bear the miserable look on Bucky’s face. He’s wrecks his brain. Bucky’s not delusional, he’s just… he gets things confused. It’s not unlikely HYDRA planted someone with him to get him back on track when he was acting up. Steve realizes with a sharp twinge of pain how vulnerable Bucky would have been to anybody who pretended to care. "Buck, listen. I know you’re telling the truth, but that man wasn’t me."

"Don’t deny it!" Bucky reels around. "Shut up, or I swear I’ll kick the teeth right out of your lying mouth. Your people can take me apart limb for limb afterwards, but you won’t play your sick games ever again."

Steve falls silent. For now. He hopes JARVIS doesn’t pick that up as an actual threat, because he can handle himself, thanks very much.

"That’s what it was, right?" Bucky’s eyes narrow. "A game. Once I’d completed whatever mission you sent me on, there was no reason to keep pretending. Everything you did after that was for your own amusement." He looks at Steve with unaltered disgust now. "Bet you had fun watching me fall all over myself trying to win your favor back. Do you really get off on that stuff you made me do, or were you just trying to see how far you could push me?" He laughs bitterly. "Were you surprised that there was no end?"

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. The self-hatred in Bucky’s expression is gutting. "You had no choice," Steve says, feeling ridiculously inadequate. Bucky sneers.

"I had. For once I had, and look how I used it! All that sweet talk you gave me before things went to hell: that HYDRA didn’t realize my full potential, that they treated me wrong. I wanted that back so bad because somehow I’d made up my mind that if you believed it, I could believe it too." He licks his lips. "Ironic, isn’t it? All of HYDRA didn’t manage to degrade me the way I did when I tried to be more. God, pathetic."

"No," Steve whispers, "Human." Bucky’s eyes measure him in a way that makes Steve distantly wonder where Sam put his shield. Doesn’t matter.

"I don’t want anything that’s not real anymore," Bucky says. "I’m not like you, or them, and I can never be. But I’m not that either." He straightens up. Out of his pocket, he fishes a crumpled energy bar. Steve recognizes it as the one Bucky took from his kitchen yesterday. He gives it one last look, then throws it back to Steve. "Keep your little bribes. Keep your kindness and your promises. If you want something from me, you gotta take it. I’m done crawling."

Steve wipes his eyes angrily. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah, you are. Buck, I swear, anybody who wants to hurt you gotta get over my dead body."

Bucky coughs up a joyless laugh. "Your dead body is of no use to me. All that big talk, there’s never anything behind it." He smiles sickly-sweet. "You really wanna help, you can volunteer to take my place next time a bunch of drunk guys ignore the rules and drag me out to play a round of 'Who can make him scream’." Bucky snorts. "No? Who’d have thought."

The image hits Steve right in the stomach. "I would," he blurts, and jumps as Bucky shouts at him.

"You have no idea what you’re talking about!"

Steve squares his jaw, looks at him through red rimmed eyes. "I’m not failing you again."

Bucky seems to barely keep himself from punching Steve straight in the face. "You don’t care about me! All you care about is the power of having something deadly bare its throat at the snap of your finger!"

"Buck, please! I never worked for HYDRA, the man who did this to you wasn’t me," Steve blurts out against better judgement. "We grew up together! Don’t you remember any of that?" He raises his hands in an imploring gesture. "Listen to yourself, Buck. You came rushing in earlier, all worked up because you thought I had the wrong idea about what HYDRA did to you. And now you’re accusing me of being part of it? You’re not making sense!"

"No," Bucky cries, "Stop it!" His posture shifts, ready to attack, but there’s no mistaking the look of fear on his face. "You’re all trying to trick me! Whenever I say something you don’t like, you’re telling me that I’m going crazy, but it’s you, you’re messing with my head!" His chest heaves with the effort of keeping his breathing in check. Steve hates to see Bucky suffer, but he wouldn’t lash out like this if he wasn't scared by the fault in his own logic. They might be getting somewhere.

"The people who did that to you are gone," Steve says firmly. "And there’s nothing wrong with your head. In fact, your brain’s doing a pretty impressive job self-healing, don’t you think? But it’s gotta work through decades of stolen memories, and they’re not returning chronologically. Of course you’re confused! I know it’s hard, but you gotta give yourself time. It’s gonna be okay." Bucky shivers, obviously unsure what to do.

"You’re safe here," Steve continues. "I’m sorry that you thought you weren’t. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. I can’t make that right, but I swear, I’d never hurt you on purpose. Please, Buck. You’re mistaking me for someone else."

