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.

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Ahhh wow, what a wonderfully dark ending! I love that Rumlow acknowledges he may need to start running from Steve's vengeance very soon, but this little exercise was still worth it to him. Very fun read.

I'm not much for Steve trash usually but this is great. I have a feeling it's gonna get pretty nasty... And I am here for that.

(OP) This is an amazing start! You've set up Bucky's Terrible Decision quite well already, and I so love Bucky's conflict between possibilities; his terror of rejection and humiliation vs his need for understanding and comfort. My sad baby. I'm so excited you're filling this.

I just read a fic called Salami and this now is a scene in my head-
This WS on a forum: Enough lube and you can fish anything out.
Salami Bucky on same fam: Nah, fam, trust. I had to spend 32 hours in an ER getting 11 inches of Salami removed and for observation for potential perforation afters.
WS: Seriously? I always just fished it out. Even when it was really deep.
Bucky: You must have an angel working overtime. Next time you loose something, go to ER. Can't promise you'll meet a hot buff blond nurse who is also into deep insertion, like I did, but it's way better than potentially dying.

A few months ago I prompted a non-con Shrinkyclinks art from thefilthiestpiglet: NSFW (“http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com/post/135012390348/quiescentire-answered-your-post-porn-prompts”)

I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote the fic. Because art fills prompting fic fills (prompting art fills, prompting fic fills, ad infinitum) is the ciiiiiiiircle of traaaaaaaash

Awww, hyperlink, no.

***

HYDRA's scientists had been delighted to find their serum-reversal procedure had worked. Well, mostly worked. Partially worked. Worked to a biologically and statistically significant degree, pending further analysis and peer review. Enough for a publication in the online Mad Sciences annual supplemental issue of Experimental Physiology and maybe some conference travel, if they made a good enough pitch to the funding review board.

Their jubilation was dampened by the discovery that Steve's smaller self might no longer be Captain America-sized but was still 100% Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers was now mad enough to spit nails. A minor oversight in the design of the containment area meant that smaller-Steve had simply wriggled out of the now ridiculously-oversized restraints like an angry ferret escaping a paper bag, and punched the nearest technician in the nuts.

Chaos ensued.

Smaller-Steve decimated the ranks of HYDRA's front-line laboratory technicians. The supervising scientists hastily retreated behind locked doors to regroup and figure out what the hell went wrong. Either his strength and speed had only been partially reduced by the serum-reversal, or Steve Rogers had always had the agility of a greased weasel and a surprising willingness to fight dirty.

It took six guards to drag Steve down a hallway and toss him into the most secure holding cell in the building.

They chained Steve to a wall by one leg. One of the guards went for Steve’s other foot, and Steve dislocated his shoulder with some kind of twisty wrestling move. Another one left for the infirmary with vicious purple-red bite marks running up one arm.

The guards gave up on the other leg.

Steve shouted a stream of inventive curses at the survivors as they regrouped. They looked deflated. Their comms crackled, demanding an update.

Spurred on by the imminent arrival of their boss, three of the guards managed to pin Steve for a second while the fourth risked his fingers to jam a metal object into his mouth. Mechanized metal straps burst out of the mouthpiece, and wrapped around Steve’s skull. There was an ominous click as it locked behind his head.

Enraged, Steve made a noise that sounded like "Mmargh!" and kicked the fourth guy in the kneecap before clawing at another guard’s eyes. The chain kept him from reaching too far, but if they were dumb enough to get close to him again ...

The guards must have come to the same conclusion, because they collected what remained of their pride and backed out the door. The biggest of the four risked kicking Steve in the ribs one final time. He got a solid fist to the nose for his trouble, and slammed the cell door shut behind him with a trail of blood.

Steve glared at them through the bars, fuming to himself in gag-imposed silence and trying to figure out the mechanism that would release the lock.

