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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Inspired by the amazing Windmills and the gorgeous Uminerra above

Bucky is newly back with Steve (+/- Sam, Nat?), and they quickly discover he cannot yet process solid foods when they feed him. They switch to a shake or something to acclimatise him.

Bucky thinks he's being punished and desperately tries to win the privilege of real food back, however he can. After all, sometimes Pierce rewarded him with solid food when he was done playing ...

Bonus for something along these lines:

"please, Sir, I know attack dogs are kept hungry and no-one wants a fat toy, but ..."

^ oops, meant Uberrima

That line! My heart! YES PLEASE

Buckyyyyy!

Yesssss

The first thing they tell him is his name is Bucky. He remembers this, the name rings in his ear and stirs up a shadow of memory. But he's had a lot of names over the years, and all he can wonder is how long this one will stick.
As far as he knows, 'Bucky' is not an insult. (As far as he knows it doesn't mean much of anything). They tell him he doesn't have commanders or missions or handlers or punishments or orders.
All he has is a Steve.
Steve watches him like a handler. His eyes carefully trained on Bucky, a mixture of familiar fear and suspicion and a hint of longing that makes Bucky half-shudder whenever he catches it. Steve himself is familiar, not just the looks he gives Bucky, but he himself.
Steve reminds Bucky of Pierce before he wizened, and Pierce had reminded Bucky of Steve, and Steve had reminded Bucky of Steve Before. It's all very confusing, and sometimes Bucky wishes for the chair that burnt, yes, but burnt all the sad, hurtful, horrible memories away. Memory is suffering, Bucky learns, but Bucky is very good at suffering.
They tell him lots of things. For the most part his handlers (no not handlers, friends, they say) speak in low, gentle voices. The asset is no longer a good soldier and now loud noises and voices make him twitch and shake, and they are good and don't want to see his disgusting, quivering weakness so they avoid it.
They tell him it's okay for him to use the bathroom whenever he wants, it's okay to drink water that doesn't taste of rust and make his stomach clench, it's okay to sleep, it's okay to speak (even when he's not been asked any direct questions!).
It's okay for him to do anythings he likes, he had been told, as long as he isn't hurting himself or anyone else.

And it's okay to eat.

Most of the time, the asset was fed through tubes straight after coming out of cryo, when he was more wire and tube than weapon (and more weapon than man) and when sustenance was required on missions, they gave him shakes that tasted like nothing. When Steve brings him in, he is taken to a hospital and he is too weak too tired too finished to fight about it, even though the Labcoats make him want to gnaw away at his own body until there's nothing left for them to prod. At the hospital, they feed him through tubes.
After the hospital, when he's declared functioning ("but we don't recommended you take him home, Captain Rogers"//"I can take care of him"//the Labcoat sighs, the red headed woman he shot (twice) glares and the Labcoat relents) they take him to a different place. A house, the home of the man with the wings who helped Steve track him. Sam Wilson. Natasha leaves, she'll be back soon, call her if anything goes wrong, really, Steve. She gives Bucky a smile and a friendly nod.
This is when Bucky is given real food.
He almost cries, perched at the end of the kitchen chair so not to soil it with his being, when they place a bowl in front of him. It's different to what Sam Wilson and Steve have.
"It's okay to eat, if you're hungry." Steve said, because all Bucky is doing is staring. Sam Wilson is not looking at him, and Bucky knows it's not out of disinterest, but of politeness. Bucky eats the rice, and fills the swollen emptiness inside of him.

