hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Holy shitballs, look at us go. Welcome to Captain America fandom's resident wretched hive of scum and villainy: ROUND THREE. AKA Bad Guys Do Dirtybadwrong Things To Your Faves, 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] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

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Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

a!a: hahaha YES

a!a: Yeah, I don't even know where that came from... but now I can't get the image of that cold, hard, deadly metal sliding into Bucky's vulnerable, flinching hole. How his ass cheeks are already spread wide by the way he's sitting on his heels, exposing him completely to the invading muzzle, to Rumlow and all the laughing, jeering guards behind him. How he can see the horror, the disgust rolling over Steve's face as he watches Bucky take it like a pro. How he can't move away from the gun, can't even flinch, even though everything in him is screaming with fear, with shame, because ~~that's not allowed~~ Rumlow will kill Steve and Sam if he misbehaves...

Yeah, I'll stop now. Thanks so much for commenting!!

Ahaha, so apparently by "hopefully by this weekend" I actually meant, "I'm going to get super distracted by work and not finish this for ages...." Anyways, it is still super unbetaed and I'm not 100% happy with it, but since you said it sounded like a thing you'd be interested in, I am going ahead and posting it before it ends up languishing forever unread in my documents folder! It's broken into two parts due to character limit on comments, but there's not really meant to be a break.

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Alice took one look at the man hunched over in the alley by her building and was sorely tempted to turn around and leave. She had just come off a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, and she could hear her bed calling to her just a few feet and one floor away. The man may have been covered in blood and bruises, but he was a pretty big, tough-looking guy. He could wait.

Then she took in the tight curve of his back, the way his hair hung lank and dirty like a shield over his face, the torn clothing being twisted and further mangled by one glove-covered hand while the other cradled his stomach, and the compassion that had driven her into nursing school once upon a time kicked in. It didn’t take a genius to realize this man, for all his rough looks, needed medical attention in a bad way.

This inability to leave well enough alone when something wasn’t her problem was exactly why Tom had left her, but he had left and that meant he couldn’t try to talk her out of this.

“Hey,” she said softly, taking a single step towards the man. “Are you-“

She didn’t get to finish her question, as the man fairly bolted upright and jerked away, further down the alley. Even in the dim light filtering through grimy windows in the apartment complex, Alice could see his face go an unhealthy gray color. She could also see the dark patch on the back of his jeans that she had taken for water spread with his sudden movement, moments before his legs buckled out from beneath him.

“Hey, woah!” she called, darting forwards. She stopped before touching him; he had curled in tightly upon himself, even though the position left him lying in the unidentified filth of the alley. “Please don’t be frightened,” she said, using the soft and gentle voice she reserved for a certain kind of patient. She had gone in to nursing to help people, and her years of work had taught her just how often other people in the world just wanted to hurt someone.

“I’m a nurse,” she continued in the same voice. “I just got off a shift at the Brooklyn Hospital. Is it ok if I touch you? You look like you could use medical attention.” The man whimpered, high and thin and almost immediately choked off, and Alice shut up. She thought longingly of her bed, and how easy it would be to leave this stranger. Her apartment was on the other side of the building. She could go make that cup of tea she’d been craving for the past few hours (her favorite pomegranate herbal tea that she could never get from the shops by the hospital), run herself a warm bath, and go to bed. She could forget all about this complete stranger who probably didn’t want her help anyway.

At least, she wished she could. In reality, she knew that if she left now, she’d just spend the whole night staring at her ceiling and wondering if he had ever gotten help.

“I can take you to the hospital,” she offered. She didn’t have a car, didn’t need one smack in the middle of Brooklyn, but she could get him a cab and ride with him. It wouldn’t cost too much; she was only a few blocks away. When she moved to do just that, however, a surprisingly strong hand reached out and grabbed her ankle. She stopped immediately, and the hand retracted.

“No hospitals,” the man said. His voice sounded like he’d been eating gravel. Alice tried not to think too hard about what else might have happened to damage his throat that night.

“Alright,” she said instead, holding very still. “Is there at least someone I can call for you?” The man’s hand went slack around her ankle and he curled tighter into himself, but otherwise he did not respond. “If someone hurt you, I can call 911 for you,” she tried again.

