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.

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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

I love this story so fucking much. Lost my shit at all the rape jokes. "It's hard being a rape victim, you gotta learn how to manage your money."

Ye gods, I love this nuanced bit where Bucky says "But I can do all kinds of things that aren’t okay. The doing is what matters. And I think I could do it." For him, being forced to be a rape victim is worse than all that sex he had with various HYDRA folks. Because he loves Steve and wants his dick.

Also: absolutely loved the Steve/Radio bit at the beginning! <333

I'm delighted to hear it! :)

:D :D :D Thank you!!

Thank you! I looked up the source of Stoat's "Nam Sibyllam" title and wanted to play off it while also saying kind of the opposite, and this is what I wound up with. :D

Thank you! :D

Oh man, Steve keeping the husband one - you're killing me.

I don't comment on fills as often these days due to business but christ almightly, I love every bit of this more than the last one and I just can't keep it to myself. Fucking god damn.

This just continues to be so good!

Warning for animal abuse/death

The Asset stayed still for the panting creature on its back even as it clamped down on its neck with its teeth. It knew submission would become its own reward in time. The Asset’s cock twitched in anticipation. The dog clumsily prodded the Asset’s wet ass with its cock. The Asset raised its rump a little higher to allow easier access.

The cock slipped in on the next try, almost immediately there was a gush of come and the cock started thickening. The Asset was not alarmed; it was familiar with this sensation despite having no memory of it. Just as it was familiar with how to operate a motor vehicle or where to slice to open the femoral artery, the actions were rote and never left him.

Pumping in out of the Asset, the knot continued to swell. The next pass required real force to gain reentry, with a grunt the Asset felt it pop back in and stay in. The Asset came, but maintained position, its job had only started. The dog pivoted so they were ass to ass, the dog’s furry behind brushing its cheeks. The Asset flexed its gluteal muscles to milk the dog’s cock as per standard mission procedure. The Asset’s mission was to receive as much of the dog’s semen as possible and satisfy its mating urges. With the execution of these routine missions the Asset was contributing meaning fully to the running of the base. The Asset excelled at this mission, its handlers told it so frequently.

The Asset’s guts were filled with semen while it waited for the dog to finish. The panting and whining of the dog increased, indicating the mating was almost over. As a precautionary measure the Asset held on to the dog’s back legs to prevent it from pulling away too soon and injuring its cock in the process. The Asset will not have completed the mission effectively if the dog is injured.

The Asset released the dog when it was certain the knot had deflated enough. The dog pulled away with a wet pop. It returned to its handler while the Asset stood and pulled up its pants. It adjusted the belt to allow for the additional girth created by the semen packed into its body. It waited for orders from its handler to move out.

“Let’s go.” The Commander said, jerking his head.

The Asset followed him to the van where the team was waiting. The Commander greeted the team and ordered them to roll out.

One of the team members looked at the Asset and giggled, “What a bitch.”

“It’s not a bitch any more than the fleshlight in your pocket is a woman,” The Commander said.

The Asset knew its place. It was a weapon, a multifunctional tool to be used at its handler’s discretion. That included acting as an object for dogs to rut against. It was one of the more acceptable uses the Asset had.

For the four hours until they reached the destination, the team participated in their usual chatter. The Asset was not expected to join in, it only spoke if necessary. Once they arrived, the Commander had the team spread out in pairs around the perimeter and maintain cover until the operation was scheduled to start in 40 minutes.

The Asset jogged the short distance to its designated position; the sloshing of ejaculate in its abdomen was not an unfamiliar sensation and did not affect its movement. The Asset was accompanied by Westfahl, who would be replaced by the Commander once he finished setting up.

Several minutes passed in silence before Westfahl said, “I don’t care what Rumlow says, you are a bitch. I know you like the dogs pumping you full of jizz, I’ve seen you get off on it.”

That was absurd. The Asset did not like anything; tools did not feel such things. It was true that the sensations involved in the act, soft fur against the skin, a cock pounding his anus, his guts filling up, all acted as a reward, but to say he liked it would be a misnomer. It was acceptable like the ideal conditions for a shot or praise for a job well done were acceptable.

A stray dog wandered over to their position. Its penis was poking out of its sheath as it sniffed the Asset. The dog had a strong musky smell. The Asset felt its hole start to slicken in response to the dog’s scent. It knew it was to wait for the correct order before presenting itself. It thrummed with anticipation.