The Asset is not allowed solid food, unless it is given to him by Alexander Pierce and he has earned it. It's one of the things that the Asset Remembers, like Pierce himself or the fact that He Is Not A Person.
He is done with his mission, and the strike team leave him at Pierce's house. He slips in the sliding doors and starts to strip. Quickly, efficiently. First the weapons. Boots. Kevlar and leather and cotton are placed out of easy view but are still easy to access.
This can only end one of two ways.
The muzzle reminds on his face but the goggles come off. He sits on his knees with his arms folded behind is back, the metal thumb strokes the flesh one out of sight and in a steady rhythm that almost matches the beat of the asset's heart.
Pierce comes in, he is still wearing his suit pants and shirt, but no jacket, and the tie is in his hands. He lets out a low whistle as he sits at the kitchen table.
"Here boy," Pierce says softly. His voice is always soft and soothing. The Asset crawls to Pierce's feet and plants himself. Pierce places his hand in the asset's limp greasy hair and tucks it behind his ear.
"Mission report."
"Target acquired."
"Good boy," Pierce says. "I heard you did very well indeed."
The Asset leans into the touch. He needs it.
Pierce pulls off the mask. One of the straps gets caught in his hair but the asset doesn't even blink as it is torn out from his scalp.
"It almost went wrong, didn't it? But you fixed it. You're very good at what you do, aren't you?" Pierce said. He places the
muzzle down gently.
The asset still will not allow itself to react. It is not the type of question he should answer the first time, if at all.
"Are you hungry?" Pierce said. It's an odd question. The asset doesn't know whether or not he has been asked it before.
"Yes, sir."
"Didn't the medics give you anything when you came out of cryo?" Pierce said, his head titled, his fingers flying through tangles. The asset can see his erection growing against the suit trousers.
"Yes, sir."
"Then why are you still hungry?"
"I don't know, sir."
Pierce's fingers leave the asset's hair and smooth down the asset's solid, naked body. His nails scrape the asset's cock, which sits flaccid and useless, and then he pinched the balls. The asset yelps helplessly.
"Do you want to know why we keep you hungry?" Pierce said. "Attack dogs are supposed to be hungry. Hungry for prey. Hungry for blood. Hungry to please. And they have to earn it by doing what they are made for and
satisfying their masters. You've satisfied me once today. If you can do it again, you may have earned yourself a treat."
The asset doesn't need go be told what to do, but he waits for the instructions anyway.
He keeps his hands behind his back, he is not permitted to touch Pierce with anything but his mouth, and very occasionally the right hand. Never the left, this could hurt, and hurting is for the asset, not his handlers.
Pierce's hands return to the asset's hair pull the asset's head back so firmly he hears a satisfyingly painful crick.
It doesn't matter how familiar the sensation if the thrust of Pierce's cock down his throat is, the asset still chokes, still splutters.
"Suck," Pierce commands. He doesn't give the asset much time before he pushes deeper, balls resting on the asset's chin.
He likes the way his toy looks like this, pathetic tears falling down its pretty face, it's eyes squeezing closed tightly as it tries not to gag. It's a good job they don't feed him properly, really, as that's a mess Pierce never wants to deal with.
The only regret Pierce has is his age, when he was younger he could go longer. He comes down the assets throat and over the asset's lips, the fluid dripping down the asset's chin. Pierce wipes it with two fingers and drives them in the asset's mouth. The asset laps it up, greedier still.
"Are you still hungry?"
The asset gives a slight nod. "Please sir."
"Very well," Pierce said, "You have been very good."
Pierce goes to the stove and pulls out a plate. It's still warm and the asset can smell the heat and food and he has to keep his mouth firmly closed or he'll start salivating everywhere. It's steak and potatoes, and the asset thinks he's had it before.
Pierce holds out a portion of potato on a fork, an inch and three quarters away from the asset's mouth. The asset leans forward, just a touch.
"Don't grab." Pierce taps his nose, "Wait."
The asset waits.
"Open," Pierce says, "Take it nicely. Don't snap."
The asset takes the potato in his mouth.
It's not like the shakes they give him. It's not like anything he's had before.
"Good boy," Pierce pats his head. Pierce picks up a knife and turns away from the asset, starts cutting away at the steak, shredding it into tiny chunks. He drops a couple of pieces on the floor, as well as some potato. The asset doesn't shift, just pouts, lips so swollen and lovely.
Pierce does spoil the creature.
"Go on. No hands, boy."
And the asset presses its face into the floor and eats like its the first time (for him it is, Alexander supposes).
"More?" Pierce said, his eyes like ice.
The asset dares nod. "Please."
Pierce holds the fork nears to the asset's mouth. His left hand touches the asset's chin and his thumb hooks around his lips and pulls his mouth open, and then slides down his jaw and neck, fingers gliding gently past his nipples and resting on the asset's muscular stomach. The steak touches the asset's lips, he's almost drooling.
"That's enough." Pierce said, rapidly withering fingers pinch at the skin on the asset's stomach, "Nobody likes a fat toy."
Pierce closes the asset's mouth and gets up. The asset watches out of the corner of his eyes as Pierce throws the remaining food into the trash.

