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

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

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

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

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

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SAME

When Steve took up the bell this time it felt familiar in his hand. He'd practiced; his body knew this. He'd already taken his shoes off and tucked them away under the coffee table before he picked it up. Bucky had disappeared back into his bedroom. Steve reflexively calculated how long it would be before he came back out.

Bucky would have to change into the outfit, and more importantly get into the mindset. He'd have to get off the leash. Maybe work on getting aroused, knowing what was coming next--or maybe that part was easy.

Steve stood up and walked toward the windows, away from the kitchen. He had to get into his own mindset. He bounced on his heels, shaking his body loose like he'd just done a long workout. He couldn't tense up. His whole body had to be relaxed: slow to react, absorbing blows.

He watched himself in the mirror, practicing a couple of facial expressions, doing the little vocal warmups that he'd learned from a showgirl named Lottie on his USO tour under his breath. He was ready for this. He'd practiced. He had a plan. He knew what he was doing this time; he was going to show Bucky he could be trusted.

He caught a flash of reflected movement in the glass, and he dropped his shoulders and relaxed his arms, making himself stay still for a beat before he turned. The Soldier's body hit his with a shocking force. He was slammed hard against the glass, his head snapping sideways, but his shoulder took most of the impact.

"What," he said, like he didn't understand. He wouldn't understand; he was just an innocent civilian looking out the window. He made his arms limp, swinging like a doll's, as he struggled against the crushing force of the Soldier's weight pinning him in place. He pushed, shifting his feet at the same time so he had no leverage.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, pitching his voice toward fear. A normal person would be frightened by a sudden unstoppable attack. The little knock on the head throbbed, but it hadn't so much as made his ears ring; not a problem.

"Anything I want," the Soldier growled. He grabbed Steve by the arms as he took a sudden step back, hauling Steve away from the glass and shoving him into the middle of the room.

Steve had to make a deliberate effort to stumble--he should practice that next--but he hit the ground hard, with almost stunning force. The bell in his fist gave a sharp rattle on the way down. The Soldier pounced on him before he managed to get up and try to run away, but that was all right, he'd only have had to stumble again. He put his hands on the floor--left closed, right open--and tried to push himself back, like he still thought he could get away.

The Soldier shoved him down with a hand at the center of his chest and said, "Don't fight, kid. You're not getting away from this."

Translation: fight a little.

Steve gave an uncalculated swing of his fists, something he'd practiced carefully, something even his own backalley-fighting self would have scorned as lousy technique. The blows bounced off the Soldier's arms and chest, accompanied by the tock tock tock of the bell.

The Soldier slapped his arms away--red marks bloomed briefly on his stinging wrists--and shoved his wrists down to the carpet. "Now you're going to get punished, kid."

"Like I wasn't before?" Steve snapped. Too defiant? Well, he'd make the turn to scared when Bucky gave him his cue. "Don't tell me you weren't going to hurt me."

The Soldier let go of his wrist and punched him, hard, in the pit of the stomach. Steve lost his breath and for a second he thought he was going to vomit, too.

"You can always make it worse," he heard over the pain and nausea; he was aware of curling on his side. Not a move he'd practiced. He hauled in a breath. They were okay. This was the plan--

His next yell was completely unrehearsed and unfeigned. The Soldier's metal hand had hit him in the small of the back, squarely over a kidney, and Steve writhed away from it, lashing out with an instinctive hard kick. His heel connected squarely with the inside of Bucky's thigh, knocking him off balance. Steve rolled onto his belly and started crawling away, bell gripped tight in his fist.

The worst of the pain receded quickly; no severe damage. No need to call it.

The Soldier's hands grabbed the backs of his thighs, and Steve remembered to go limp instead of tensing for another blow. Bucky hauled him away from the couch and flipped him over, and Steve yanked his hands up. It looked like cowering, hiding his face, but it also gave Bucky a good look at his fingers still gripping tight around the bell. He hadn't been able to counterfeit shaky hands when he practiced, but a tight grip and the actual adrenaline of pain and an uneven fight were getting him pretty close. The bell gave a few little tocks before the Soldier shoved Steve's hands to the ground again.

"You can make it worse, but you can't make it better," the Soldier said, settling his weight on Steve's midsection, and Steve could feel the hardness of his cock. He pulled up the expression of disgusted horror that he'd practiced. He struggled like he'd just figured out where this was going, pushing against the grip on his wrists, bucking and trying to kick.