“No.” The man’s third word of the evening was also the most emphatic. Alice felt a brief moment of worry that the man could be dangerous. The fact remained, however, that no one with injuries like his deserved to suffer alone, especially if there was danger of his attackers returning to hurt him further.

“At least come in and let me get you some bandages,” she said. “From the way you were moving, it’s likely you’ve got at least a broken leg, and from your breathing I’d add bruised or broken ribs as well.” She neglected to mention the other wounds the man certainly had. Getting women to report rape was difficult enough; she had a sneaking suspicion asking this man to acknowledge what had happened, let alone report it, would be impossible.

The man remained curled in on himself, and Alice gave him time to consider her offer. She could see the glint of one eye, shining darkly against the light of a nearby streetlamp, as it assessed her sideways through a tangled knot of hair. Finally, his gaze returned to his knees, and he spoke. His words left her far more chilled than the late September breeze warranted. “Left tibia: two fractures. Right kneecap: shattered. Three bruised ribs on the left, one on the right. Minor bruising and tearing over much of the midsection and lower body. Three chipped teeth. One cracked nasal bone. No fatal damage sustained.”

Alice bit back her first response. She very deliberately did not move any closer to the man in front of her, but there was no way she was letting him out of her sight without some kind of medical attention. He’d rattled off a list of injuries that would leave most people incoherent with agony as though he were reading a weather report. She wasn’t even going to touch the last piece of information. “No fatal damage” indeed.

“Well,” she finally managed, “there’s not much I can do for the broken bones, and I still highly suggest you go to a hospital and see a real doctor.” His head turned just enough to glare at her, and she hurried on. “But, if you’re absolutely set against that, at least let me help you clean and bandage the rest of it. Any open wounds shouldn’t be left to fester, or you could get very ill.”

“Can’t,” the man said, and she decided this was not the hill she wanted to die on.

“All right,” she said instead of arguing. “Be that as it may, infected wounds are still very unpleasant. I promise I won’t even touch you if you don’t want, but it really would make me feel better if you’d come in and at least get clean and let me give you some bandages. I might even have some clothes you can borrow that my ex left behind.” The thought of what Tom would say if he heard her offering his over-priced Abercrombie sweat pants and hoodie to a homeless man gave her a bit of vindictive glee that was cut short by said homeless man hauling himself to his feet.

He still held himself quite rigidly, and watched her with hawk-like eyes and a fiercely downturned mouth, so she held her tongue against the help she wanted to offer and turned in the direction of her apartment. “It’s just this way, and up one flight of stairs,” she said.

“Thank you,” the man said, voice quiet and almost hesitant, and she smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

The first hurdle came at the door into her apartment complex. Homeless Guy, as she’d taken to calling him in her head when he refused to offer a name, had done admirably well at limping to the door for a man with a fractured tibia and shattered kneecap. Once facing the open door, however, he had shrunk in on himself impressively, and it had taken some coaxing to get him over the threshold. She expected the stairs to prove another hurdle, but Homeless Guy’s reticence abated enough for him to accept her support in climbing them.

Still, by the time they entered her apartment, Homeless Guy was pale and shaking. The tremors were faint enough that she might have missed them if she’d only been looking, but with him leaning increasingly more of his weight on her shoulder they were obvious. “Can you sit here for a moment?” she asked, indicating the couch with a jerk of her head. It was an old, ratty couch in a rather hideous mix of brown and green she had gotten cheap at a garage sale, so he could hardly make it more unpleasant by sitting on it before washing up.

He eyed the couch for several long seconds with an unhappy frown. Finally, he nodded, slipped his arm off her shoulder, and sank down into a rigid, straight-backed position more appropriate to her grandmother’s old dining room chairs than her ugly but soft couch. “Feel free to relax,” she said rather pointedly, before turning to her kitchen a few feet away. It was separated from the living room only by a narrow counter, faced by the couch where she had deposited him.

In the kitchen, the first thing she did was start some water heating in her electric kettle. She was grateful Homeless Guy had accepted her offer of assistance, even if he refused more competent and thorough medical care, but she’d be damned if he stopped her from getting her cup of tea.

While the water boiled, she pulled several of her older washcloths out of the drawer by the stove and ran them under the tap to get them damp. She pulled her first aid kit out from under the sink, and grabbed the scissors just for good measure.