Bucky eats half the rice he's given, but his stomach churns and he has to dive to his feet and run to the bathroom, he makes it, just in time (he is not forced to clean it up with his bare hands or his shirt or his tongue) and it all goes neatly down the toilet. Steve is right behind him, hovering but not touching (he's a contagious disease, Steve and Sam are not to touch, not to be infected) and Sam is just outside the doorway, so as not to block any exits.
"Sorry." The asset (Bucky) chokes out with another glob of bile and saliva. He can feel pieces of regurgitated rice in his throat and in his nose and his eyes are leaking. He can't breathe quite right.
"It's fine, Bucky." Steve says. He's wetting a wash cloth with cool water and hands it to Bucky, who is trembling on the floor.
"I didn't mean to."
"We know, Bucky." Steve said. "It doesn't matter, as long as you feel okay."
"I'm fine, sir."
"Steve."
"Sorry."
"You wanna glass of water, Bucky?" Sam says his new name like its a foreign word.
Maybe it is.

Natasha comes back the next day. She calls him James. At first it confused Bucky, but he remembers what Steve explained in the hospital. Bucky is sat at the window, looking through at the birds and the trees and the outside. He likes the outside, especially when there are no targets to smear the landscape with their blood and screams.
"I brought soup," she tells Steve and Sam. Bucky thinks they all think he is out of ear shot. "They used to give us something very similar in the Red Room. I don't know if he'll remember, but it's light and nutritious and doesn't taste awful."
Bucky looks over to them all. He can smell the soup, and he squeezes his eyes closed as he thinks about the past and Russia and pain (but, oddly, no hunger).
He is sick again.
Again, he is told not to worry. He did nothing wrong. As long as he feels okay, everything is okay.

The asset (Bucky) starts to notice that Steve writes down all the food meals they give him. Rice and pasta and bread and toast and soup and bananas and plain chicken breast and cereals with no milk.
Steve writes down when he vomits, too. (Always).
Bucky tries food on his own, too, when they're not around or they're asleep.
He still throws up, and it scares him, because all he wants is to eat real food, people food, to be a person.

They said he could eat.

They said that, but he learns soon that they are liars (no no no not again) -
The thick shakes they give him now crawl down his throat like semen, but tastes like nothing and makes him feel like nothing. They leave him sated but hungry and bewildered. They said he could eat.
This isn't eating. He gets real food when he behaves, and shakes and tubes otherwise. He's done something terribly wrong.
He's being punished.
But far as Bucky knows, he has not done anything wrong. All the times he'd thrown up he'd managed get it clean down the toilet bowl. He hadn't made a mess. He hadn't stolen.
There were no missions so he couldn't have fucked any of them up.
They said no punishments.
But then Bucky starts to actually think, and he realizes how stupid stupid stupid he is.
Its not what he's done. It's what he hasn't done.

Memory is suffering, Bucky learns, but Bucky is very good at suffering.

hahahaha ha haaaaaaaaa

i'll just be over here sobbing into a pile of mildewy newspapers

*
Bucky has a plan to get back in to their good books. He has to earn it, doesn't he? He has to be good, satisfy his masters, and only eat like them when they are generous enough to allow it.
Sam Wilson is reading in his living room, a heavy looking book, but he looks pleased with it and in a good mood and not at all stressed, so Bucky will start with him.
Bucky creeps into the room like a beetle, silent and most likely unwanted, but there.
He sits down (without being told).
"Hi, Bucky." Sam says without looking up.
"You can call me whatever you like," he tells Sam. "I know you don't like calling me 'Bucky'"
Sam Wilson puts down his book.
"What makes you say that?" He said.
"The way you say it." Bucky says. "Like it leaves a bad taste in your mouth."
Sam Wilson rapidly blinks deep brown eyes.
"No, Bucky, that's not it." Sam said. "I'm just not used to it. Like first meeting Steve. He was a guy, you're both guys I read comics about and watched cartoons about. So I'm not used to you..."
He trails off as Bucky slips off the couch down on his knees.
"Please," Bucky said. There are lines on Sam's forehead. He puts a hand on Sam's Wilson's knee, and Sam is protected from his filth by his jeans. Sam stares at it anyway.
It's even his right hand. The left one is firmly in his pocket. No-one wants to see it.
"Bucky." Sam's tone is a warning. "What are you doing?"
Bucky's right hand snakes further towards Sam's crotch. Sam grabs it before Bucky can touch the fly.
"Do you know where you are?" Sam said.
"'Course I do." Bucky said. "I'm here. With you. And I want to satisfy you."
He lets Sam keep a grip on his wrist. They don't like it when Bucky uses his strength against them.
"You don't have to satisfy me," Sam said. "Or anyone else."
Which means he can't. He needs to be better.

