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

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

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

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

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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

This is just the best.

I'm so sorry, I can't get over this comment

Imagine that in captivity Bucky broke whenever they wanted him to -- oh, he had his subtle acts of defiance, for all that he was conditioned to obedience he still kept small secret parts of himself alive, but whenever they set at it, they could break him. Post-WS, Bucky could tell himself that he's stronger now. He's not that weak thing anymore. (Because understanding that he had no psychological defenses as a result of the extreme abuse that characterized everything he remembered of his life, that kind of thinking is too healthy for my taste in early-recovery!Bucky.) But then... this happens. They've got him sobbing and pleading and choking out all the filth they want to hear as they fuck him, and it turns out he isn't stronger now at all. He's inherently weak. Imagine how that would compound all the damage he already feels, and how his hope for recovery is destroyed even as he snaps at Steve to stop looking all sad-eyed at him, it's too bad he had to see that but he's gotta understand it was hardly the first time, Bucky's fine.

Also, god, Bucky getting fucked past the limit of human endurance, for hours, and absolutely breaking down and they're still fucking him even as he's out of his mind with suffering... I feel like such a trash baby right now.

replying to my own comment but I'm having so many feelings about Bucky being awful and walled-off and furious in the aftermath of this, to present a tough front after being forced into such vulnerability. And also playacting normal and trying to brush it off with charm and humor, to hide that he feels so humiliated and destroyed. He's not fooling anybody, but Steve doesn't know what to do; play along? insist that he get help? Meanwhile Steve is hiding his trauma from having to witness something so nightmarish, because he thinks he should only focus on how Bucky's doing. Probably he even thinks it's disrespectful to be traumatized, since Bucky went through so much worse, or that it would hurt Bucky to be confronted with evidence that Steve is deeply not okay with what he saw. In sum, they're both IDIOTS.

-- Or, because there are so many options here: Bucky was doing the playacting-normal shtick before, and now that that's been blown up so spectacularly, he just gives up. If he can't go on how he was managing before, he feels he can't go on at all. Lets out the rage, yells at Steve that he's beyond saving so just go away, you've seen what I was so I don't know what you expect from me, sits and glares at the wall for hours and refuses to talk.

(carriedaway!anon again)

oh my god i can't stop thinking about this entire scenario

that last option - bucky having done the playacting-normal shtick before - is killing me. because now he can't do that anymore and i bet that makes him fucking furious. but then i imagine he can only be angry for so long because he's also so, so worn out and fucked up and probably doens't have the energy to sustain being angry. he's already expended so much energy trying to be normal and look where that got him? he probably lashes out at first, screams and screams at steve and breaks things and hurts himself and then gets to a point where he just like. can't anymore

i feel like bucky would just go limp. sink into a really really deep depression. like you said - sits and glares at the wall for hours and refuses to talk.

this poor trash baby omg how do you come back from that, where the fuck would you even begin your recovery? and if there's no guarantee that it's not just going to keep happening again, and again, and again - he probably thinks, why even bother?

i also keep thinking about the fact that if he had been hiding the abuse from steve, he probably had to do a LOT of work to do so. destroying documents and pictures and evidence. not flinching when steve touches him. lying, pretending to enjoy things/acts that are actually miserable and terrifying.

so now of course steve is going to be wondering what else bucky has been lying about and hiding but he can't just come right out and ask because that's going to come across as aggressive and invasive and bucky's going to take it the wrong way. and it doesn't matter because bucky won't talk to him about anything anymore anyway

dear god i want 100k words of this it's breaking my heart ;;

i feel like bucky would just go limp. sink into a really really deep depression.

Imagine Steve as Bucky is doing this. Just take a moment to picture him trying to wrestle his own trauma, his native inability to do anything about bad feelings except smile through them, his own need for Bucky to be okay, and the horror show that's going on with Bucky's mental health. And Bucky's in there vaguely hoping to stop existing.

and if there's no guarantee that it's not just going to keep happening again, and again, and again - he probably thinks, why even bother?