Seeing this, Westfahl snickered and unzipped his pants. “Looks like a new lover showed up for you Asset. We’ve got time for it.” Then he said the command phrase, “Стыковка”

Automatically the Asset peeled off its pants and got down on all fours, raising its hind quarters. The dog sniffed at it further, but before it could mount, it was kicked out of the way. Then the blunt tip of Westfahl’s cock was pressed into the Asset’s entrance.

“But, I’m going to enjoy you first,” Westfahl said.

The Asset was confused, it was not fit for use for sexual relief by humans. It was only clean enough to be a masturbatory aid for dogs. This was wrong, it made the Asset feel sick, but it had to obey orders, so it stayed still as Westfahl pumped his cock into it. The stay dog watched from the shadows.

Thankfully the Commander returned and intervened before Westfahl could finish.

“Dammit, Westfahl! What do you think you’re doing?” The Commander said in an angry whisper.

Startled, Westfahl pulled out. Just a little too loud, he said, “Nothing!”

The Commander gritted his teeth.

“Nothing my ass! You were fucking the Asset. There are lines we don’t cross, and one of them is fucking THAT,” he said pointing to the Asset; it was still obediently waiting in position. “It’s nasty. Anyone with even a moderate sense of hygiene won’t put their dick near it.”

While the Commander reprimanded Westfahl, the dog came out of the shadows mounted the Asset. It was quick to find the Asset’s hole. It was already coming when the Commander noticed.

“Shit, where’d this dog come from?” the Commander said, “Get it off it!”

Westfahl tried to pull the dog off the Asset, but it was not cooperating. After several bites and a lot of snarling he reported, “Sir, it’s already knotted.”

The Commander pulled out his gun, and shot the dog in the head. Blood and brain matter splattered the Asset. The dog slumped over, weighing the Asset down. Unsettlingly the Asset’s eyes started to sting. “Pull it off,” he commanded.

Westfahl tugged at the dog’s body unsuccessfully, “Uh, it’s still not coming loose.”

“Shit. It’s got angel lust.”

“What?”

“You’ve had to have seen it before, it’s when you kill someone and they get a stiffy.”

“Hehe, oh yeah,” Westfahl snickered. “What do we do now?”

“This is your fault,” the Commander growled. “It’s not going to come loose so we have to call off the mission, you fuckhead.”

The Commander sent out the order over the commlines, then he turned to the Asset and said, “Get up, back to the van.”

The Asset blinked away the tears in its eyes and stood up. Its slight erection bobbing and the dog hanging from its ass, the Asset started walking. It had to waddle due to knot pressing into it and each step it got a little harder from the pressure on its prostate.

With a sigh, the Commander ordered, “Westfahl, pick up the dog. We’ll move faster without it dragging and leaving blood everywhere.”

They were the last ones to arrive back at the van. The rest of the team laughed when they saw the situation, saying, “Look it’s crying!” “It’s still hard though.” “That’s an ugly mutt.” “I think it’s got mange.”

The Commander silenced them, “This isn’t funny. I had to call off the mission and there will be consequences for the whole team. You all can blame Westfahl.”

They remained silent as the Asset was loaded on to the floor on the van. During the ride back, every time the Asset’s erection started to fade, the van would go over a bump, bringing it to life again. The Asset remained still despite the pain developing in its testicles.

Four hours later it was finally unloaded from the van. The team member tasked with carrying the now stiff dog jostled it against the Asset. The pressure was too much; it came, spraying semen all over the van floor. He complained the whole way as he took the Asset and attached dog to medical.

Warning for animal abuse/death

“I can’t believe the morons on the STRIKE team got the Asset stuck with a canine post-mortem priapism in its ass. You think you’ve seen everything in this job, then…” The medic groaned.

The intern replied, “I was told this was an unusual position, but I didn’t think I’d see anything like this.”

“This is a bit out of the normal range of things we see, but it isn’t surprising considering the Asset’s medical enhancements,” The medic explained as she started examining where the Asset and the dog were connected.

The intern inquired, “I knew about the prosthetic and the serum, there were other things?”