"Well," the Soldier said, sounding darkly, nastily amused. "If you're going to be a whore for it--"

Steve didn't think--hadn't practiced this--but he picked up his head and spat in the Soldier's face. He barely had time to see that he'd hit him squarely in one goggle-covered eye before he got the back of the Soldier's right hand across his face, and that was the cue.

Steve latched on to the squirmy, humiliated feeling from the Soldier's last remark--he wasn't supposed to like it, he couldn't like it, he didn't like it, Bucky wasn't supposed to pretend he did--and turned it into hurt and fear. He tried to twist away and hide his face as he made his breathing quick.

"I'm not," he said, and it came out almost petulant, but that was a start. He pushed weakly against the Soldier's grip, which earned him a crushing hold on his wrist from the Soldier's metal hand. "Please, I'm not--don't--"

"You're whatever I say you are, little whore," the Soldier snarled, and Steve felt his face going hot. It was stupid, but it was useful--Bucky could be mean and not really hurt him. He could work with this.

"Just don't, please, don't hurt me," Steve managed, shaking his head and cringing, blinking hard to try to get tears going. He could feel them close, and if the Soldier kept talking like that they'd probably spill. "I won't, please, I won't fight if you just--"

"If I just what," the Soldier mocked, shoving Steve's shirt up. He didn't tear it this time, but he did push it all the way up to his throat and then pin it to the floor with one hand, putting pressure on Steve's airway.

Steve tilted his chin up to make sure it was his trachea taking most of the pressure instead of his blood vessels--he could work a lot longer with constricted breathing than constricted circulation to his brain. He remembered to squirm at the same time, shaking his head a little while the Soldier pressed down tighter on the makeshift garotte, and his face reddened naturally now as he struggled to breathe.

He let himself remember a little how it had felt last time--not hard, with the Soldier's weight pressing down on him, and his gasping voice was definitely shaking now. "Please, just--please, I won't--"

"Oh yes you will," the Soldier insisted, grinding against Steve's belly and grabbing roughly at his chest, yanking hard at a nipple. Steve made a strangled keening sound around the pressure on his throat, trying to squirm away and only making the Soldier's implacable grip hurt more.

"No, no," Steve moaned, "not that, please--"

"Oh yeah, that," the Soldier insisted immediately, squeezing cruelly at Steve's chest. "Don't want me to play with your pretty little tits, huh?"

A warning chill went down Steve's spine, but he just made a wordless protesting noise and tried to pull away.

"I'll play with whatever I want to. You're mine now," the Soldier growled. "I'll fuck you any way I want to. If I want to fuck your tits, I will, and you'll fucking thank me for not fucking you anywhere else."

"No, I, no," Steve managed, but he was starting to see where this was going and the words shook with more sincerity than he wanted to be using right now. Dammit, Bucky--

"Put your hands on 'em and maybe I won't fuck you dry," the Soldier demanded. "Push 'em together, make a nice tight spot for me to fuck," and Steve heard Bucky saying Help me out, Stevie, get your hands on yourelf.

"No," Steve said, sharp but wavering, because he wasn't supposed to be remembering that now, Bucky wasn't supposed to drag something good into this and make it something cruel. He still thought he could maybe fight through it, but--

"Be nice, doll, or I'll really hurt you." Bucky grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands down to his chest.

The word caught in Steve's throat, but he knew that was it. He wasn't going to let Bucky do this. He was going to draw the line here, now, where he only felt a little sick and furious and not like Bucky had already ruined something sweet and good.

It still took him a second, despite the practice, and Bucky was already mashing his hands--one open, one closed--against the sides of his chest, forcing him to push in; he was still talking, still grinding his cock against Steve's chest. He thought he was going to get what he wanted. He was enjoying this, and for a half second Steve remembered him saying It felt so good, I don't know if I would have stopped.

Steve couldn't speak for a second, but other muscles remembered their lessons better: his left hand opened, fingers splaying wide. He managed to throw the bell so it bounced off Bucky's chest, jingling merrily as Steve finally gasped out, "Red, red, Bucky, stop."

Thank you! <3 And, I mean, isn't filthy trash ALSO educational? In a certain sense?