The terrible thing that just occurred to me is that this is the same kind of situation he lived in as the Winter Soldier, where he was under the control of omnipotent abusers, and abuse would always recur. He surely must be thinking he, because of the kind of person he is, is fated to be victimized over and over forever, and those brief months after his escape before he figured that out would seem like some kind of foolish dream. It would be like he had fallen right back into the nightmare. It depends on how you want to imagine Hydra's treatment of him, but it's awful no matter what -- if he was vulnerable to abuse whenever anyone felt like it, then he must feel like he's been transported right back into that life. But, if Hydra kept to a strict punishment/reward system in order to keep up his conditioning, then... in a certain horrible way, that was better. Because at least he knew when he'd fucked up enough to warrant serious punishment, and he could take some measures to prevent it. If he's convinced that this will keep happening forever, and he's living in terror, then he might miss that (illusory) sense of control. It wasn't a genuinely better situation, he didn't have real control, he didn't have support and memories and basic comforts like he has now, but god, even though he knows that, this relentless anxiety is so hard to bear.

lying, pretending to enjoy things/acts that are actually miserable and terrifying.

yessss and then when he flips suddenly he's honest about everything he can't stand, and Steve has to think back on all the times he did something that must have triggered Bucky and feel terrible about never having noticed. Bucky knows that Steve feels terrible (and not just about that, about, really, this entire situation) and it just makes him feel more worthless and cancerous and I support your petition for 100k of this.

I think recovery would look like a lot support, a lot of therapy, and a lot of time. And reempowerment. Maybe if he got to rip some dicks off.

tally marks on the backs of his thighs, his ass... and on his cheek, neck...

Yesss, all this. And may I offer inspiration?

http://kikcoitusreservatus.tumblr.com/post/110693347441
(NSFW, gif, naked ass, branding)

"Bucky was doing the playacting-normal shtick before, and now that that's been blown up so spectacularly, he just gives up" this is life

da

I just love the dumpster so much and especially this thread

(a lot of feelings!anon from upthread) Everything about your comment and this entire thread is destroying me and I too want 100K of this. Can we start a petition? Begin a collection? The finest wares the dumpster has to offer for anyone who deigns to fill this prompt in any capacity!

No, but seriously, thinking about post-TWS Bucky telling himself he was stronger now that he'd escaped Hydra's clutches, and then him being victimized again and feeling like he'd been weak all along...such delicious emotional trash. Ugh, it would so destroy any progress he'd made in recovery. Let us wear rotted flower crowns and frolick in the trash together for I am also a trash baby and I want this a lot.

Oh yes. He'd try, he'd maybe even hold out at first, but I cannot imagine that lasting for very long. Because you're absolutely right; it would be so much worse to go through it while he was in his right mind. And Hydra's always known just the right ways to break him. It wouldn't take too long before he was sobbing in between the play-by-play commentary they'd force him to continue with as they fucked him.

Don't be shy, anon, you're among friends here. We all want Bucky crying. He suffers so prettily.

(a lot of feelings!anon from upthread)

Hello friend, you've just hit on one of my very favorite trash things, which is Hydra making Bucky come while they fuck him because it horrifies him and makes him feel disgusting. PLEASE ACCEPT THIS BOX OF STALE VALENTINE'S CANDY AS A SHOW OF MY AFFECTION. This is not nearly as prominent a theme in the dumpster as I would prefer. But it hurts so good, ya know?

I also love the idea of the Hydra agents being angry and pissed off about the asset trying to act like a person. Like how dare our former pet assassin and fucktoy have the gall to try to live a normal life like a regular human? I can see that playing heavily into this scenario as well; along with forcing Bucky to recite all the things they did to him as they follow through and re-enact it all, they would also force him to tell Steve what he is, who he belongs to.

I had no idea the thread would spiral down to these delightful depths when I posted the prompt and I'm SO GLAD IT DID. This is my garbage song. I'm saving up all my used yogurt containers for a potential fill.