Bucky makes a desperate sound. He raises his fists, but doesn’t engage. He just stands there, panting, pain etched all over his face.

"It’s okay," Steve whispers, "You’re safe. It’s over." Carefully, he takes a step closer. In the blink of an eye, Bucky grabs Steve’s shirt with both hands. He growls, and for a second Steve expects to be thrown across the room, but Bucky doesn’t go through with it. Instead, he lets out a shaky breath and hangs his head. He stays like that, hunched over and clinging to Steve. The muscles of Bucky's shoulders are taut as hell, and Steve carefully moves a hand between his shoulder blades. Beneath the damp fabric, Steve feels tremors running through him. Steve rests his chin on Bucky’s head. "It’s going to be okay," he murmurs into Bucky’s hair.

—

After that, Bucky stops fighting. He lets Steve guide him to sit on the couch, wordlessly takes the cup of cold tea Steve pours and presses into his hands.

"Okay," Steve says. "I listened to you, now you listen to me. I know talk is cheap, and you’ve been lied to for decades. It must seem insane to trust me. So don’t." Bucky looks up at him.

Steve nods. "You don’t have to believe what the people here tell you. All I’m asking is that you take a good look at what they do, 'kay? Because there won’t be any punishments, no touches you don’t want, I promise." God, Steve wishes he could speed this up for Bucky, but it seems he oughta be glad if Bucky even agrees to take the long road.

"Since you’ve been here, you’ve done things HYDRA wouldn’t have liked, right? You told me about taking water from the sink. I’m sure there was more." Bucky tenses.

"No, that’s good," Steve insists quickly. "I want you to do that whenever you feel up to it." Bucky’s frown deepens. "Don’t hurt anybody," Steve says, "But… disobey. Not gonna lie: it won’t be easy, but you can start with little things. Talk whenever you want to. Take water, take food. Break the rules and watch as nothing bad’s gonna happen." Steve tries a lopsided smile. "Rinse and repeat."

Bucky looks at the floor, worrying the cup in his hands. "I know it takes a lot of guts," Steve says, "but if anybody can do it, it’s you." Bucky shrugs minutely. The cup clinks as he keeps tapping it with a metal finger. After a while, he gives a small nod. Steve smiles.

15.2 Bucky

It must be a trick. Of course it is. Logically, he knows it, but that weak, pathetic part inside him has already sunk its teeth into the dream of some other, glorious life. Again. Great, whatever comes, he fucking deserves it.

"So, what now?" he murmurs. Steve beams at him as if he’s reinvented gravity.

"Whatever you want. That’s the entire point, right? But uh… how about dinner?"

Bucky swallows saliva. How long is this charade gonna last – a couple of days, weeks even? Who cares if it’s not permanent. Nothing is, but the food tonight’s gonna be just as real for it. Right, what’s he even fretting about? He’ll jump at the opportunity and make the most of it as long as he can. And maybe, if he uses his chance well, keeps collecting security codes and construction plans and all intel he can get his hands on… Maybe when Steve decides it’s over, Bucky will be ready to put up a real fight.

"Sounds good," he murmurs. Steve pours himself the rest of the tea, eyes still shining wetly. He flashes Bucky a goofy smile. "Let’s drink to that."

Bucky looks down at his own cup. He’s made the decision to go along with this, and he’s had his eyes on the tea for a while, but his hand’s not moving and his heart starts hammering against his ribs so hard he feels dizzy. Get a grip, he scolds himself, they’re not setting this whole thing up just to come cashing in right away.

He manages to gulp down the tea eventually, but of course Steve has noticed him struggle. Heat shoots into Bucky’s cheeks as Steve lays a hand on his forearm and squeezes. The ground, as always, does not have the decency to swallow him. Bucky clears his throat. "At what third-rate place you gotta clink glasses with tea?"

Steve laughs. He taps Bucky’s arm one last time, then lets go and walks over to the kitchenette.

Bucky feels the loss immediately. Fuck, maybe that’s the trick. What better way to remind him of his place than to let him play human for a while? All they gotta do is wait till he comes crawling back, begging to be put to proper use. No. Like hell is he gonna give them that satisfaction.

Bucky watches Steve rummage through the fridge, rubs his forearm absently like he could scratch away the itch for touch. He’s got to be strong now, prolong this game the best he can and use his new freedom to gain power. It’s gonna be hard, but he won’t allow anybody to touch him, not at all, true to the story he dished up. He’s used to pain, he’s used to starving. He can do this. He has to.