“Once the handlers started using the Asset as a masturbation aid for the dogs, we had to high-jack the mucous membrane in the anal canal to produce copious amounts of fluid in response to certain stimuli. If we didn’t we’d be constantly preforming reconstructive surgery on it because those asses are too lazy to prep it properly.” The medic took a moment to get a scalpel and started cutting the dog away from the Asset. Then she shrugged and said, “On the downside we have to perform enemas more often because if it is not emptied out it will shit itself when it smells a dog in heat. Its anus gets too loose and wet to hold anything in.”

“Is incontinence common for the Asset?” The intern asked, his eyes lighting up as he helped with the procedure. They had cut the dog loose and moved it over on the medical table.

Sensing the intern’s interest, the medic explained, “It is quite good at holding things in otherwise, but once the pudendal nerve had been damaged by a copulatory tie during a mating. They had it wear diapers for months to stop it from leaking shit everywhere.”

She slipped the dog’s cock out of the Asset. Then she continued, “Eventually we fixed the nerve damage though. While we were at it, we added a pouch with a one way opening for semen collection in the rectum.”

“What’s the purpose of that?” The intern looked at the Asset, it was lying next to the dead dog on the table, caressing its fur.

The medic put down her tools and stripped off her gloves to replace them with a fresh pair. “It was a request from the breeding program, once we get the semen out of the asset they use it for artificial insemination. The Asset’s handlers like it too because they don’t have to clean up after the dogs.”

He noticed the Asset had a slight swell, almost as if it were in the early stages of pregnancy. It was full of canine semen. “I guess we can’t use this batch then, too much contamination.”

“No we can’t, we’ll have to rinse it out. First we should move that thing to the incinerator,” she said pointing to the dog.

The Asset clung to the corpse briefly, but the guard corrected that behavior with the stun baton. They dumped it in the chute leading to the incinerator. The intern hosed the Asset down to remove the blood and brain tissue.

Since the pouch in the Asset’s rectum was designed to be one-way, to remove any fluids a tube had to be inserted in the entrance, the contents were vacuumed out, and the pouch was rinsed. This time the contents of the pouch were unimportant so they could skip straight to the rinse.

Using a rectoscope, the medic showed the intern how to insert the tube in the pouch. Once it was lodged in there, they began pumping water into it, causing the Asset’s abdomen to swell further.

“The pouch is quite elastic, it can hold a liter of fluid. Once we’re done pumping water in and have sealed the tube, we massage the Asset’s lower abdomen to insure a complete cleansing,” the medic said.

After a short demonstration, the intern took over the massage. The Asset quietly moaned at the pressure and proceeded to urinate.

The medic apologized, “Sorry, that’s fairly normal, the procedure puts pressure on the bladder. Now we just remove the seal and push.”

The intern did as instructed and pressed hard. Fluid came squirting out of the tube, the medic held it steady so it would go down the drain. They removed all their equipment from the Asset and called someone to come pick it up.

You're perfect.

I didn't read this, but thank you for warning for animal abuse/death. I know this is CNTW, but people seldom do for this particular thing and it sort of made my day.

You're welcome.

I figure animal abuse/death is a bit different from all the other things I could have warned for. (there were a lot)

Like people generally come here for kinky trash and probably aren't going to be bothered by most things, but I don't think animal abuse/death is something most people here are looking for and it really bothers most people more than the other stuff.

Plus if someone is actually into it, well then they know where to look.

Thanks! I do try to make my trash as beautifully filthy as possible.

(op)

GOD I continue to love all of this so so much, every installment is an absolute joy to read. Someone above commented on the pacing and I agree, it's so well measured and so dang good. The buildup is killing me. Bucky's irreverence here is still, like, my favorite thing in the whole universe. I almost died at him toasting to being raped. And all the subsequent little rape jokes, oh my god, perfect.

Not to mention - the husband drawing! The middle of the night heart to heart! "You know I don’t do that kind of shit halfway”! He misses Steve's dick! Aaand the ever-ominous “she knows from my stuff from class that I’m not right with God" (oh no) (oh yes)

I'm dying and loving every minute. Ten thousand thumbs up, authoranon.

I don't want to be That Person, but is part 3 in the offing? I totally get it if the inspiration has flown away, but...I just love Mike's twisted rationales so much.

I don't even think I have much of anything coherent to say about this other than hell and yes. The casual disregard for the Soldier's humanity is Hydra scum through and through, and it's chilling how normal they think of themselves, as if this isn't rape – worse still, they think they're the ones doing a GOOD thing. And even worse than that, it's another rape victim doing this, perpetuating a cycle of sexual violence.