Homeless Guy didn’t move through the whole process, not even when the kettle started hissing and she asked if he would like a cup of tea. She collected her things, balancing the mess with ease after years of practice running after doctors who were too important to carry their own medical supplies. Homeless Guy had, impressively, tensed even further while was collecting things. He stared right through her when she crouched in front of him, gently placing the scissors and first aid kit on the coffee table. Her tea cup went equally gently over the permanent ring left by months of late night tea drinking without coasters.

“Hey,” she asked, keeping her voice soft, “you still with me?”

His eyes flicked to hers and then back away, and then he was shrugging out of his hoodie to reveal another long-sleeved shirt underneath. She could tell there was also a t-shirt under the long-sleeved shirt, since both were torn all the way down the front. He must have been overheating like mad, but she could hardly blame him for wanting to be covered as much as possible. They gaped open over his chest and stomach, and she had to swallow back bile at the sight that met her eyes.

Shallow cuts and bruises littered the space over his ribs, and his abdomen had an actual, honest to god skull and crossbones carved messily into it. She bit her tongue hard enough to hurt, reminded herself she’d seen plenty worse over the years, and picked up a washcloth. “Do you mind if I clean the cuts?” she asked, holding the damp cloth up where he could see it.

In response, he pulled the torn edges of his shirts open wider and looked away. “Can you take the shirts off?” she asked. She wanted to clean all of his upper body before dealing with the mess that his legs must be, if his earlier assessments were true. A part of her could admit that she lacked confidence in her ability to do anything for his legs at all, besides bandage them tightly and offer him the use of her couch to sleep on for a few days. That thought prompted her to take another drink of her tea. If only she had something stronger in the house, but she’d finished her vodka when Tom left, and hadn’t yet replaced it.

And Homeless Guy was staring at her and making no move to remove any more clothing. “It really would be easier to get you clean if you could remove the shirts,” she said. “I promise I won’t touch your skin except with the washcloths, but I’m worried you might have more cuts on your arms or back.”

“No,” Homeless Guy said, and well, that was that she supposed.

Half of her expected Homeless Guy to grab her again, or speak, or even flinch when the cloth hit his skin. Instead he gave no sign he even felt it. She started at his collarbones, gently cleaning mud and dried blood from each scrape and cut she encountered. He did let out a hiss when she cleaned what looked suspiciously like a bite mark around his left nipple, and she purposefully avoided looking at his face.

Finally, most of the dirt on his upper body had been transferred to the washcloths and she placed bandages over the worst wounds, of which there were surprisingly few for how much blood she had cleaned off of him. Briefly she considered that not the all the blood had to be his. That line of thought was promptly abandoned in the next second. If this man had fought back against his attackers, she damn well hoped he’d done some serious damage to them.

She cleaned his face carefully next, then ran a comb through his tangled, greasy hair, watching for even the smallest sign of discomfort. He sat still as a statue while she worked, however, not flinching even when she asked him to close his eyes so she could clean a cut along his eyebrow.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to need stitches anywhere.

“Stay here,” she said once she’d gotten everything she could reach. “I’m going to grab some ice packs, and then we can look at the rest of you if you’re feeling up to it.”

She was immensely glad that the sink faced away from the living room. She had managed to hold on to her composure the whole ten steps to the kitchen, but she had to admit she needed a moment to herself before going back to her guest. Staring at the bloody pile of washcloths sitting where she’d dumped them in the sink seemed as good a place to zone out for a moment as any. The sound of him shuffling around on her couch was loud in the small apartment, however, making it impossible to really forget about him for even a second.

She gave herself five minutes according to the microwave clock before she went to the freezer and grabbed every ice pack she owned. Then she turned around.

She didn’t quite scream or drop anything, a fact which she thought quite commendable given the circumstances. Homeless Guy had stripped out of the rest of his clothing and arranged himself face down on her couch. The sweater still draped over his left arm was the only covering he had retained, and it hardly did much to cover him.

Setting the ice packs down next to the first aid kit on the coffee table, she fetched a few more damp washcloths (her last clean ones, in fact), before returning to sit gingerly on the couch by his waist. A naked man was nothing she hadn’t seen before in droves, but when it came to his particular injuries right below the waist, men were less likely than women to show up to the hospital rather than letting the injuries heal at home. His back was remarkably unscathed compared to his front, so this time she started the cleaning with his thighs.