When Steve returns, Bucky does not allow his gaze to linger on his hands, or his perfectly flushed lips. He forces himself to meet his eyes, and as Steve hands him a brown bottle, Bucky makes sure their fingers don’t brush.

"To you," Steve says. "To a new life."

Bucky nods. "A new life," he says, and lets the bottles click.

The first thing I'm gonna tell you is a big THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THIS THING OF THE PUREST FUCKED-UP BEAUTY. Your story ripped my heart from my chest, smashed it to million pieces, glued them together and smashed again. The way you show characters through small details, all those twists and interpretations and flashbacks and... *insert muffled pterodactyl screeches here*. I just can't find right words. This fic is perfect, you are perfect. Thank you.

Aaaand the second one. May I ask your permission to translate this fic into Russian, please? Of course, a link to the original story will be posted with a translation (if you prefer to stay anonymous, I'll link it to this thread; if you are going to post it on AO3, I'll link it as well). And as soon as the translation would be finished, I'll send you a link to it if you want me to.

This fic is incredible. These last few parts ripped my heart out and made me legit tear up. Bucky's pain is so raw and visceral, he's just this giant ball of confused rage and shame and terror, and I just want to reach through the screen and hug him for about a year and feed him cookies and donuts and pizza and other nice things. And water. Plenty of water, too. And offer him a nice safe space to hide in for sleeping.

Congrats. I'm so turned on and also so distraught, and it is all the fault of this fic!

*offers you my whole tiny trash kingdom*

Oh man, such a lovely and painful ending! Steve thinks that Bucky's on the mend, while Bucky's just changed the game to "as long as I don't beg to be touched they'll let me have things." Cue all sorts of touch angst for Steve and Bucky!!

And Pierce (that bastard) would be sooooo proud to know that he's permanently ruined Bucky's ability to trust the things that Steve says.

SUCH GOOD TRASH.

Bucky coughs up a joyless laugh. "Your dead body is of no use to me. All that big talk, there’s never anything behind it." He smiles sickly-sweet. "You really wanna help, you can volunteer to take my place next time a bunch of drunk guys ignore the rules and drag me out to play a round of 'Who can make him scream’." Bucky snorts. "No? Who’d have thought."

I read this, and I remembered a necrophiliac!Rumlow fill I read once on the meme, and then my mind went to, "Well actually, Steve's dead body might be of use to the Bucky of that universe," and then I realized that I am well and truly a terrible person with a space reserved in hell.

On another note! This whole fic is so amazingly well written. I love this Bucky, how simultaneously angry yet unable to comprehend his ability to do something about that beyond tiny little flares of rebellion he is. I am off to cry buckets of tears now and then comfort myself with thoughts of Bucky slowly learning to regain trust in Steve and the others, possibly while cuddling lots of stuffed animals and eating lots of ice cream.

Thank you so much! <3

I have to clean this up a bit before I post it on the AO3, but I definitely plan to! Not sure when I'll get around to it. But don't let that stop you, if you want to translate it, that's amazing. Just link back here till then. Maybe we'll win some new people over for the dumpster. ;D

The worst is he'd probably enjoy all the hugs and nice things you offer if his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. It's a great setup for the "Bucky jerks it to nasty shit" sequel I dream of writing though, heh. But I'm going to take a little break from writing rn, finishing this haunted me for weeks and I need to gather motivation. Or maybe stick to oneshots. ;D

Thank you so much!

On the upside, Bucky *is* on the mend. A bit of pep talk won't suffice, but it's a start in the right direction. Alas, the road to the top is paved with pain and trash. ^^

And Pierce, ha. He'd be endlessly fascinated by the long-term effects of his little games.

I read this, and I remembered a necrophiliac!Rumlow fill I read once on the meme, and then my mind went to, "Well actually, Steve's dead body might be of use to the Bucky of that universe," and then I realized that I am well and truly a terrible person with a space reserved in hell.

*pets shoulder* Nonnie, you stay exactly the way you are, the dumpster needs people like you.

Thank you for the permission :)

I believe there is already a line of people who will happily dive into the dumpster :D

!!! I love this story. Thank you so much for writing.

My pleasure! <3

Steve had thought they’d work their way up to the hard stuff over a few weeks or months. He would prove to Bucky over and over again that it was safe until at last Bucky opened up to him, or at least didn’t hit out when pressed. But he supposes they really aren’t cut out for taking it slow. Steve doesn’t feel angry by the time he storms into the living room. Instead it’s the same grim calm that takes over when a mission goes belly-up. They’re going to work this out. There’s simply no other option.

Bucky looks up from his novel, opens his mouth to says something and shut it when he sees Steve’s face.