That said, I completely understand Mike's mind-numbing lust over Bucky's battle gear because holy shit. I can't even feel guilty over how hot this is. Looking forward to the next part!

It took a couple of weeks for the cuts to heal enough for them to consider giving it a more permanent reminder of who it belonged to. It was quite proud it had managed to cut so deeply that the scar lasted that well, given the limited resources it had and the fact that it healed quickly. The delay was an irritation though.

While it was healing, the Captain helped it to design a new version of the brand, painting suggestions first on paper and then on its skin to practice.

Finally, the Captain developed a design that it was happy with. It was going to have the Avengers logo cut into its flesh by the Widow, and then the Captain was going to tattoo his own star above it - marking him as the Captain's and the team's. The thought of that made it shiver in delight. It was going to be owned, and Hydra could never question that. Lasers could remove the tattoo, but the Widow promised that the brand would be too deep and perfect to remove.

When it was time, when it had healed, it was taken to a room that had been prepared. It stripped off its shirt, and knelt on the floor, with the Captain kneeling behind it. The Captain wrapped his arms around its waist, holding it in place, and it allowed itself to relax, leaning back against him. It took slow deep breaths, acting calmly, and Romanoff stepped forwards.

The doctor was waiting outside. He'd refused to be here, and so had Stark. The archer was in the corner, and there was a gun nearby - it had been fitted with tranquiliser bullets, so that if something went wrong, it could be stopped. They had explained all of this to it the day before. But now it just had to hold still.

The Captain was breathing slowly, talking quietly, murmuring into its ear, telling it it was safe, that it was theirs. It twisted slightly, saw that the Captain's eyes were closed, and it gasped as the Widow leaned forward with the knife.

Her work was neat. Neater than it had ever been able to do, or that Hydra had done. It was careful, carving out the shape, and it held still. There was pain, and it bit its lip, tears beading up in its eyes. It could just about blink them back. But it held still. The Captain was still murmuring soothing gentle nonsense and it slowly relaxed. The pain wasn't much. It was cleansing, not torture, and it could regulate its breath. Each cut was followed by the application of a cream designed to make it last.

When the widow stepped away the logo of its new team was emblazoned on its chest in blood, and the tears that had threatened before came spilling down his face.

"Done." She said, and it nodded. It was theirs now. Nothing could take that away. It felt proud. Felt safe.

The Captain took over, gently wiping away the blood and mess, bandaging over the cut. It was owned. It was the team's. No longer did Hydra have any claim to its body, and that meant the world to it.

When it was clean, the Captain got to work. He used the ink to sketch out the silver star, with a red background, smaller than the main scar, but claiming it just as real. It was wanted. It belonged. It was the Captain's, and that thrilled it.

When that was done, the Captain gave it a mirror to hold, and it held it steady, as the Captain carefully applied a tattoo to his own chest, a mirror of his own. It had a silver background, with a red star in the middle. When he was finished, the Captain embraced it, and it knew that it belonged.

The Captain was frowning, looking unhappy, but it pushed those worries aside. The Widow smiled, and carefully added some lotion to both tattoos, then called the team in. It was given a drink, and it smiled nervously.

That was the real fresh start that it had been waiting for. This was what it had never dreamed would come. It wasn't always easy. The Captain flinched sometimes when he saw it, ducked out of the way, and there were times when it missed the certainties of Hydra. But this was better. It belonged.

And next time it was sunny, it could take off its shirt and relax with the rest of them.

Aw, I'm so happy it's happy!

"Aw, look at you.”

Steve is being extremely distracting, as usual.

He’s lapping kisses against Bucky's ear, cooing and fawning and talking dirty while Bucky makes dinner, arms twined around Bucky’s waist. It is, considering the number of hot surfaces and sharp edges in play, a disaster waiting to happen, but Steve doesn’t seem to care.

He bites Bucky’s earlobe. “Remember the time you nearly burned down half of Brooklyn just boiling potatoes?” Steve says this fondly, as if it was a cherished memory and not a mortifying incident amidst a period of near-starvation for both of them. “Look at you now. I don’t even know what that thing is.”