Once again, he remained eerily silent while she cleaned and bandaged the cuts. Even when she wrapped ace bandages around the places with broken bones in lieu of any better options, his breathing barely changed. Only once, when she ran a fresh washcloth across his perineum and down towards his scrotum, both to clean off the blood and to assess if there were any wounds there or if all the blood came from his anus, did he make a noise. It was a soft, wet sob choked back almost as soon as she heard it, but she immediately jerked her hand away and apologized. He said nothing further, but she could see the lines of tension in his shoulders, and the slight trembling in his thighs that said he desperately wanted to close them against her ministrations.

A sudden rush of admiration for this lonely, hurting stranger washed through Alice. As big and tough looking as he was, she could hardly imagine how intensely humiliating it must be for him to bare himself so to a stranger, after being violated so thoroughly by whoever had attacked him. She resolved to suggest a hospital again tomorrow, after he’d had a chance to rest and hopefully felt a bit more comfortable with her.

For now, however, she simply packed some ice around the shattered kneecap and broken tibia. Then she slipped the old blue afghan her mother had knitted for her as a child off the chair by the couch and gently laid it over her guest. He made a questioning noise as the fabric touched his skin, and she smiled down at him sadly.

“You’re welcome to stay here for the night,” she said, crouching by his face so he could see her without twisting his head too far. “I’ll be just down the hall, and if you need anything you can yell.” She pointed down the hallway opposite the door where they’d come in, only a few steps from the arm of the couch where his head rested. “I’ll bring you out some of Tom’s old clothes,” she added, “and you can change into them now if you want or wait till later. I’d advise waiting so you don’t jostle your legs too much just yet, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

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The next day, the homeless man was gone. Alice had not heard a single movement through the night, and she was a light sleeper. Yet, when she crept out into the living room to check on her guest, the only traces of his presence the night before were the bloody cloths in the sink and Tom’s missing clothes. He hadn't even left his own ruined clothing behind.

She sank down onto the couch where he had sat the night before. She should report the encounter to someone. Reporting the obvious crime to someone was the clear thing to do, now that the man was no longer in her home and saying no. She knew that. She didn't move. Her phone was still on her nightstand next to her bed, much to far away to reach. Besides, she knew what happened when the cops investigated sexual violence against homeless people.

Nothing.

It'd hardly make any kind of difference if she just skipped the middle step and went straight to the end result. It was her day off, anyway. Nothing was exactly consistent with her plans for the day.

(OP) This continues to be so, so good.

You make how difficult and horrible this is feel so visceral: everyone's body language, Steve's inability to articulate explicit descriptions, the cruel laughter from the Hydra bastards around them. That's all reinforced by their actions, too -- like Steve flinching back from Bucky, or Sam communicating that he simply cannot manage it. I can just feel how humiliating, devastating, and impossible this is for them, to the point that I'm wondering how they're gonna physically force themselves to do this. It's wonderfully, perfectly brutal.

I LOVED Steve stripping so that Bucky isn't the only vulnerable naked one -- even before he knows Bucky's been raped before, he's aware of Rumlow's lascivious attention. As for the rape reveal, that was also beautifully done. Of course that would be the final straw that forces Steve to lodge one last protest. It's horrible enough to be forced to rape your best friend (and in such an agonizing way), but to find out that that's an old wound for him and you're ripping it open again... ow ow ow :(

I also really like (read: feel punched in the gut by) your choice to have the relationship between these three men be platonic. It's a twist of the knife that Steve doesn't even really know how this should work logistically, that he's not prepared to see Bucky and Sam in a sexual light, etc.

Bucky's conditioned position: A++ I cannot get over how his old situational responses are taking over as his trauma is refreshed. He understands how to survive this. Obey. Go blank. Take it. If he were alone, that assault on his re-emerging identity would be tough enough to bear; but it's so so much more terrible that Sam and Steve are here to witness him become the beaten creature he was in captivity. Oh god, I love it.