Being revictimized would be the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to Bucky in the early stages of his recovery, which is why it needs to happen -- in as filthy, torturous, humiliating, trashy a form as possible. We're all trash babies in the same trash nursery.

Hi yes I love that trope, especially if it's used to heighten Bucky's internalized victim-blaming and sense of shame. And in this scenario, okay, he's injured, he's in agony, he's crying, he's been fucked more times in the past few hours than he can count, and he still comes when they want him to... and Steve's watching. What must Steve think? Steve must think he's so sick to be able to get off on this. Steve must think he likes it, and hell, if he came, there's gotta be a part of him that does; maybe it's true what they're saying, that he's just a thing they own and he always will be.

My kingdom for Bucky repeating to Steve over and over that he's Hydra's, and internalizing that message as he does. Steve would be so furious, but let's be real, they've got him gagged. Can't have him offering words of comfort. OR, no, he's not gagged, but every time he addresses Bucky with support or the Hydra agents with criticism, they hurt Bucky worse -- so after a couple of hours he's forcing himself to shut up. In the aftermath he has to wonder whether he didn't really do more damage after all, not protesting when they were making Bucky say those things. And it probably did affect Bucky that Steve didn't speak up. He's Always Honest Steve Rogers, and it's not like he has a grand history of being able to keep his mouth in check. So what does it mean that this time he did? (The difference being, of course, that this time it was Bucky on the line.)

(carriedaway!anon again)

Don't be shy, anon, you're among friends here. We all want Bucky crying.

dude lmao - only a week ago, i knew this place existed but had never actually browsed it and was like "oh no that sounds gross and bad :("

and look at me now. backstroking down a lazy river of warm beer and cigarette butts and loving every minute of it.

thanks, dumpster!

He’s learned that if he locks himself in the bathroom, he will be left alone. He runs the water in the shower so Steve won’t worry, but he doesn’t step under the spray. He stands in front of the mirror and looks at his body, stripped naked. Exposed.

He prods at the scars around his metal arm, pieces broken and reforged. He smooths his hand over his abdomen, where he has bled often, but retained no scars. He lifts his chin to look at his neck, where the fingerprints from squeezing hands don’t show.

Most of Hydra’s use of him, in his secondary role—the use lovingly detailed in those photographs Natasha brought him—has not left a mark. And yet, there must be some giveaway, some stain that tells anyone who sees him that he is what he is: damaged, worthless meat.

He needs more information. If he could find out what it is he’s done that’s caused this—if it’s something he can hide, or if it is too obvious a failing to cover up—then he will at least know what to expect. He’ll know for certain that Steve is wrong about him, that he won’t be able to live up to the life Steve is offering him, no matter what he does. It’s time for reconnaissance.
--
Natasha goes along, because Bucky doesn’t know anywhere in town that isn’t a place he’s killed someone. She leads the way down the stairs, past the doorman, through the press of bodies and throbbing music that spikes his adrenaline.

He melts into a shadow and assesses, noting the exits (two, plus the restrooms at the back), the threats (only Natasha, standing beside the bar; the muscled bouncer is no challenge), and the obstacles (sticky floor, slick in places; crowd could impede mobility in case of panic or gunfire).

Natasha presses a tonic water with lime into his hand and delivers a scathing glare to a man who’s approaching her. He changes course immediately, and she turns back to Bucky. “One hour,” she says. “You want to go sooner, we will.”

She disappears into the crowd, towards where the dancing is thickest.

He moves forward, eyes darting over the crowd to pick out individual faces, individual bodies. At Hydra, he’d learned which ones were likely to use him, which ones would want to do the things that hurt, which ones would make him work for it. But even before that, he remembered, he was no stranger to this careful observation. The look of a man he’d pass, who’d turn back with a knowing smile, because he’d recognized what Bucky had on offer. Without any words being exchanged, he knew what Bucky was for, and those men would saunter into an alley, knowing they’d be followed, knowing what Bucky was capable of.