Yeahhh, that first time was only tenuously even for sure consensual--it definitely wasn't anywhere near safe or sane.

:D :D :D Practice makes perfect!

Thank you! And, uh, yeah, these are not the characters who would totally just intuit how to do safe/sane/consensual BDSM on the first try. *g*

I can tell you take a lot of care writing Steve, because he always reads as very Steve to me. And I think he's a particularly difficult character to get right (or at least, he is for me), partially because his characterization is inflected with these subtle notes like his sadness smiles, but also because he's such an action hero. He's a straightforward, righteously good person who shows up in the movies to lay waste to Nazis, and here we are, throwing him into complicated sexual nightmares that are impossible to action-hero his way out of. So it must require a lot of thought to get Steve right, and you do.

Oh wow, I was reading the "got picky" line as being about who fucked him, but if it's about how they fucked him, it is actually much worse! Like he could take whatever they did to him -- and now doesn't get that he could because he had to, it's not like he could bail out. Bucky must be going through hell right now trying to figure out why he could endure that but not this. Aw god

Like you said earlier, it's a hard topic for both of them, but GODDAMMIT BABIES TALK TO EACH OTHER. idk yo there is so much sweetness in this fic thanks to their love for each other and how hard they keep trying, and it's great to know they're gonna make it work, but at the same I am HAVING A BLAST with their agony in getting there.

:D :D :D

Incoherent shouting is also welcome!

(OP)

Well you know last time you said don't worry, there'll be a happy ending, and I am extra extra glad about that now, because I don't think I could bear Bucky DYING FROM BUG POSSESSION. Especially since it's another form of goddamn mind control and personality alteration, and he's had enough of that for literally a lifetime. And Steve and Bucky's reactions, especially Steve's freaked-out internal monologue, were perfect. Everything about Bucky's brain infestation is so creepy and chock-full of body horror that I can't find the words to describe the crawly feelings I experienced throughout this entire section. Oh god, oh my god.

The fake science you used to justify this trash, though -- it's an interrogation method!! -- was pretty brilliant, though. And it's hilarious that people felt worse about various personal issues than the information SHIELD was seeking.

It's a BEAUTIFUL twist that they've got to go to Hydra for answers. I am always very fond of fics where Bucky and Steve are forced to cooperate with Hydra again, and that holds a lot of potential for this fic in particular, where so many awful revelations are coming to light, with Bucky talking about everything on his mind. I am really looking forward to seeing Rumlow.

As a side note I really appreciated your characterization of the Hydra informant. Coincidentally I had just been thinking about how often the random baddies Our Heroes capture are portrayed as smirking megalomaniacs, so ready to grind salt into whatever wound, when wouldn't it be more human to capitulate in fear of getting shot? And here you are with your wonderful Hydra dude with his ridiculous fake name and terror of punches.

Ohhhhhh.

Good morning, sunshine.

I have certainly learned quite a bit about myself here in the trash pile.

I'm just bizarrely proud of a fictional character right now. I'm so happy that he safeworded. How. How am I this invested? I'm actually really glad that it went the less trashy route and he's being responsible for himself.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i never thought i would type these words in this dumpster but: i have never been so glad to see a safeword in all my life.

This story is amazing, thank you so much for sharing with us.

Basically this. I love how you show how difficult it can be to safeword, and how much anxiety can surround finding the right moment to use it.

HYDRA wins. What better prize for the leader of HYDRA than the leader of SHIELD?

Strucker is pretty gay for Fury in the comics (see: http://goodcomics.comicbookresources.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/fury5-1.jpg shirtless fighting in which Strucker roofies him), and I really want that in the MCU.

+1 for Strucker being creepily gentle with Fury and calling him "My dear Nicholas"

oh...seconded!

[All the warnings start here. It's ugly.]

Bucky woke up with a pair of underwear in his mouth. The fact that he recognized it so quickly for what it was, instead of any old rag, was one of those private shames that would never see the light of day. A quick check assured him that they were not his underwear. He was still fully-clothed, though stripped of his weapons and anything useful. He wigged around a little to see if there was anything left that he could feel in his pockets and they’d even taken his granola bar. It took a few moments to be able to spit the underwear out of his mouth.

“Hey, nothing personal,” someone was saying to his right. “We have orders. Anyone comes poking around like a fox in a hole, fuck him up. The fact that it’s you is a bonus.”