That plays into Rumlow's entire speech about how Bucky is a thing. Okay, trashy dehumanization IS MY JAM, so my whole body was primed to love this, and then you went and added gunplay into it, and this fucking sentence:

He’s letting his body be pushed back by the jabs of the gun, entirely unresisting, and for an awful, gut-clenching second Bucky does look… unhuman, like a doll or a thing—

WOW. How horrible, how evocative, how nightmarish for Bucky to be slipping back into this mindset, how terrible for Steve to be witnessing the sick consequences of the degradation enacted on a loved one who's so human to him, and how traumatizing for Sam, who's like this unprepared, innocent bystander in all this. Sam is this decent, normal person with a normal life, and he deserves better than to be sucked into a trash whirlwind. Poor everyone, poor babies.

at the way Bucky sways back with the force of the blow, absorbing it without protest, without even a reflexive flinch. Rumlow has done this to him before, many times.

GOOD. Ow. It hurts in a good way.

BUCKY JUST TAKING THE GUN INSIDE HIM. ALL THE PAIN AND SHAME AND FEAR HE HIDES. I'LL JUST... BE HERE... CRYING...

Also, Bucky reacting so strongly to the command in Rumlow's voice. Nooo...

But! I love that despite everything, how much pain Bucky's in, his fear, all the old conditioning rising up, he still manages to communicate some important logistical information to Steve -- to, literally, save his own ass. He keeps it together and gets the message across. I. LOVE. HIM. What a survivor! And I love this. Thank you for writing it.

Oh, this was lovely and sad

This was beautiful, and amazingly written. The habituated, automatic way Bucky assumes the positions needed to get himself patched up after violence and rape. The way he makes himself hold still through his pain and fear, how he just allows unhindered access to his whole body to this complete stranger. POOR BUCKY. :((((

Dude I love this. You're a really good writer.

omg :(((

this is INCREDIBLE

Post CA: WS, Bucky is all kinds of fucked up: struggling with old, confusing memories, metric tons of guilt as he begins to realize all that he's done, and near constant triggers of all of the trash Hydra has put him through over the years.

Combine that with the fact that he hasn't thought for himself in decades, and Bucky just can't cope. He ends up homeless in some city, mentally wrecked with few periods of actual lucidity (wavering between party favour!Bucky, submissive and waiting for orders, and just plain PTSD sufferer on a massive guilt trip).

Maybe some Hydra fringe group finds him? Maybe some randoms recognize him and decide to make him pay for all the shit he's done to the world? Maybe it's just some assholes who want to make an obviously sick homeless guy suffer? Creative liberty for the author, but basically I just want a thoroughly mentally destroyed Bucky crying in the sad, dark alley way he calls home as some psychos beat and humiliate him in every way the twisted author would like. Bucky's too out of it to even fight back.

Further options
+ winter is coming and the decline in temp is massively triggering for cryo
+ emphasis on humiliation - I'm thinking copious amounts of bodily fluids
+ during the attack, Bucky's sad shelter is basically destroyed, and that newspaper clip he found last month, the one with the photo of the captaim (who makes his chest feel warm and his stomach knot for reasons he can't recall) is ruined, covered in blood/fluids/whatever

This would make me cry so hard and I want it so badly.

This was amazing - I loved your character here, and the way that Bucky interacts with her, initially afraid but definitely needing help while trying to keep his arm hidden

Ok, we see the latest chapter of Captain America comic that recconed Steve to be a part of hydra since the beginning.

I would like to see him actively help hydra created WS. Who didn't want you best friend to stay with him forever in evil organization? So, He gladly rape, torture, verbal abuse &etc with Bucky in order to brainwash him.

a!a: First of all, THANK YOU for this LOVELY, detailed comment!! *hugsyou*

I'm wondering how they're gonna physically force themselves to do this. I've been wrestling with this too because it is a serious issue... but at this point I've pretty much decided that Steve can do it because of his serum enhancement (and just through the sheer force of his iron leave-no-soldiers-behind will) and Bucky can manage it because of all his horrible past training. As for Sam... we shall see in the next part. ;)

I also really like (read: feel punched in the gut by) your choice to have the relationship between these three men be platonic. Yay, I'm so glad this works for you! I thought about going the Steve-is-interested-in-Bucky-but-figured-he-wasn't-ready-for-a-lover-yet-so-this-is-their-horrible-first-time route (which I also love reading), but for the purposes of this story it made more sense to me to focus on the horrible way Rumlow makes them pervert their platonic love into something entirely twisted. For Steve, it's like being forced to rape his brother. I wanted to explore the squicky awfulness of that.