It is the same here. A man approaches: dark hair, spiked on top and short on the sides, the hint of a mustache, square jaw, thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He slides a hand around Bucky’s side to rest against his back, then pulls him close. Bucky clenches his metal fist inside its leather glove, but he does not tear this man’s throat out.

“You here alone?” The man’s voice is gravelly, and smells of smoke. He’s close, loud enough to be heard over the thumping bass.

Bucky nods against the man’s shoulder, but he does not pull away. He shakes with the effort of holding still.

“You want to dance?”

Bucky shakes his head, and the man’s smile stretches tighter.

“No, I know what you want.” His hands slide lower, clench against Bucky’s ass. He pulls them flush together, pressing his hardness between them. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

Bucky’s eyes flick to the bathrooms. He does not look at the exits. He does not look for Natasha. Those aren’t the mission parameters.
“I knew it.” The man chuckles, and they’re so close Bucky can feel the laughter shake into his own chest. The man knew. He’d looked at Bucky and he knew.

He hooks his fingers in the pockets of Bucky’s jeans and leads him across the floor. He doesn’t look back to see if Bucky’s following, because he’s seen. He knows, the way the rest had known just by looking at him.

In the large stall at the end of the row, the man pats his hands against Bucky’s shoulders, and Bucky sinks to his knees on the gritty tile. He could have broken the man’s wrist, but he doesn’t. Instead he watches as the belt at eye level is pulled open, the fly unzipped.

“Get it out.”

He obeys. He’s good at that. He knows what’s required. Without waiting for further instructions, he takes the hardening flesh into his mouth and sucks.

“God, you fucking slut,” the man moans. “Knew it as soon as I saw you, you’d have a filthy fucking mouth.”

He closes his eyes and pushes forward, until the zipper of the man’s jeans digs into his nose. He understands what he’s meant to do, what his function is here.

“That’s it, yeah, not a damn word, just down on your knees taking it like a pro. Good boy.”

Pleasure spreads through him in a sudden flood, shaking his concentration and hardening his cock. He tries to focus on the length in his mouth, on the mission. This isn’t for him. He doesn’t deserve a reward.

Fingers clench, pulling his hair. No one has told him not to fight, but he knows to stay still, to be good. He’d known before, as well. When he’d been Bucky, he’d known not to cry, not to lash out, to let it happen over and over. Had it come to him naturally, or had he learned this in Brooklyn back alleys the same way he’d learned to throw punches?

His head knocks backward against the tile, but the pain is good. It’s what he deserves. The man fucks into his mouth hard, shoving him backwards with each thrust until he’s trapped up against the wall, nowhere to go when the thick cock bottoms out against the back of his throat. With a loud groan, the man empties himself into Bucky’s mouth.

In his pants, his cock twitches, desperate, but he doesn’t touch, won’t think of himself. He’s meant to take it, to be used. He is a thing. He’s not some special person worth redeeming. This is him, on his knees, letting it happen.

The man zips up his pants, and pats him on the head like a dog. “Good boy,” he says again, and Bucky’s cock twitches. Bucky stays kneeling on the floor of the stall, tasting the come on his tongue, feeling the ghosts of fingers tugging at his scalp, smelling his own stale sweat, until even the memory of any pleasure he might have felt has subsided.

In the cab on the way home, Natasha doesn’t take her eyes off him.
--

*quietly pushes over offerings of broken fuzzy handcuffs and condoms three years past expiry.*

This is amazing. I feel so sorry for Bucky, thinking there must be some mark on him that marks him as 'meat' (christ) for the taking... and then seemingly having it confirmed by his encounter at the club. I love that he brings Natasha, but doesn't use her to escape Mr Creepy. Your descriptions of that sexual encounter are so chilling: Bucky wanting to rip this guy's throat out, wanting to escape, forcing himself to hold still, and finally actually going through with the blowjob -- even though just this dude's interest was the 'evidence' he wanted -- because he doesn't think he's worth more and he doesn't know how to say no to sex. BUCKY NO

WHEN HE REACTED TO BEING CALLED 'GOOD BOY.' WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

And then you gave me a dark kind of joy with your line about Natasha watching him so closely. Please have figured it out, Nat.