Steve had got one guy in the eyes real good. He was still screaming, and a couple of medics showed up to take him away. His three buddies stayed behind to pace back and forth in front of the door to Steve’s cell, trying their hardest to look menacing. Steve watched them, unimpressed. It was B-minus menacing at best. Steve had been more effectively menaced lining up for brunch in Park Slope.

Ignoring their posturing, Steve spent a few minutes taking in his new surroundings. It wasn’t the worst cell he’d ever been locked in. He was sitting on a thin mattress shoved up against the wall, and there was a toilet and sink crammed into the corner. The walls were the institutional puke-green that the prison wardens of the world must have gotten a bulk discount on. It was utterly forgettable, impersonal and cold -- except for the little stack of beat-up paperbacks piled next to the head of the bed. That, and the toothbrush in a cup by the sink, suggested this cell was already occupied.

Huh.

Steve picked up one of the paperbacks, more to rile up the remaining guards than out of any real interest. The cover showed a short-haired girl in scaled armour riding what appeared to be a giant green grasshopper while waving a laser rifle. Baffled, Steve flipped the book over, but he couldn't read the Cyrillic text. The book underneath it had a plain black cover with a white line drawing of a satellite or spacecraft of some kind, also in Cyrillic.

The toothbrush, at least, was a straightforward plain blue.

Neither the books nor the toothbrush were particularly useful weapons, and a quick search under the mattress revealed only a chessboard and a battered cardboard box full of chessmen. Maybe he could jab someone with the pointy end of a bishop, but -- Steve frowned. The door was heavy, with a barred window too small to squeeze even his skinny frame through. He had a sinking feeling about the kind of HYDRA prisoners who read Russian science fiction novels and needed to be locked behind four inches of solid steel.

As if Steve had summoned him with his thoughts, he heard the tread of heavy boots down the hallway. Steve swallowed. Just through the bars was the person he wanted the most, here in the place he least wanted to be.

Bucky was deep in conversation with a grizzled, tired-looking man. Steve couldn't hear everything they were saying but their heads were tipped close together, Bucky nodding every so often. What Steve could catch sounded Russian.

Another grim-looking commando came up to them carrying a styrofoam cup of something steaming hot -- coffee? tea? -- and the tired-faced man patted him on the shoulder in thanks. Their nondescript HYDRA blacks were nearly grey from cement dust.

Steve might not recognize them, but their body language suggested military. Actual military, not the rent-a-cops Steve had been terrorizing. Winter Soldier's field team, maybe? They looked like they’d had a hell of a day. Fighting the Avengers was no cakewalk.

The tired-faced man said something to Bucky with emphasis and pointed at the guards, who did their motley best to look official under the commandos’ attention. Bucky inclined his head in what must have been acquiescence because the commandos turned and left, leaving Bucky behind with the guards.

And Steve.

After watching his team walk away, Bucky turned to walk into the cell -- and froze. His eyes flickered rapidly from his stack of books to Steve to the chess set and back to Steve. Steve dropped the book he was holding back onto the stack, shoving his hands under his knees in mute apology. He belatedly realized he was sitting buck-ass nude on what must be Bucky's bed, and leapt to his feet. Always so fucking awkward, he cursed internally.

Bucky was right there. And thanks to HYDRA’s finest, Steve couldn’t so much as say his name.

Bucky looked over to the guards with a flat stare, clearly inquiring about what the fuck was going on with his accommodations. The shortest of the remaining trio hesitated, then puffed up like a rooster.

“Look, we brought you a present. You never get to have any fun, right? So you better fuck him good or I’ll come in there and do it myself. And -- that’s an order, Soldier.” The guard growled in a voice he clearly thought was intimidating. The intimidation factor was significantly reduced when he pulled out his phone and typed something in. “Um. Byer-eech. Take care of him. Or else!”

He’d seemed almost bored a second ago, but at this Bucky looked intently at the guard.

New clothes came with so much starch now, and his uniform was stiff with it. His trouser creases were off-center -- he obviously hadn’t ironed them properly before wearing them. His HYDRA unit patches still had perfectly crisp edges, the embroidery shiny and perfect.