“They left you behind just to menace?”

That was Steve. Steve’s voice. He sounded angry, but not too hurt. Not enough to hear in his voice.

Slap. One, then another.

Bucky forced his eyes open, ignoring the spike of pain that shot through his temples. There was Steve.

There was Steve naked and handcuffed on his knees in the middle of the floor. Next to a drain.

No. No, what had he missed? This wasn’t happening. Fuck, please, no.

“Ss … St … vvv …” His mumbling was so quiet that he didn’t think the goons heard him – although he wasn’t sure how many there were right now, damn it – but he knew damn well that Steve must have, and Steve, damn the bastard, continued to stare straight ahead at the man Bucky had recognized in the street.

At Shankman.

Bucky couldn’t help the phantom feeling of his lungs seizing up or the wild cough that followed, and Shankman turned to him. And smiled, a sickly-sweet thing that simultaneously made Bucky’s fists clench in anger and his balls shrink in terror. He thought about throwing a knife through the fucker’s eye and hearing the squishy thwack.

It helped. But not enough to overtake the image of Steve on his knees, a sight so wrong that hell itself was probably imploding.

“Nice of you to join us. I hear you go by Bucky now. You’ll always be sweetheart to me, though.”

Bucky hastily looked at Steve, but he didn't look surprised, didn't react much at all to the familiar taunt.

It took a while of frantic swallowing and sucking on his tongue to get enough spit back into his mouth to say anything coherent. Shankman smirked watching, and Bucky knew why, and hated it, but that Steve looked away with his mouth set tightly and a crease between his eyes was unexpected. “Why?” he managed, throat feeling like he’d swallowed fire.

“Because Captain America gets special treatment, as he rightly should. And reunions are always a time to celebrate, don’t you think?”

“Fuck you.”

“Can’t. Made a deal, and I’m a man of my word. Your friend here already picked the short straw.” He paused, eyes lighting up. “Eight inches, that is.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Are we getting on with this?”

Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. Maybe he’d been injured when he’d hit the ground and this was all a dream, or he was at least hearing it wrong. What the hell was Steve trying to hurry this along for? He must know what they wanted to do. He must know, somewhere in his thick skull, that he wasn’t prepared for that.

“Leave him alone,” he tried to demand, aware that he sounded sluggish and pathetic even in his own head. “Leave him alone, don’t touch him, and I’ll play along.”

“It’s almost boring how predictable they are,” one of the others piped up, sounding inexplicably disappointed. “I was hoping he’d enjoy the show.”

Bucky growled in frustration. He started testing the manacles on his wrists and found that they’d deactivated his arm, probably with an EMP, which had triggered a locking mechanism. It was dead weight to him now, useless, throwing him off balance.

“Hey, hey, easy there,” said someone from the corner.

Bucky jerked his head toward the voice and then he wished he hadn’t.

Moss. Of course it was Moss.

For a very, very brief moment that he would never admit to even under torture (and he’d proven that), he wanted to cry. Just for that one bright, burning moment of frustration clawing its way through his chest; just for the immutable knowledge of what was going to happen that he couldn’t stop, a nightmare from his top ten greatest hits suddenly skyrocketing to the number one spot because now it involved Steve. Featured him.

Steve. Damn it. Steve had taken it upon himself to save Bucky.

“I think our guest is a little anxious to get started,” Moss continued. “Wants to make sure we’re treating the Captain here right.”

He was still as greasy, stubbly, and rat-eyed as he’d ever been, but when he smirked Bucky could see the gap he’d left when he’d kicked the bastard in the face way back when. He had a second of satisfaction to enjoy that before he realized that Moss had a long memory and steel-toed boots.

Shankman shoved his fingers into Steve’s hair, mussing it up, almost playing with it, pulling the strands and twisting them this way and that. The muscles in Steve’s jaw moved. It looked like he was biting his tongue.

It looked like he wanted to bite those fingers.

That never went well, in Bucky’s experience.

Shankman grabbed viciously at Steve to shove his face into his crotch and hold him there.

Steve’s shoulders were rigid, his body taut, until suddenly they weren’t. He went limp. It was a punch to the gut for Bucky in a way that even seeing him posed in a tableau of submission hadn’t really sunk in. This was really happening. It was real. Steve was really going to let these monsters lay their hands on him, and all for Bucky’s sake, which wasn’t fucking worth it for a thousand reasons that he would explain if his chest weren’t caving in and if he knew that it would just make things worse.