I'm so sad this is only gonna be three parts!

Man, this is beautifully written and so, so deliciously angsty. Please have all the trash flower shop's unclaimed Valentine's bouquets.

Yay, so glad you're enjoying it. Low-self-esteem Bucky has low self esteem!

WHEN HE REACTED TO BEING CALLED 'GOOD BOY.' WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

*evil grin, with a smear of spoiled milk on my mouth*

Love, author!anon

I hadn't commented on the first part of this even though I loved it, but wow, author!anon. I thought the last part hurt, but this? Bucky thinking there must be some visible sign that he's meant to be used, and the encounter at the club just confirming it for him...jfc, I'm aching for poor Bucky. That whole scene with the guy at the club, the things he said to Bucky, the way he just accepted Bucky's silence and compliance and used him the exact way Bucky expected, the way Bucky held himself back from violent reactions because he knows he's not meant to resist, he's meant to just sit there and take it...gahhh! And his reaction to being called "good boy," I die. I'm so looking forward to the next part, even though I'm sad it will be the end! Please accept this collection of fast-food wrappers and unused condiments as thanks for this lovely contribution to the dumpster.

(got a bit carried away here gnawing on the old chicken bones and mildewed socks. sorry?)
------------

He’s in the bathroom again, sitting on the floor. He hasn’t slept. He can function on very little sleep. Steve has encouraged him to live like a human, to eat regular meals and sleep in a bed eight hours each night, but Steve is wrong about him. He doesn’t need normal things like that, and he doesn’t deserve them.

Two of his metal fingers press against his lips, then slide into his mouth. He tries to make himself gag, but it’s impossible. That reflex had been trained away long before Hydra got ahold of him. His body isn’t meant for pleasant, gentle, human things.

Steve knocks on the door. “Bucky? I was going to make some dinner. Do you want any?”

He pushes to his feet and lets the fingers fall from his mouth. When he tugs open the door, Steve is standing there, hand poised to knock again.

“Oh, sorry.” Steve drops his hand to his side. For a moment, he frowns, and Bucky experiences a stab of fear. Now Steve will see what it is Bucky himself has failed to pinpoint: the stamp that declares his worthlessness. But Steve shakes his head. “Uh, I’m making dinner.”

No, Steve hasn’t seen it, then. “I’m going out.” Bucky darts past Steve, careful not to make any contact, and speeds down the hallway.

“Bucky,” Steve calls, and Bucky stops, because he must. When he turns back, Steve is frowning again. “Be careful.”
--

Bucky has only walked a block when a Corvette Stingray begins to keep pace beside him. He keeps walking. The car is 460 horsepower, approximately 3200 pounds. He could disable it in 14 seconds with no additional weaponry, but gratuitous damage to essential equipment is a punishable offense. In a chase, outmaneuvering the car on narrow city streets and affecting an escape could take up to six minutes, depending on the driver. Natasha rolls down the window. The locks click in invitation. He gets into the car.

Natasha drives for twenty-two minutes without speaking. She stops at the end of a block, in front of a fire hydrant. Bucky can see the neon light of a dance club up ahead: a different one than they’d gone to yesterday. Natasha’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but she does not look at him.

“This is something you need?” she asks.

He does not consider that she be referring to anything other than yesterday’s events. She is a very capable intelligence officer. He’s not surprised she has pieced together his actions. He does consider not responding, but determines that might result in additional questions. “Yes.”

She looks at him, then. There’s no cold calculation in her eyes, as he has seen when his handlers looked to turn weakness to advantage. Instead, there is understanding. “Steve can’t give it to you.”

“No.” It comes out more sharply than he intends, but he needs Natasha to understand. Steve will find out eventually, but he shouldn’t be touched by this, shouldn’t be stained by whatever’s marked Bucky.