The guy was painfully green, and too stupid to realize it. Steve wondered if Bucky was picking up the same impression.

“беречь. Take care?” Bucky repeated, carefully. He peered down the hallway after his combat team, who seemed to be long gone, judging by the perplexed look on Bucky’s face.

"You heard me. Fuck him, and then -- yeah, that!”

Bucky looked over at Steve, and then back at the guards. His head cocked sideways as he repeated the order to himself. “беречь.”

“You’ll want to keep the gag in,” one of the other guards added, his nose still bleeding. “He bites.”

Bucky's face had an expression Steve was intimately familiar with -- the one that said, you have got to be fucking kidding me. How many times had Steve seen it in mission briefings with the Howlies? Steve felt a sudden rush of fondness that was entirely at odds with the situation.

“Have a good time, boys." The trio of guards all laughed, the one with the broken nose a bit more nasally than the others. It wasn't a nice sound.

Bucky just stood there in the doorway for a minute, a whole sequence of expressions running across his face as he stared at his new, very naked cellmate. Steve tensed up as Bucky walked into the cell and came to a halt in front of him. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

"Mmuh?" Steve said, knowing he wasn’t intelligible but unwilling to remain silent. The cell door clanged shut behind them.

Bucky traced a finger across a cut on Steve’s forehead, then cupped Steve's narrow jaw in his hand. Steve held his breath as Bucky just looked at him for a few long seconds. Bucky reached out a hand and tucked Steve's hair back behind an ear, tentative in a way that made Steve's breath catch. Steve looked up at him and blinked wetly. Just to get the blood out of his eyes, of course. Head wounds tended to bleed a lot.

Bucky ran his hands over Steve's body, steady and careful, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Part of Steve wanted to shy away, but Bucky's hands were warm -- even the metal one.

Both of Bucky's hands skimmed over Steve's ribs, tracing over bruises and the outline of boot-prints on his chest. He wasn’t hurting Steve. He might have been looking for injuries, Steve realized. Steve didn't think anything was broken. The serum-reversal was incomplete enough that he was apparently still resistant to damage.

The contrast to the last time he was near Bucky was -- intense. Bucky seemed big enough to Steve when they fought on the helicarrier, but compared to Steve’s de-serumed body, the Winter Soldier was enormous.

"Get on with it!" one of the guards barked out. “Don’t make me call your commander back here!”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and came to a decision. Fast enough that Steve couldn’t react, he flipped Steve over onto the mattress, face-down and ass up in the air.

Steve couldn’t get out anything more than a "Mmaaw!" of protest before Bucky buried his face in Steve's ass. And he wasn’t shy about it, God was he not shy. He licked fat, wet swipes across Steve's hole as his hands kept Steve pinned in place on his knees.

Steve twitched violently away in surprise, then started to struggle in earnest. But Bucky was so much bigger and stronger than him now that he tugged Steve back into position with hardly any effort. And besides, Steve was still chained to the wall. There was a limit to how far away he could get.

Bucky’s tongue pressed insistently at Steve, flickering into him every few seconds as Bucky's thumb rubbed at Steve’s perineum, slippery with spit. Steve groaned, not even trying to make words, as Bucky licked and sucked and occasionally nibbled gently at him. Steve's hole began to relax under the attention, twitching and starting to flutter open for Bucky's tongue. It'd been so long since anybody touched him like this. His body lit up with the sensation against his will, a thousand dormant circuits suddenly flipped on and flooded with electricity.

He was angry and on fire with it all at once.

Bucky's week-old scruff was rough and perfect against the delicate skin of Steve's ass. His face flushed a dull red where it was pressed against the mattress. His dick was filling out, too, and Steve was ashamed to feel how embarrassed he was that he was smaller there, too, than before. Bucky could probably cover smaller-Steve's little cock in one big hand. Steve’s heart raced at the thought and he tried not to squirm.