And for that tiny, sagging part of him that was … grateful, actually stupidly grateful to Steve, sharing the same space as the part that would never forgive him.

“There we go,” Shankman cooed. He eased up, pulling Steve’s head back to look at him. There was a scratch on Steve’s forehead from being jammed into his belt. “It’s cozy, isn’t it?”

Shankman was like a dog, Bucky remembered thinking. He wanted submission in the same way he’d like to go around putting everyone in their place and having everyone’s nose up his ass. All these bizarre pack instincts, physical demonstrations of power, that thing where he kept smelling his prey – ah, there was that sniff now, and Steve closing his eyes – and they all added up to the animal with his zipper between Steve’s teeth.

Bucky blinked. He must have given Steve an order. And Bucky’d missed it, which meant that he was already blanking out. Fuck. No, no, no, he couldn’t – he couldn’t just – he couldn’t just float away and let this happen, just leave Steve there with these animals and not even have the guts to stay present.

“Nice and slow. We got some precious cargo there, don’t we?”

Steve looked unimpressed, but even Captain America had trouble being effective with his nose pressed to someone’s crotch. He got the zipper down and nosed the button open, then sat back on his heels and waited.

Shankman waited, too. “Well?” he finally said.

“You said to open your pants,” Steve said, voice cool and flat and giving no indication that he was bothered by this. Just hearing him you’d never know that he was naked and helpless. “I did that. Personally I learned how to open my own when I was a little boy, but I don’t judge others for their shortcomings and inabilities.”

“Shortcomings?” His voice was angry and disbelieving and Bucky wanted to tell him that he should have seen this coming, that just because Steve complied didn’t mean that he was under control and they would get what they wanted.

Oh, Steve.

The sound of Moss’s boot striking Steve’s jaw was loud and ugly. Bucky flinched.

Steve worked his jaw around, tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth feeling for blood and finding plenty. He didn’t look up.

“Take it out,” Shankman said, voice a threat and condescension at the same time, “and make it happy.”

“I don’t know any good jokes except the one about the HYDRA agent who walks into a bar,” Steve replied, a hint of irritation lacing through. “You’ll have to settle for a blowjob.”

Another kick, to the stomach this time.

“Ooh, you kiss the president’s ass with that mouth, Cap?”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve,” Bucky mumbled under his breath, and he heard Steve huff through his nose in response.

Steve finally glanced in his direction, the most stubborn mule expression on his face Bucky’d ever seen, angry lines highlighted in blood.

“You don’t know what this is, Steve,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear himself. “You don’t know.”

Steve looked at the wall when he asked if he could have his hands free for this next part, or at least in front of him, but after thirty solid seconds of laughter he grunted and set about dragging down Shankman’s heavy jeans with the denim in his teeth. It was a lot of work and it was awkward and hard to keep your balance with your hands behind your back, and Bucky remembered the ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth down.

“That’s enough,” Shankman said when they were halfway down his thighs, pushing them down a little further by himself. “I’ve been on duty for four days and I want to get going here.”

“So you’ll be quick, then.”

“You’ve got a real smart mouth. Be smarter if you only open it when you’re told. Like now.”

His hand moved, and Bucky instinctively clenched his jaw against what he knew was coming, this opening move that Shankman never tired of, this assertion of control. Steve ducked his head away before he’d even reached for him, rolling his jaw. Shankman paused, looking down at Steve curiously.

Steve pulled himself back into position and looked up, mouth opening slowly, but wide.

Shankman dug his thumb into the juncture of his jaw anyway. Then he patted Steve’s cheek. “You stay just like that. Keep it open.” He nodded to someone behind Steve, someone new Bucky didn’t recognize.

The new guy kicked Steve in the flank, hard.

Steve grunted and almost shut his mouth out of reflex, but Shankman shoved four fingers in deep, pushing his head up and back. “I said open. You can’t take surprises, maybe you’re in the wrong business.”

Bucky could hear Steve’s breathing, harsh and odd-sounding between the fingers in his throat. Shankman was obviously messing with him, pushing his fingers in and out to alternate between choking him and scratching his palate. Steve closed his eyes again, focusing on his breathing it looked like. Behind his back his nails were digging into his palms.