Rain begins to spatter against the windows, blurring the city’s lights into shining streaks. “What about me?” she asks.

He assesses that proposal for a moment. Natasha is strong. She is hard. She could hurt him, if he let her. Then he shakes his head. “Strangers. Those are the parameters.”

She nods, and shifts the car back into gear.
--

It starts much the same, this time. He sees the interest in this man’s eyes. The man has light hair and a smooth face. He is not old, or at least, he looks young, like someone who has never seen anyone bleed to death, has never been the cause of death.

This time Bucky leads the way, and locks the door to the bathroom behind them. Immediately he goes to work unfastening the man’s pants.

“Hey, woah, are you sure you want to--? Right this minute?” The man puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and squeezes.

It’s a nonverbal order. Bucky stops.

“We can go back to my place, if you want.” The man leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, below the ear. His short blond hair is at eye level. “Have a drink first.”

“No.” Bucky risks that much defiance, because he knows what the man must want from him, ultimately. He finishes with the belt, and the pants, and reaches his hand inside to wrap around the man’s cock.

The man gasps, high and drawn out. “Okay, here is fine too, I guess.”

The man is halfway hard already. Bucky withdraws his hand to spit on it before returning to his task.

“Oh man, don’t stop.” The man slings one arm around Bucky’s shoulders and leans into him, breathing hard. “That’s so good. Here, let me.” He reaches for Bucky’s pants.

“Don’t.” Bucky jerks back so quickly he knocks the breath out of his lungs when he impacts the wall. But he does not let go of the man’s growing erection. He keeps stroking dutifully, even as the man frowns at him, his furrowed brow an echo of Steve’s expression earlier.

“Are you okay? It seems like—“

“Please.” It’s difficult to concentrate when the man keeps looking at him like that. Bucky folds to his knees and wraps his mouth around the man’s cock, and that succeeds in stopping his objections.

“Oh man, you’re so good at that.” The man’s fingers tangle in his hair, and Bucky knows what’s coming, but then, no, they tug gently through his locks, then release, and repeat the movement, stroking gently across the back of his head. “Yeah, you’re beautiful. I am so fucking lucky. Will you look at me?”

Bucky looks up, keeping his mouth wrapped tightly around the man’s cock.

“That’s it. You’re so good.”

A small curl of pleasure unwinds in Bucky’s chest, but he crushes it. He tears his eyes away and pushes forward until his throat is stuffed full, cutting off his air and making tears gather at the corners of his eyes. This is not meant to be enjoyable. No, it has to be rough, has to hurt. No one treats him kindly, because it’s not necessary. If this man, this stranger can treat him like this, there’s something wrong. He knows everyone can look at him and see what he is. He has evidence. So why would this stupid, stubborn man pretend that Bucky’s worth something, pretend he deserves anything besides pain. He will not be tricked into believing that, not again.

He holds himself there, choking, until the man pushes at his shoulder. The touch is directive, and he must obey, so he backs off, gulping in air.

“Slow down,” the man says, with a nervous chuckle. “It’s not a race.”

The tone is gentle, almost playful. But not like Bucky is a plaything—like he’s in on the joke, somehow. Like he wants this, too. His metal fingers clench against his thigh, denting the muscle there and sending punishing jolts of pain up his spine. He darts in again, this time using his flesh hand and his tongue in every way he knows.

“Hey man, take it easy, you don’t have to—Oh!”

With an expert press of tongue into the slit, the man is coming, his words melting into shouted vowels. Even then, losing control of himself, he does not grab, or push, or hit. Bucky rides out the wave of the man’s climax, swallowing diligently. When the man pulls back, Bucky lets the softening flesh drop from his mouth.

He does not expect the man to melt to his knees before him.

The man presses a kiss to Bucky’s mouth, heedless of the mess lingering on his tongue. “That was…” The man chuckles again, and Bucky’s fingers dig harder into his leg. “You are amazing.”