Bucky kept working at him, getting increasingly sloppy. Steve wasn’t doing the best job at staying silent -- the gag didn't do much to keep him quiet, it just stopped him from making actual words. A steady stream of choked-off sounds left him, muffled and desperate.

His thighs were starting to shake with the strain of fighting back against Bucky’s hold. Bucky kept licking at him, both hands holding his ass cheeks wide open, until he shoved his tongue right inside Steve. Steve jumped and a spurt of pre-come dribbled out onto the floor. He bit back an embarrassing whine.

Letting out a quiet hum of satisfaction, Bucky slipped a finger in beside his tongue. Steve was making pathetic little noises behind the gag, mortified by how fast he was responding to Bucky’s attentions. He would be panting if he could get enough air to manage it. Instead, he had to breathe so hard and fast through his nose that he was getting lightheaded.

After a few minutes, Bucky worked a second finger inside him. Steve’s noises started to edge towards begging. Bucky’s fingers slipped deeper and brushed over his prostate, an insistent touch that made Steve shudder and grind back against him, starving for more.

It turned out Steve was right -- his little cock really could be entirely covered by Bucky's hand. He let out a shaky gasp when Bucky stroked his palm over the head of Steve’s cock, then engulfed him in a loose fist.

Steve gave up on dignity as Bucky started to jerk him off, still fucking him with spit-slick fingers. He thrust furiously into Bucky's hand, feeling his own orgasm coiling hot and tight in his belly as Bucky continued working his ass. A frantic "Nnghaa, nngha, nngha," bubbled around the gag. Steve was so close, if he could just --

Bucky shoved his tongue deeper into Steve’s ass alongside his metal fingers, stretching him wide around unyielding metal. It was too much. It was perfect. Steve seized up and came into Bucky's hand, keening.

Bucky didn't let up, not really, kept working him over until there was nothing left. Steve was wrung out and shaking when he finished. But Bucky brought his hand back to Steve's hole and started working Steve's come back into his ass, and Steve’s brain caught up all at once --

Lube.

Bucky got him off because it was the most convenient option. It was humiliating as hell, although Steve supposed that later he’d be grateful he wasn’t getting fucked dry. With the gag in, Bucky couldn't fuck Steve's throat. Steve guessed that Bucky’s fingers alone weren't enough to satisfy the order, so they weren’t actually done yet --

And then Steve was shouting as Bucky manhandled him into position and the head of Bucky's thick cock pushed into him.

In a pure animal reaction, Steve scrabbled and fought to get away from the relentless pressure, closer to panic than he’d been all day. Steve's stomach lurched as he realized the Winter Soldier had been enhanced in some of the ways Steve had been, and Steve's smaller body plus Winter Soldier's dick was a horrible mismatch.

Bucky was ruthless, opening Steve up with shallow thrusts, working himself deeper and deeper until Steve's ass was flush against his hips. Steve was close to sobbing from the stretch.

It hurt, there was no way around it. No matter how many fingers Bucky got into him beforehand, there was no way it would have been sufficient to prepare for this.

Bucky pulled Steve back into his lap, skinny legs splayed out to either side of Bucky's muscled thighs, one knee barely touching the floor. He kept a hand over Steve's belly to hold him in place, impaled on Bucky’s cock. His metal arm was wrapped across Steve's neck. It was like being trapped in a vice; Steve couldn’t get away.

Between the pain and the recent orgasm, Steve had gone totally soft. Bucky was more than a head taller than him, now, enough that he could lean over Steve to watch him as his thick cock twitched inside Steve, no doubt well aware of the tightness of Steve's ass as it spasmed around him. Tears streamed down Steve's face as he tried to pull Bucky's metal arm away from him. He couldn’t budge it at all.