It's a twist of the knife that Steve doesn't even really know how this should work logistically... And now on top of everything, Bucky has to guide Steve. :(

If he were alone, that assault on his re-emerging identity would be tough enough to bear; but it's so so much more terrible that Sam and Steve are here to witness him become the beaten creature he was in captivity. I know, and this time he can't even 100% retreat into that self-protective asset state, because he's got to be present & aware enough to help Steve and Sam get through this. (BTW, this is exactly what I LOVE about this prompt and what drew me to it, because I think that if any of these guys were captured alone, they would just REFUSE and fight until they got killed. But in this situation, they're all held hostage for each others' good behavior. GUH it's so awful and exactly my kind of trash - so thanks for that!!)

...and how traumatizing for Sam, who's like this unprepared, innocent bystander in all this. Sam is this decent, normal person with a normal life, and he deserves better than to be sucked into a trash whirlwind. omg I'm so happy this is coming through!! I was worried I was making Sam seem too weak or whatever, but that's not it at all - you've described him exactly the way I wanted to show: his is the true tragedy in all this, because as horrible as it is for Bucky and Steve, they're both initiates (to varying degrees) of HYDRA horror. For Sam, this is all new and devastating and uniquely awful.

Again, thanks so much for the awesome comment!! I'm hoping to have the next part posted later tonight or tomorrow! ;)

I can start a new thread if this is too far off from what you envisioned but - imagine the gaslighting possibilities! Having Steve act the part of both his good self and bad self, in turns, to mess with Bucky's perception of reality and ultimately break him.

I might be wrong, but I feel like this falls under evil!goodguys. Paging mod?

I'd agree as the prompt is written, but you could spin it. Do it from Bucky's POV and at the end real!Steve comes to his rescue from the fake/doppelganger/alternate-universe evil!Steve.

Paging *Marvel* they're the ones who are trying to make it canon.

Yeah, normally this would absolutely be dark!good guys. But since it's apparently canon now....

Yeah. The "no dark good guys" rule is about what niche trashmeme is aimed at, far more than any questions of what's canonical, plausible, acceptable, 'problematic,' or whatever. Plenty of parallel universe fuckery was already canon when the rule was made; doesn't stop the rule from applying to mirrorverses as well.

If the actual Hydra!Cap material does turn out to be a trash goldmine, I'm open to dropping the rule, but let's keep that discussion to the chatter post.

So uh, this is one of those kinks I feel shy about mentioning even here, but yeah.

Something involving TWS getting regularly fucked by dogs and/or Bucky trying to stumblingly explain this kink to Steve would be great. Just give me all of the beautiful giant dog cock and knotting porn, thx.

The thought of Hydra having an actual HR is equal parts hilarious and horrifying to me. Jesus.

God. Hit me right in the age gap kink, why don't you? I'd def read this.

Hydra orders the Winter Soldier to go on a honeypot mission to secure intel from a high value male target.

+A very charismatic Bucky seducing his target with ease
++Bucky being an absolute slut with the target, and his handlers getting off while monitoring him
+++Someone (Rumlow?) having fun with a slutty and charismatic Winter Soldier before wiping him

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Re: [FILL] Where my diamonds hide (3/?)

Re: [FILL] Where my diamonds hide (4/?)

Kinda Fill: Still Water [0.5/1]

Kinda Fill: Still Water [1.0/1]

Re: [FILL] Where my diamonds hide (4/?)

Re: Kinda Fill: Still Water [1.0/1]

Re: Kinda Fill: Still Water [1.0/1]

Re: Kinda Fill: Still Water [1.0/1]

Re: Kinda Fill: Still Water [1.0/1]

Re: FILL: Til I Wanted to Change, 3/?

Homeless Bucky

Re: Homeless Bucky

Re: Kinda Fill: Still Water [1.0/1]

(frozen comment) Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

Re: [FILL] Where my diamonds hide (4/?)

(frozen comment) Re: Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

(frozen comment) Re: Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

(frozen comment) Re: Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

(frozen comment) Re: Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

(frozen comment) Re: Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

(frozen comment) Re: Hydra Steve/Bucky , noncon-mind break

Obligatory trashy bestiality request

Re: Hydra has scavenger hunts, bondage version

Re: Child-like Bucky gets raped.

Winter Soldier gay honeypot mission