“Torture device. Real classified. Real nasty.” It’s an egg separator. Steve’s utterly hopeless in the kitchen, despite his devotion to Chopped reruns. Bucky’s been taking cooking classes after one too many jabs from Natasha about their penchant for takeout - I don’t give a shit about your metabolism, pizza and wings five nights a week is objectively reprehensible - and in the process discovered how much he genuinely enjoys it. Something about the ritual of it all, the measuring and timing, the peeling and separating. The concentration it takes. “Lucky for you, I didn’t remember that incident when I enrolled in this course. Move, I need turmeric.”

The order slips out before he can think twice. Heat rises in Bucky's face.

But, as if completely unaware, Steve moves, just like that. Bucky blinks stupidly at the space where Steve just was.

He's made similar mistakes before, and incredibly, Steve never seems to mind. Insubordination doesn't seem to be his thing. In fact, Steve likes having a certain rough rapport with him - name-calling, sarcasm, talking back. It makes a strange kind of internal sense, consistent with what Bucky remembers from before. Feels familiar, friendly.

Still. A direct command. His stomach flips over.

The silence stretches a hair too long and Steve looks like he might be on the verge of asking something pointed and uncomfortable, but then Bucky’s got the turmeric and the moment is over.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can -”

“Nah, it’ll be ready soon enough. Try to keep your pants on - for once,” he adds, watching the way Steve sidles towards him with a sly, sideways grin.

Steve yanks him close and presses a quick, sloppy kiss to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky pulls a face of mock disgust. Steve pulls one back.

The tahchin comes out flawless. Steve praises him in between mouthfuls, playing footsy under the table for the entire meal. They end up fucking over the kitchen island - Bucky gripping the towel hanger on the other side so tightly it snaps off - before either of them can bother with the dishes.

“Dinner and a show, huh,” Steve laughs, basking in the afterglow. He has his forehead pressed between Bucky’s shoulder blades, making sweet, stupid noises of approval. “You spoil me.”

"Food prep safety is shot to hell, but somehow, I don't - " Steve interrupts him by rocking his hips forward, already almost ready to go again. Bucky groans against the granite. " - mind."

It’s nice.

-

“I think something’s wrong,” Bucky tells Dr. Mills a few days later during their weekly session.

She’s not like other doctors he’s known. She has thick, red glasses on a beaded chain and makes deliberate, gentle eye contact. She gives him room. She calls him James. If she is or ever was afraid of him, she doesn’t show it. She poses little to no physical threat. Now, she nods patiently and waits for him to go on. Bucky hasn’t really worked it out much further than wrong.

“Like,” Bucky tries eloquently, “really wrong.”

Except that, by any reasonable standard, everything is fine. It’s been six months since the trial ended and he came home to Steve; six months of gradually creeping towards some semblance of personhood. Six months of unyielding patience, of love, of sloppy kisses and fucking on the living room floor. Six months of nice.

Their apartment, for example, is nice. It’s extremely secure and carefully decorated. They have an unnatural number of pillows and a dehumidifier. Harriet, their Boston Terrier, a rescue, is very nice. At night, she curls up at the foot of their bed. (She is, objectively speaking, stupid cute.)

The press has all but stopped hounding him, which is nice, too. He’s no longer trending on Twitter. The viral videos of the Soldier in action seem to be waning in popularity. He and Steve only get the stray, idle death threat maybe twice a month these days.

He keeps busy. He tutors Russian at the community college. He teaches self-defense classes at the local gym. He only wakes up screaming a few times a week, now that he’s cycled through a handful of medications. He does remote intelligence assessment for Steve’s guys, and is even considering asking to go back into the field sometime soon.

It’s all very fucking nice. But something’s off.

“Six months,” he tries again. “And he’s - And I’m - And everything is -”

Fine. But it’s not.

He’s been noticing too many silences, lately. Silence while Steve scrolls through their Netflix queue. Silence when he gets up for his morning run, while the rest of the world is still sleeping. Silence before he falls asleep at night, when they’re lying beside each other and Steve is drifting off and suddenly the stillness and darkness feel suffocating.

Bucky makes a frantic circling gesture with his hands, grumbling in frustration. “I don’t know how to say it. It’s fine. It’s nice. It’s not sustainable.”

Mills makes a knowing little ah noise and jots something down. “So - if I’m hearing you correctly, James - what’s wrong is that nothing’s wrong. Is that it?”

That’s exactly it. Bucky nods.

“And would this have anything to do with what we talked about last time?”