Bucky kept watching Steve's face, for what reason Steve didn’t know -- ensuring he didn't hurt him too much, maybe? -- as his hips rolled against Steve. In this position, there wasn’t actually a lot of movement. He'd pinned Steve so effectively against him that his thrusts just moved both of them together, rather than propelling him in and out of Steve.

Steve figured it out after a minute. He stopped trying to pry Bucky's arm off his neck, instead just clinging to it and settling back into Bucky's chest, letting him lead. He felt a bit of tension leak out of Bucky's spine at this.

Bucky dropped his head down to nose at Steve's temple.

Steve closed his eyes as Bucky rocked against him, listening to the minute changes in Bucky's breathing. He made tiny noises each time he pulled Steve back down on his cock. Steve’s ass was adjusting to the intrusion now, and he wasn’t sure whether to thank the leftover serum in his veins or his appetite for cock -- in general, or for Bucky's specifically -- for the relief as the pain receded.

Bucky was being exceedingly careful with him, aware of his smaller body in a way that Steve hadn’t expected. When Steve tensed up, Bucky slowed right down, and when Steve relaxed back into him, Bucky's thumb rubbed small circles over Steve’s belly.

HYDRA could order Winter Soldier to fuck Steve and he’d do it, but if they didn't specifically order him to hurt Steve, it appeared he would interpret their order as liberally as possible.

After a few minutes of fucking up into Steve carefully, cautious and restrained, Bucky started to pick up the pace. He wasn’t perfectly steady anymore, starting to thrust erratically as he got closer. Steve could tell Bucky was trying not to hurt him while also still technically following orders. He figured he might as well contribute.

Steve squeezed around Bucky’s dick, tipping his head back onto Bucky’s shoulder to bare his throat. Bucky inhaled sharply and clutched at Steve’s bony hips. On the next thrust Steve moaned around the gag, encouraging. This cranked Bucky up even more, judging by the suddenly-loud panting of his breath in Steve’s ear.

Steve was a quick learner, he could figure this out. He reached behind him to pull Bucky even closer, back arching. Bucky dropped his metal arm from Steve’s neck and brushed his mouth over Steve’s collarbone. Steve felt the fine tremors running through Bucky’s frame as his hold on Steve’s hips got impossibly tighter.

Only a few seconds later Bucky let out a groan that lasted forever as he came inside Steve in long, slow pulses. Steve could feel each spurt of come as Bucky’s cock jerked inside him, his hands holding Steve steady and sure against Bucky’s hips. Bucky kept grinding deep into Steve as his orgasm washed over him, making a low, broken noise.

Steve was ready to punch God Himself to keep Bucky safe.

As Bucky’s orgasm ebbed, he wrapped both arms around Steve’s chest and tucked his face into the side of Steve’s neck. Steve felt a suspicious wetness on Bucky’s cheek, and a surge of protectiveness went through him. He laid his skinny arms over top of Bucky’s and hugged back as well as he could, trying to say he was okay.

Steve had forgotten about the guards.

“Yeah, yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! Not so high-and-mighty now, are you, Captain?” It sounded like the nasally one, the big guy whose nose Steve had broken.

Bucky bared his teeth and hissed at him. Steve watched as the guard blanched and took a step back. The Winter Soldier was clearly more than these three dummies had the mental fortitude to deal with, even balls-deep in a beat-up, naked prisoner.

The tableau was broken by a tinny rendition of ‘Call Me Maybe’. The guard answered his phone. Bucky’s face, if possible, became even more judgemental.

The short conversation consisted entirely of “Yes, sirs” and “No, sirs”. Steve couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but its pitch and volume increased with each of the guard’s answers. The Winter Soldier stared intensely at the guard throughout, silently communicating threats of graphic violence should anyone make the wrong move.

The big guard hung up, nodded stiffly to his colleagues, and walked off down the hallway. His steps sped up into a run as he got out of sight.

The other guards backed up almost to the far wall, dropping their eyes to the floor.

Steve suppressed a laugh. Four down, two to go.