Bucky’s cock throbs in his pants, even as he tries to hold himself still under the man’s touch. He is not meant to enjoy this. If he can enjoy this, he will start to think that he deserves this, and then it will hurt more when he is reminded that this is not for him.

“Can I return the favor?” The man leans forward, sliding his hands up Bucky’s thighs.

“No!” His hand—the flesh one—is around the man’s throat, and they are both on their feet when the door bangs open, lock dangling from the frame. Natasha is there, framed by the darkness of the club beyond.

She keeps one hand on the door and the other out of sight until Bucky lets go and backs up. The guy zips up his pants and hurries past Natasha, away to safety.

Bucky pushes to his feet and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
--

Natasha checks him for injuries without touching him. “We need to talk,” she says, and looks at where he is still pressing dents into his thigh with his metal hand. He makes himself stop.

“Stay here,” she says, and goes to run interference on the club’s manager, who has gathered several security guards. When Natasha steps out of sight, he makes use of one of the six exit routes he’d noted during his assessment.

Rain splatters onto the pavement. It is his friend tonight. It will make him harder to track.

It’s early, yet, and he hasn’t gotten what he needs. He can still feel that man’s gentle touch stroking through his hair, hear the approval in his voice. That’s wrong. He knows that’s wrong.

It is difficult to find somewhere to go. Without Natasha, people look at him and know he doesn’t belong. It is hours before he finds himself again in the enveloping chaos of a club, this one large and loud, with several stories of revelers, bodies pressed against each other, and hungry gazes roaming. Here, they will recognize him, and know what he is.

He is on the first floor when he spots Natasha. She hasn’t yet seen him, and he retreats into the shadows near the wall. If he moves with the crowd, she won’t spot the patterns of disruption. He’s made it nearly to the door when a hand closes around his wrist, warm against his flesh. “Isn’t it time to call it a night?”

He turns to see Barton, Clint standing behind him, blending into the crowd with the same unerring ease Natasha shows. He had not anticipated this aspect of Barton’s training.

“You know who I am?” Barton asks.

He nods. He does not remember meeting the man, but he has read files, though he recalls them only vaguely. The man could not have been a target, because he would be dead, but he may have had some connection to a target, once. Still, he is a stranger. He is within mission parameters.

The hand is tight on his wrist, firm but not insistent. He could break Barton’s grip. Instead, he tugs gently, towards the door.

Barton looks back, scanning the crowd for Natasha, but Bucky pulls again, then starts to move. As he anticipated, Barton follows him the last three feet to the exit and out into the alley, where the rain still turns the dark night a misty grey.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Bucky twists his grip arm to clamp onto Barton’s wrist and executes a simple over-shoulder throw.

Barton recovers enough to land in a neat roll rather than on his back, and in an instant, he’s up and ready for the next attack. The remnants of his memory on the files say Barton prefers projectile weapons, so Bucky keeps the match in close quarters with a slow charge.

Barton has more than sufficient time to sidestep the move and execute a neat kick that sends Bucky towards the wall. He doesn’t bother to catch himself, letting the blow jolt through him. He waits one heartbeat past the moment when he might have moved, which is just soon enough to catch Barton’s fist and shove him backwards. He could have broken Barton’s arm, but he does not want to hurt him. He does not want to win.

Barton comes up with a pipe from a pile of construction debris, and Bucky has to close with him again, shortening his reach and making the weapon useless. A kick lands hard on his kidney, and a punch against his cheek, but Bucky does not cry out. He staggers backwards, responding with blows of his own until he senses the wall behind him. Then he executes a vicious roundhouse that knocks Barton to the side, but leaves Bucky exposed. In less than six seconds, his face is pressed to the wall, his arms wrenched up behind him, immobilized.

“Are you done?” Barton is breathing hard. Possibly he is angry. He will want to punish Bucky. That is good.

Bucky nods. He bows his head, exposing the back of his neck, and widens his stance. He shifts backwards, until he can feel the outline of Barton’s cock against his ass. The adrenaline has done its work.