New guy reached down, and with the angle of his body Bucky couldn’t see what he was doing, but judging by how Steve tried to jerk forward and away, then to the side when that pushed the fingers farther down his throat, Bucky was pretty sure he’d just shoved a couple of dry fingers into Steve.

“No, no, you stay where I put you,” Shankman cooed, other hand going up to cup the back of Steve’s head, mockingly gentle compared to the hand abusing his mouth. It slid down, rubbing Steve’s face with his thumb, drawing it along his lips. He pulled his fingers free and wiped them on Steve’s cheek.

Steve was clearly trying and failing not to cough, eyes watering, face red, nose wrinkled in distaste. He tried to shift on his knees, but the guy behind him clamped a hand down on his shoulder to push him back down and hold him in place, and he grimaced.

There was still time before this got worse. There was still time. Bucky took a deep breath. “You’ve made your point. Why don’t we do this the right way now. You get your fill of the Winter Soldier, you go back and tell your superiors and they give you a raise.”

New guy laughed and did something that made Steve’s whole body jolt. Yep, definitely Feely McFingers.

“Bucky, shut up,” Steve bit out, voice wrecked already. “Just let me do this and shut up, please.”

“It’s cute when they argue with each other,” Moss chimed in. “For a second. Then it gets annoying. Somebody gag him again.”

Bucky struggled, kicked, and twisted around when someone approached him with a roll of tape, but he was still hazy from whatever they’d shot him up with and they got him in the end. He screamed in anger and frustration and it was muffled pitifully by the gag.

Steve looked away.

It pissed him off how much that hurt, but it did.

Bucky slammed his head back into the wall, not half as hard as he wanted to, just to feel the energy buzzing through him course somewhere.

Steve jerked his head back around toward him, clearly thinking that they were going back on their deal, just in time to see Bucky do it again. His face fell, but it didn’t take long at all for him to recover and glare at Bucky. And he wasn’t wrong. Bucky wasn’t helping, was just making this worse. It wasn’t fair to Steve.

But he couldn’t help. So what the fuck else was there? Wait patiently while they took turns torturing the only person left in the world who really mattered to him? Cheer them on, give them pointers, helpfully draw Xs over the healed breaks he knew about so they could crack them open again?

Steve faced forward again, his eyes zeroing in on something.

Must be that L-shaped scar on Shankman’s inner thigh, right by his groin. Bucky used to stare at it; every time he closed his eyes, they’d yank his head back, so he needed somewhere to focus.

And Steve was focusing on it now, looking, for the first time, like he was going to be sick.

“I would have assumed you were hard already,” he said, voice shaking slightly, “since people like you get off on violence and power and you’ve just made a big show of yours.”

“That’s what you’re for,” Shankman said, annoyed. He glanced around at his cronies, can you believe this guy? plain as day. “You’re the most difficult pain in the ass I’ve ever had near my cock.”

Steve cut another glance at Bucky, too quick for Bucky to see why. “You still retain the option of keeping your cock the hell away from me and the Soldier.”

The whole room was quiet for a beat, then another, and then the laughter started, and Bucky knew just what was going to happen.

Shankman gave himself a quick stroke, almost like he was just scratching his chin while he was thinking. He raised his eyebrows. “You know, you could be onto something.” He walked slowly behind Steve, then kicked him hard in the middle of his spine. He didn’t fall over right away, not until a second kick to the scapula got the message across.

He fell on his face, unable to break his fall or roll to the side.

Moss pressed his boot over the back of Steve’s neck. Steve had his face turned toward Bucky. There was blood pooling on the floor from his nose.

“Kane, you squirrely shit, get out of the corner and give me a hand.”

The bottom dropped out of Bucky’s stomach when he heard that name. He was so out of it, so focused on Steve and on the leaden, loose feelings in his body that he hadn’t even tried to look for the other players in the room. He couldn’t believe how lax he’d been.

And that guy. That … God. There he was, oozing out of the shadow he’d been hanging back in, lean and tense.

“He wants to skip ahead. We can accommodate that, right, fellas?”

Kane smiled, that same look on his face as he had whenever they’d ribbed him and called him a pussy.

Bucky really, really hated that look. He knew that look.

“Batter up,” Shankman said, laughing and pounding Kane on the back like they were both in on a good joke. Moss laughed, too.