Bucky eased out of him carefully and lay Steve down on his side on the mattress, curling up behind him. Steve thought vaguely about cleaning up in the little sink and maybe playing a game of chess to pass the time before the rest of the Avengers showed up, but Bucky drew a blanket over them both. He pushed the lone pillow under Steve’s head. Steve wanted to protest, but it really did help his spine, and Bucky tended to sleep with an arm folded under his head anyway. Old habits ...

Pressed up warm and solid against Steve’s back, Bucky threw an arm over Steve’s chest to pull him even closer. Steve snuggled back and put his hand over Bucky’s, interlacing their fingers. The cell was a bit chilly for his smaller self, and Bucky was putting out warmth like a space heater. Steve figured he’d just rest for a minute, then get right back to escaping.

He fell asleep between one blink and the next.

*

Steve woke up when the overhead lights went out. After a few long seconds of darkness, the dim emergency backup lights went on, along with a woop-ing siren noise that echoed weirdly through the hallway.

There were gunshots in the background, and yelling. The two guards that remained outside the cell door were nervous, glancing down the hallway and back into the cell like chickens that weren’t sure whether the fox was prowling outside the fence or already in the henhouse.

Bucky was awake and watchful, staring at the guards with outright hostility. The guards looked at Steve and fingered their weapons as the sounds of fighting grew nearer.

Bucky slid Steve’s small body behind him. “Mine,” he said, glaring at them through the barred window of their cell door. “мой друг.”

One of the guards looked at him in dawning horror and then muttered something into his comm. He dropped his hand to his sidearm. Steve felt Bucky’s muscles bunch up in anticipation.

Their boss must have relayed orders back to them quickly, because after a whispered argument the two guards did a quick match of rock - paper - scissors. The shorter one lost. The loser squared his shoulders -- no, Steve thought, that was unfair, they were clearly bothlosers -- and approached the door.

“Okay, you two. I’m just gonna come in there and -- ah --” Words failed him for a moment, and he pulled out his phone and squinted at it. Then, in a moment of breathtaking overconfidence, he said something that sounded like ‘aught-knee-mat’.

Bucky stiffened. Behind Bucky’s shoulder, Steve rolled his eyes. The kind of idiot who would rely on Google Translate to pacify an incredibly dangerous assassin supersoldier was not the kind of idiot von Strucker or any of the other HYDRA leaders would keep around. God they must be getting desperate. Maybe these guards weren’t even officially HYDRA. Maybe they were brought in by an evil temp agency.

The door swung open.

Bucky launched himself off the pallet and broke the guard’s neck before he’d taken two steps inside the room. The guard must have chosen the wrong Russian verb, because his body lay slumped in a heap on the cement floor, spine twisted at a horrible angle.

The other guard was standing frozen outside the door in shock. Bucky put two bullets in his chest. He’d moved so fast that Steve hadn’t even seen him grab the dead guard’s pistol.

Bucky listened for a few seconds while the gunshots and yelling moved closer to them, and then hauled both the bodies inside the cell. He rifled through their pockets, coming up with spare ammunition (pocket), an empty pack of cigarettes (discard), ID cards (pocket), gum wrappers (discard), strawberry lip balm (pocket, after brief hesitation) and a set of keys he tossed to Steve. Steve started flipping through keys, looking for the match to his manacle and his gag, while Bucky stripped the smaller of the two guards and set his clothes neatly aside.

By the time Sam arrived at the door to their cell, Steve was fully dressed but still wrestling with the contraption that kept the gag locked around his head. Sam was running so fast he rushed past them the first time and had to backtrack. “Steve!” he shouted. “Steve, are you -- oh, Jesus.”

Sam took one look at Bucky standing in front of smaller-Steve with a pistol in hand and a meaningful look in his eye, and he retreated to the other side of the corridor, keeping his own weapon pointed at the floor. “Hey, man. Uh, is Steve alright? How are -- things?”