*

Natasha brought soup once, Bucky figures, maybe she'll do it again if he's good to her.
Sam and Steve tell him where they're going and that Natasha will be staying with him so he doesn't get lonely, but Bucky's too busy staring at the wall and trying to figure out what would please Natasha to listen properly. He doesn't think Sam mentioned his failed attempts to either Natasha or Steve, so he's grateful for that. He thinks perhaps Sam is too kind to be a handler.
Natasha is not kind (neither is cruel, nor good or bad). She invites Bucky to watch an animated movie with her, one that makes Bucky thinks of a huge room and a skinny Steve and a man with a flash light that grabbed their ears and dragged them out. It tugs the corners of his lips up, when he thinks about that.
Bucky insists on sitting on the floor, at her feet. When she's watching the movie and not
him, he presses his lips to the soles of her booted feet. She doesn't notice right away, not until he's finished moved on to the tip of her boots. The boots are new and still taste like leather.
She nearly kicks him in the teeth when she noticed.
"James, stop." She says.
"Don't you like me?" Bucky said. "I don't look good, especially these days, I look like crap, but you don't have to look at me."
"James," she says. "I will never use you like that. It doesn't mean I don't like you, I like you very much."
"I'm sorry." Bucky says. "I thought if I - I could..."
"You could?" Natasha prompts. She doesn't press when Bucky buries his face in his knees.

*

Steve is in charge (possibly, him or Natasha, and she's made it clear that Bucky isn't satisfying) so Bucky tries him. If he satisfies Steve, even pleases him, then there's no doubt that he'll get to eat solid food.
So he looks for Steve. He finds him in the living room. Sam is at work, his real job, and Natasha is where Natasha goes.
Bucky walks to Steve, because crawling hasn't worked out yet. He makes sure his footsteps are heavier than what is natural, because he knows Steve hates the creepy-silent way Bucky usually walks. He sits next to Steve. He knows Steve likes gentleness almost as much as Rumlow had liked roughness, liked sweet touches and gestures as much as Pierce liked him to beg.
He puts his head on Steve's shoulder, his lips pressed into Steve's neck, and he breathes in Steve's fresh-laundry-and-artificial-lemon smell.
Steve doesn't flinch away from him, doesn't hit him with a stun baton until the asset pisses himself, no, Steve puts his head on top of Bucky's.
It's not easy on the neck for either of them, really, so Bucky shifts and peppers light kisses on Steve's neck and jaw.
Steve sighs softly, a hand finds its way to Bucky's hair. Bucky sees his eyes flutter closed, but when Bucky sucks gently on the delicate skin covering his carotid artery, they fly open.
"Bucky - "
"Would you prefer to do this in your bedroom sir?"
"What?"
"Like we used to."
It's a half-memory, nothing that Bucky can cling to, all he knows is Steve's hands on his gross body, Steve's perfect lips against his whorish ones.
Steve looks pleased and astonished all in one.
"I don't think you're ready." He chokes out.
"I'm ready if you are, Stevie." He looks up at Steve through the curtain of his eyelashes, tracing light, tickling circles with his fingers on the palm of Steve's hand.
Steve nods, slowly, "Only if you're sure."
This is a really stupid game. Even Bucky knows there's not a real choice, but some of the strike team liked it when Bucky pretended to like it, they liked it when Bucky got off, they liked it when the asset squirmed in pleasure (one used to like it when the asset declared undying love).
Bucky holds Steve's hands as they move to Steve's bedroom. Steve kisses him, hard and soft on the lips, his crotch pressed up against Bucky's and his hands clutching at the collar of Bucky's hoody.
He pulls it off over Bucky's head and then takes his own-three-sizes-too-small t-shirt off and grins as Bucky undoes Steve's belt and slides the jeans and boxer-briefs down. Steve's already hard, and Bucky almost wishes he was.
Steve lies down on the bed as Bucky widens the scope of the kisses and spreads them around Steve's pecs and abdomen and finally his lips fall on Steve's cock, his tongue softly wetting the tip before he takes more of Steve inside of his mouth.
Bucky's tears fall because Bucky has no self-control, the salt-water drips in with the pre-cum that leaks out of Steve's cock.
Steve suddenly stops moaning, and his hand touches Bucky's belly (which is less muscular, maybe more fleshy than it was at the asset's peak, that could be why they stopped feeding him, why none of them want him) and pushes him off. It does hurt, Bucky lets out a hiss of pain as he crashes off the bed and onto the floor.
"Shit, sorry, Bucky -" Steve's fingers dig into his own scalp. "You're crying. You don't want this."
Bucky's chewing on his lip as he stands up.
"Yes I do!"
"No, you - you're confused. I can't...I took advantage, I'm so fucking sorry..."
The asset doesn't like playing this damn game, wants to put his fist through a wall.
"I just want you to be happy," Bucky said. He hears his stomach gurgle and Steve asks if he's hungry and if he wants a shake.
He leaves without answering to go back to his room. He does his nightly sit-ups and push-ups and crawls under the bed and tries to sleep.
He doesn't.
He can't.
He doesn't deserve to sleep or eat, he knows, but knows he tries to deserve it.
Steve doesn't want him. Sam doesn't want him. Natasha doesn't want him. He knows he's a mess, why would anyone want him, but even Rumlow had said he was good at it. He was made for it, even, he shouldn't have been a weapon. He should have been a toy all along. (He was turned into both).
He'll have to try harder.