Steve slams the handgun down on the coffee table and watches Bucky’s expression fly from shock, show a fleeting moment of what might be fear, and finally set in anger when he demands, “You went through my dresser?”

For one wild moment Steve considers saying yes just to see what would happen – would it be better or worse if he met Bucky’s expectations? – but this has to be about the truth. “No, you left your laundry in my room last night so I washed it with mine. I was trying to put your socks away.”

Bucky tosses his head back with an easy manner that Steve can see right through. “So what, you’re my parole officer now? ‘Cause nobody told me that there were any terms.”

“I don’t give a damn about the gun, keep it on your night stand for all I care. Buy twenty and hang them on your wall! What matters is I had no idea, and I live with you! I know you want your privacy. You want to keep what’s personal to yourself. And I’ve tried to understand that. But I live with you, I sleep with you, and you still won’t trust me with anything and it’s killing me, Bucky. Half the time I don’t know what you’re thinking, I don’t know what you’re feeling, I don’t even know what you do all day!”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Steve throws up his hands. “There’s the problem. Right there. All I’m asking is for one simple fact and even that’s too much.”

Bucky leans forward, and something earnest in his face catches Steve’s attention. “No, I mean I can’t tell you.” It takes Steve a moment to process the weight of his words.

“And I guess everything else is classified too, huh?” It’s a nasty jab and Steve knows it.

“You know what,” Bucky starts, voice raised and lip curled. Then Steve watches him gather himself, or maybe let go. The aggressiveness and the fake arrogance bleed away, and when he sits back in the chair he looks tired and a little nervous. “What do you want to know?” he asks more quietly.

“I just want to know that you trust me, Bucky. That I can trust you.”

“How can I prove that? What do you want me to do?” Bucky tugs nervously at the hem of his shirt, and Steve has just enough time to think Not some fucked-up sex thing before he asks “Do you want me on the table? Over your knee?” His eyes flick to the gun and Jesus Christ, Steve doesn’t even want to think about what that might mean.

“I want you,” Steve says firmly and clearly, “To talk to me. I want you to listen to what I say to you. And I want you to try and believe me.”

Bucky sounds half-way back to normal when he waves a hand at the couch. “Sit down, I’m gonna get a crick in my neck looking up at you.” They end up sitting kitty-corner to each other, close enough that their knees would bump if Steve moved forward, they could hold hands if – if they did that.

“I’m sorry about the gun,” Bucky says abruptly.

“The gun isn’t what matters. But thank you.”

“I don’t see why the other stuff matters, though. You really meant what you said the other night?” he demands. “It really doesn’t do anything for you? Because it would be okay if it did. You wouldn’t be the first one. I get it.”

“No you don’t.” This time Steve can’t keep his voice from rising. “I care about you. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“You can forgive me,” Bucky says venomously, “if I find it hard to believe that you’d get with someone who used to try and suck enough dick to earn the privilege of getting one up the ass if it didn’t turn your crank, not that you seem to mind the party tricks I picked up –”

“No,” Steve cuts him off, “You’re not going to do this. I am not going to play this game again. You’ll tell me I don’t want to hear about it and then you’ll kick it in my face. You want to know what I think? I think you’re scared. And you think if you can drive me away then you won’t have to think about it anymore. But you’re wrong, because you can’t keep secrets and lie to yourself forever and because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me. So we might as well start talking. And since you asked,” he goes on, “Yes. I would. I don’t care about what anyone did to you. I don’t care what they made you do. I don’t care what you might’ve done yourself when you were in your right mind. I don’t even care about the sex, not if you wanted to stop. I care about you, Bucky. And I hope you care about me.”

There’s a long silence, then Bucky swallows and says, somewhat thickly, “My ma used to say that you’d argue with a locked door.” Steve just shrugs, because contrary to popular belief he won’t argue with anything that’s true. “I got one condition,” he goes on. “You don’t argue with me. I mean, if I use a word you don’t like or maybe I tell something like a joke, you don’t have to laugh but you do have to let me tell it.”

Steve opens his mouth to say I’m not gonna let you put yourself down like that, I’m not gonna let you tell it like it’s funny because it’s not funny. Instead he says, “I’ll try if you try.”

Bucky’s smile is a little weak, but it reaches his eyes. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me too.”

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

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Fill: do you see through me

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Re: Windmills, Fill 13/14 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty)

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?

Windmills, Fill 14/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty)

Windmills, Fill 15a/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty)

Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Windmills, Fill 15b/15 (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty) -FIN-

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 10/?