Oh. Not that again. He shifts uncomfortably against the cushions. He’s explained this before, but she never quite seems to get it, and he wishes they could just table the damn thing once and for all.

“Your anxiety that Steve wants to - ?”

“I told you before, he doesn’t want to hurt me, or anyone,” Bucky says indignantly. “He’s better than that.”

She jots that down, too. He’s trained himself to look away from her pen after learning that he could indeed make out letters, figures in her minuscule movements. This time he chooses to look; catches f- a- w- n- and almost laughs out loud because No shit, doc, tell me something I don’t know.

Mills looks back up at him. “Okay, he doesn’t want to. But you’re afraid he might do so regardless.”

“No. I’m not afraid.” Something snags in the last syllable.

Six months, he wants to say again, wants to snap and shout until she gets it. Six fucking months, and Steve has not laid a hand on him in anger, not even once. Steve has not slapped him, spanked him, or shocked him. Hasn’t raised his voice or threatened pain or called him a whore, a mistake, a machine. Six months in which everything is fine and absolutely nothing makes sense.

She should understand; she sees him every week. She sees right through him, sees all the rotten, impulsive things inside of him, bubbling under the surface, she of anyone should know how precarious his situation is. How he’s been so careful, so good, against the odds. How he’s long past overdue for a slip-up. How when that moment finally comes, when he finally, inevitably crosses the line -

Bucky shakes his head, pushes those thoughts away. “Look, like I said, Steve’s never wanted to hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. Who wasn’t asking for it one way or another.”

Asking for it. They’ve been around the block and back few times, just on the nuances of that phrase alone.

Maybe it's the wrong thing to say, because she frowns deeply at him. “And in this equation - are you anyone, James? Are you - as you yourself phrased it - asking for it?”

There’s a long, steady silence in which Bucky reminds himself that yes, the exits are still exactly where they’ve always been.

“I said I’m not afraid,” Bucky repeats, more forceful this time, but there it still is, that telltale snag. “I’m just - waiting.”

I AM DESTROYED. Totally emotionally compromised, and also feeling the urge to do what I usually feel the need to do when I come across such a mind blowing piece of writing, which is to podfic the hell out of it. Please tell me you are going to finish this and reveal thyself to my mortal eyes, even though I am unworthy. Or...is it finished? Omg please tell me there's gonna be more. Please tell me a day will come when I can record this and share it with the ENTIRE INTERNET. I only found this shockingly brilliant diamond of a fic thanks to a mention by Dira on tumblr. WHAT IF I'D NEVER SEEN THAT???? What if I'd remained ignorant forever? I am, just, so horrified by the near miss. Sorry I'd love to have a coherent comment for you, but. Can't. MInd. Blown. Tip me over and pour me out. I have 1000 bookmarks on ao3 and this is THE BEST STORY in the rape recovery trope I've read in 20 years of fandom.

Running around screaming is not generally considered the best behavior in an airport, which is where I am, so I will not do that, however please know that I am running around screaming in my heart. This is so, so good!! I absolutely love the humor and tenderness, combined with Bucky's anxiety as he waits for the other shoe to drop. I can't wait to see where this is going!

AHHHH

this was my prompt and i was definitley 100% sure no one would ever fill it because it's been ages and now there is this delightful beginning!

i'm so excited and grateful! i love all the little details (their boston terrier! Bucky looking for the exits! cooking dinner!) and i can't wait for more!

thank you for wriitng this!!!

Oh this is so good! You've built up all this tension, and I'm just waiting (like Bucky!) for something to snap. I'm eager and worried in equal measure to see how this is going to go.

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: closer to fine (3/?)

Re: FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 2/3

Re: FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 2/3

Re: FILL: Sibylla ex Ampulla, 2/3

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (7/?)

Re: closer to fine (3/?)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 1

Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 2

Re: Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 2

Re: Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 1

Re: Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 1

Re: Fill: It’s Also A Dog Masturbation Aid part 2

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: FILL: All You Fascists (Bound to Lose) [2b/3]

Re: FILL: All You Fascists (Bound to Lose) [2b/3]

COMPLETE Fill: Marks of Ownership (3/3)

Re: COMPLETE Fill: Marks of Ownership (3/3)

cry for judas, 1/8

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (9/?)

Re: cry for judas, 1/8

Re: cry for judas, 1/8

Re: cry for judas, 1/8