*

He spends more time with Steve. Or, at least, around Steve, lingering like a miasma. He sits at his feet on the couch until Steve lets him get up and sit right next to him. He drinks the tasteless shake while Steve and Sam eat their people-food, making sure to send glances Steve's way the entire time. When Steve makes a suggestion (there are no orders) Bucky jumps.
Hanging around isn't working. He isn't given people-food. He's so hungry, but not really, he's nourished, technically, but he'd give anything for the taste of meat on his tongue, the feeling of food resting in the pit of his stomach.
One day, he gives up. He knows what it's like to disappoint owners/handlers/friends, and knows sometimes the question is worth a beating.
He waits until Steve is alone, sketching at the table in the kitchen. Bucky slithers in.
"Please, sir."
Steve looks up, eyes like round crystal pools (not ice) burning right through Bucky. His gentle lips parted, he's breathing strangely.
(He looks like Bucky feels, like he's about to unravel).
"Are you okay, Bucky?"
Bucky has purple bags under his eyes and his hair is messed up, and he's on his knees, looking up at Steve. It makes Steve want to cry, but most everything Bucky does makes Steve want to cry these days.
(It also makes Steve want to kill, not capture, every Hydra son of a bitch there ever was or will be, and that's not a very Steve Rogersly way of Steve Rogers to think).
"Please sir..."
Bucky (the asset) knows dogs don't want, weapons don't want toys don't want, and they don't need, he's so damn needy and greedy and god. "I..."
"Bucky," Steve says, "Are you alright?"
"Food." Is all that leaves Bucky's lips, a petulant, cautious demand when he knows he's in no place to make demands.
"Are you hungry?"
Bucky shrugs, because there is no right answers, only wrong.
"I'll be good this time." Bucky said. "I'll be good, I know...I haven't satisfied you, but I want to, I'll do anything, sir."
Steve isn't often struck speechless. All he can do is frown down at Bucky. He feels tears start to build and run.
"Please sir, I know attack dogs are supposed to be kept hungry and no-one wants a fat toy, but I...you said I could have food, and I didn't break the rules, I didn't mean to, I tried...don't make me go back, please, I really will do whatever you want -"
His hands are behind his back, the metal fingers pinching at the left ones as hard as he can without ripping any of them off.
"I don't know what I did to be punished." The asset spits out, finally.
He can hear (and neatly feel) Steve's jaw clench and his teeth scrape.
"You're not being punished, Buck." Steve said.
"You took the food away."
"No, no. Bucky." Steve reaches out but pulls back, he gets on the floor in front of Bucky, they are eye to eye. "The food was making you sick. You weren't ready to digest food properly yet, remember? We said, didn't we - we can try solid foods any time you want, if you ask."
The thing is though, he's never been allowed to ask.

ohmygosh that was heartbreaking. Poor Bucky :(

Oh, you are a fantabulous writer of this particular Bucky headspace. Food issues are about my favourite flavour of trash so I was invested in this from the start, but this had everything - Bucky thinking of himself as a contagion, the permeating self-hatred, poor stupid Steve being the one to fall for Bucky's advances (because he was the one who had a context for it) - I do hope you will favour us with more in this vein!

OP here

Oh my god, you blew up me away. That was amazing! Bucky's self loathing and fear, and Steve's near-obliviousness, you broke my heart in such a perfect way!

Oh thank you I'm really glad you like it :)

YOU HAVE MURDERED ME.

Holy shit, I had to take several breaks while reading this because it was just so disturbing and powerful. Bookmarking. Thanks for sharing this beautiful trash, and if you ever write more of it, I'm 100% down to read it.

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

Bucky, earning food

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