“Barnes,” Barton says warningly. He starts to pull away, and Bucky’s hands hurry to his belt. He will take his pants off, and Barton will use him as he’s meant to be used. He won’t speak softly or make the mistake of thinking Bucky deserves kindness. He knows that Bucky is the enemy, that he deserves to be hurt.

“Don’t.” Barton grabs his wrists and pulls them away from their work.

Bucky presses his hands against the wall, out of the way. Sometimes they want to strip him themselves, or cut off his clothes. He waits.

“Barnes,” Barton says again. “This isn’t…”

Bucky turns to run an assessment. Barton is bleeding from a split lip, and curled a bit to the right, possibly favoring a cracked rib on that side. Perhaps Bucky miscalculated. Perhaps Barton doesn’t want to do all the work. He drops to his knees and feels the wet of a puddle immediately soak through his jeans.

“No,” Barton says sharply. “We’re not doing that.”

Bucky raises his head and squints at Barton through the rain. His heart is pounding in his chest. He runs over the mission parameter in his mind, looking for something he missed. Barton knows he’s the enemy. Barton can take what he wants. It must be obvious what Bucky is used to—what Bucky is for.

“Okay. Wait.” Barton takes a step forward, reaching out a hand as one would approach a wild animal: palm down, an order to stay.

The click of heels on pavement coalesces out of the mist, and Natasha appears beside Barton. “You alright?” she asks.

When Barton doesn’t answer, Bucky realizes she’s asking him. He lowers his eyes.

“Here.” She brushes past Barton. There is no sound audible above the rain and the traffic, but he senses Natasha crouched beside him. She touches a finger to the skin on his cheekbone, broken from the fight, which is already beginning to heal. He does not look up. She says, “Let’s go home.”

When he follows the two of them back to the car, his dick is throbbing insistently, and the dread that’s been growing since his walk by the fish market has spread like poison, slowing his every movement. Still, when Barton points to the car, he obeys.

author!anon here! Oh man, all those things you list are soooo painful, and so what I see Bucky thinking of himself in light of this new info. I mean, it's one thing to be a trash party favor against your will, and it's another to think that you caused it, have caused it before, and will cause it again, over and over. Ugggghhhh Bucky!!! That is all.

post-ws bucky doesn't really understand consent.

he likes steve, he likes being near steve, and he likes the idea of touching steve. but after all bucky's been through, he doesn't fully understand the notion that you're supposed to ask before you touch someone else.

bucky ends up making a shitty, spontaneous, non-consensual move on steve.

maybe he gropes him or grabs him or rips off his clothes or goes in for a bj or something. whatever it is, it's not premeditated and he stops when steve says so - but it's something that's Definitely Not Okay. it's something that surprises and deeply unsettles steve.

after, bucky's embarrassed and confused and doesn't understand what he did wrong. they always liked it before when he was eager to please, what's the difference now? he knows he fucked up in some capacity, he can tell steve's upset and he knows he didn't want to hurt steve - but he doesn't get it. bucky doesn't even really get why he did it in the first place. he doesn't get why he wants to touch steve so badly.

and every time steve tries to have a conversation about The Fucked Up Thing That Happened, bucky shuts down. he doesn't know how to talk about sex, or his sexual abuse, or his sexual desires. he gets frustrated because he doesn't understand what steve wants from him. he doesn't understand what he wants from steve. he's probably blocking and repressing so much that talking about sex in any capacity is difficult and scary for him.

and meanwhile, steve's feeling, you know, really violated and not not not at all okay. he knows why bucky is like this and wants to sympathize with that - but can't get rid of the awful feelings he has in the wake of bucky's transgression. he's really shaken up over it.

basically - i want a story where post-ws bucky makes a fucked up move on steve and both of them struggle to deal with the aftermath.

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

Re: not so unsullied anymore

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How It Adds Up 2/3

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How It Adds Up 2.5/3

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consent confusion