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

[trashmod]

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.

[Round 1] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 2 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

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

Comments

Re: Rape that looks consensual [FILL, Part 1]

[(Anonymous)]

Alexander Pierce walks up to the sofa in his living room. There's already a figure seated on it.

Well of course Bucky doesn't remember this scene. Of course this scene that he doesn't remember is now all over the fucking internet where anybody can see it.

Pierce pats the sofa next to him and the figure sitting at the other end, reclining against the opposite arm, slowly but eagerly moves toward him on all fours.
Bucky recognizes the asset's movements of course. He's moving slowly because he doesn't want to startle Pierce. And that alone causes a sickness to stir deep in his belly.
He thinks about closing the window but he can't. He's on some shock value website that hosts everything from videos of terrorists cutting off the heads of journalists to... well, his personal life. Formerly personal life. Not that he's ever really had a personal life. At least, not since before the war.
The few memories he has of those days have taken an almost fairy tale glow. He imagines some of his memories, he thinks. Things like, What Bucky Barnes Did Every Morning When He Woke Up; looking in the mirror and brushing his teeth, frowning at a pimple, combing his hair and slicking it back. Or how about Uncomplicated Bucky Barnes Jerks Off and Feels Good?
He forces himself to continue watching, his arms crossed over his chest, his leg jiggling.
Pierce strokes his hair, calls him a good boy. The sound is crystal clear. Pierce must have put the camera on a stool or a coffee table, something that shows the whole couch. Bucky feels a chill down his spine.
Everything about this just screams planned out, premeditated... Like they'd been setting him up for this fall all along. Like they'd known or at least imagined the possibility of him escaping at some point.
And this is how the fun ends, he thinks. Oh well. At least he got to enjoy a little bit of time with Steve-
Stop, stop being so fatalistic. Stop fucking thinking that way. Stop it. Just watch the goddamn video.
“You're a good boy,” Pierce is crooning gently to the asset who is in a cat like position; knees bended, legs tucked underneath him, head resting on Pierce's knee, hands against the sofa and away from Pierce's leg. Because he is not allowed to touch his handler unless given permission. The deceased Secretary strokes his hair, smiling to himself.
“Stand up,” Pierce tells him.
The asset obeys, standing before him and facing him.
“Turn around.”
The asset does so. Bucky feels a prickle at his brain.
Why is the Secretary demanding the asset face this way? The asset will obey, of course, because it must, but it thought the Secretary would want to watch it undress?
It's a stray thought but with a cold wash of horror, he realizes this scene isn't perhaps as forgotten as he'd thought it was. Just buried along with the rest of the rotting carcasses in his mind.
“I want you naked. Now.”
The asset rips off its combat vest, leather shredded with just one movement of its metal arm. Then it tosses it to the floor. Next, the boots come off, followed by the pants (also ripped off in its haste to obey). It has no underwear.
It stares at the wall, above the camera, and to see his own eyes at the time – God, to see them so empty. It makes him think of the early days when he first came to live with Steve, looking into the mirror. But even then his eyes had some life; he'd been free and wandering for nearly a year at that point.
His face flushes at the realization that people everywhere have seen this. They have seen it - him rip his clothes off at an order from Pierce, seen his pale, scarred body and his dangling cock.
“Touch yourself.”
The asset's shoulders visibly sag a little, as if in relief, its eyelids drooping slightly while its flesh hand moves toward its cock and... stops. Because the Secretary didn't tell him which hand to use.
“Good boy,” Pierce soothes. “Now use your right hand.”
The assset's lips part. Getting to use its right hand is a treat.
“Good boy,” Pierce slowly rises from the couch and moves to stand right behind his pet assassin. He puts his hands on the asset's ribs, then strokes downward, then up again. Meanwhile, his chin rests on its shoulder.
“Very good. Does that feel nice?”
The asset nods.
“Yes, Sir,” its voice is rough from disuse and flat, but it trembles slightly.
“Keep touching.” Pierce tells him.
His shiny black shoes prod at the inside of the asset's feet and spread them further. The asset mindlessly moves when Pierce sets his hands on the asset's thighs, pressing downward. The asset moves into a slight squat.
Bucky looks away from the screen for a moment, swallowing, then forces himself to look again.
“Jesus,” he says, and shakes his head. His eyes are watering.
He's relieved to find, at least, that he's not aroused from watching. Yet.
Please, God, if there even is one, let him not be aroused by this.
“Very good boy,” Pierce chuckles a little and pats him on the ass. The asset keeps stroking, eyelids fluttering a little. It never took long to get it worked up because it wasn't like it got to play with itself often.
“Do you like this?”
The asset licks its lips and looks confused. It nods after a few moments.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Mm, I like seeing you like this. But I'm doing a nice favor for you, aren't I?”
Bucky feels sick. Anyone who knows, anyone who understands... but people just watching this, they won't... they won't understand. They'll think how disgusting it is for him to be grateful to Pierce for letting him humiliate himself on a camera this way.
That this is a favor for James Buchanan Barnes from Secretary Alexander Pierce.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
And the asset is biting its lower lip and shivering a little.
It moans, then freezes for a moment, as if afraid. It isn't allowed to make noise unless given permission. It continues stroking itself, looking anxiously at the wall.
Bucky is sitting absolutely still as he watches Pierce stroll around behind the asset and move to a stop.
Pierce leans in and whispers something to the asset and the asset lets out a louder moan, almost close to a sob.