What a joke.

Steve reacted violently, like he’d been shocked, kicking out and hitting New Guy in the calf, rolling his shoulders as if he could just break the cuffs – and now that Bucky really got a look at them, it was obvious that they weren’t going anywhere, not even for him.

After a few kicks he stopped, breathing hard, eyes shut tight.

“Oh, I think he needs it bad,” New Guy said. “Not surprised, ass that tight. Could barely get in there.”

“You heard him,” Shankman said, looking down at Steve curiously.

Steve was compliant again, lax under Moss’s boot now pressing him even harder into the floor. But the truly hateful look on his face, after the relative disinterest up ‘til now, seemed to take them aback.

And then it sunk into resignation, and he closed his eyes again.

“No, no, look up,” Kane said, tilting Steve’s chin up with his fingers. Steve flinched way from them before he caught himself. He squatted in front of Steve. “You know why they call me Homerun?”

Steve swallowed hard, throat clicking. A muscle in his jaw jumped. And he glanced, again, at Bucky. “No. Why.”

He stroked Steve’s side, lingering over the forming bruises. “It’s a good story.”

“I’ll bet,” Steve whispered, barely audible. His eyes were bright.

Bucky closed his eyes. He wouldn’t want Steve to see him like this, knowing what was about to happen. It was all he could offer Steve.

And this time, no one cared that he’d closed them. He wasn’t the freshest meat anymore. That was Steve, bleeding and tender.

That was Steve, and Bucky couldn't do a fucking thing.

The structure of this, especially being told through Bucky's pov, is just fucking horrifying. Possibly the most chilling thing I've found in the trash heap.

I can't wait for more.

During CATWS, Steve is captured by HYDRA, who all brutally gang rape him in true trash meme format. Also, the HYDRA goons order the Winter Soldier to rape Steve again and again, knowing how much it'll fuck with him. He eventually escapes, but not until he has been well and truly defiled by the Winter Soldier.

Fast forward to post-TWS, Bucky regains some of his memories of Steve (but not what he did to him) and seeks him out. Steve still wants to help him, so he takes him in and gets him help etc etc, but he can't forget what happened no matter how much he tries to tell himself it wasn't Bucky that raped him.

Please please give me poor anguished Steve caught between the trauma he went through and how much he loves and misses Bucky! Especially give me Steve ignoring his own PTSD to try to help Bucky out, feeling incredibly guilty if he flinches away from Bucky's touch, and not knowing how to tell Bucky what happened to him.

Bonus if Bucky remembers their past relationship (or just for whatever reason) tries to kiss/have sex with Steve and he goes through with it because he wants to make Bucky happy, but feels horrible after.

All my trash to whoever fills this pls pls pls

OK, I just read 'Knock Down' by StarsGarters ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/3417743#main )
And I absolutely loved it, but I need moreeeeee!
I basically want Dom!Maria fucking sub!Rumlow up the ass whenever she feels like it or if she thinks he ever crosses a line. I want Brock crying during it and thinking about what his Hydra teammates or Pierce would think of him with his legs spread open with a monster dildo up his ass. Also I would love if Brock got sounded too and becomes a trembling mess.

Also, the events of CA:WS still happened and when Brock is in the hospital, Maria visits him and fucks him while he's still sore, but he loves every second of it.

Holy sh*t, the dynamics going on here are amazing, Bucky vs the bad guys, Steve vs the bad guys, but also what's going on between Steve and Bucky... wow.

Adding my vote to this! Continually triggered Steve trying to power on through for Bucky's sake? Yes, please.

I've wanted this for so long.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 91 of 222

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

Re: FILL: nonconsensual emotional voyeurism 7/?

FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 13/18

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 12/17

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 12/17

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 12/17

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 12/17

Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 5/? -- ERROR FREE

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 12/17

Re: FILL: nonconsensual emotional voyeurism 7/?

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 13/18

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 12/17

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 13/18

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 13/18

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 13/18

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr, 13/18

Fury/Strucker noncon

Re: Fury/Strucker noncon

FILL: not so unsullied anymore 3a/?

FILL: not so unsullied anymore 3b/?

Re: FILL: not so unsullied anymore 3b/?

no subject

Cold Dom!Maria/snarky sub!Rumlow

Re: FILL: not so unsullied anymore 3b/?

no subject

Re: safety from non-whites