Steve thumped Bucky on the shoulder but didn’t get a response because Bucky was too busy giving the scary-assassin eyes to Sam. Slowly, telegraphing all of his movements, Sam holstered his weapon and spread his empty hands. Bucky didn’t move -- if anything, he got more intense, perhaps expecting some kind of superpowered attack now that Sam’s hands were free.

“Mmff!” Steve yelled in exasperation, poking his head out from behind Bucky. Bucky was vibrating with tension but he let Steve slip out to approach Sam. Sam cut the straps of the gag off with some kind of laser gadget, and then handed Steve a pistol and a few clips of ammunition.

Steve spat the gag out, but he had to work his jaw around for a few seconds before he could say anything.

“Everyone’s here,” Sam said, as Steve tried to get his jaw to work again. “You had us worried.”

“Stark?” Steve asked.

“Top floor, intimidating the staff into telling him what they did to you. He says, and I quote, ‘This is too easy, but not in an “It’s a trap!” way.’ Unquote.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he parsed that. Star Wars. He knew that one.

“Natasha’s in the command centre with Clint, talking to the, like, two dudes in this entire building who are even remotely competent. Jury’s out on that, maybe only one of them is, because the other one just keeps demanding we give him his coffee back and I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. And Hulk is--” Sam was interrupted by a deafening roar from several stories away. “Hulk is smashing the lab. I think he got bored.”

Steve thought about the scientists shrieking about first authorship while they were jabbing him with needles, and allowed himself to feel a little bit smug.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asked.

Steve looked over his shoulder at Bucky and realized he hadn’t moved from where he was standing in the doorway of the cell. His face was doing something complicated as he looked out past the door. Steve walked over to grab Bucky’s wrist, taking a deep breath.

“Mine,” Steve said, and tugged him forward a step. “Mine.”

Bucky hesitated for a minute, looking torn, and reached back to shove his books into one of his cargo pockets. Then Bucky allowed Steve to pull him out the door, wearing an almost-smile that Steve hadn’t seen in a long time.

Steve held on to him all the way back to the Quinjet. He wasn’t gonna let go this time.

It wasn’t so bad being small again, Steve thought, as Bucky pulled him into his lap in the Quinjet and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Steve could feel Bucky’s chin resting against the top of his head, Steve’s ear pressed to Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s heart was beating steadily.

Re-seruming could wait a few days. This had worked out great.

***

a/n: thanks for reading and commenting! claimed here

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5811253

So I got to thinking about different ways Hydra could have experimented with Bucky's head over the years and I got to thinking about personality imprints and it inspired this shameful trash idea.

Each time he's activated for duty the Winter Soldier is imprinted with a loyal Hydra soldier's personality and brain patterns to prevent 'incidents'. Given that he's one of their best men, Rumlow is often chosen as the imprint. It's not a perfect copy, but it's enough that Rumlow has a hell of a time working alongside his mini-me.

Cut to Steve facing Rumlow and Rumlow!Bucky in combat. Thanks to how in sync they are, they tag team him and manage to take him down... and then once he's down, they tag team him in an entirely different way.

+ Rumlow being narcissistic enough to really, really get off on sharing the honor of screwing Captain America with 'himself'
+ Rumlow and Bucky having a running dialogue as it goes on, and Rumlow's words coming out of Bucky's mouth utterly destroying Steve. (...and possibly turning him on?)
++++++ Rumlow and Bucky indulging in lots of stuff that's right out of Rumlow's personal porn collection; dirty talk, moneyshots, object insertion?

A spin on TWS where Hydra ultimately wins. Hill never rescues Steve and the others, the Helicarriers launch, and Hydra's regime takes over the United States and spreads out into the world.

Steve's life is spared, but he's broken, his mind wiped like Bucky's was, and turned into the ultimate trophy, branded with the Hydra logo and given as 'stress relief' and 'rewards' to Hydra's top agents.

Rumlow's one of them and he's so. Fucking. Bored.

There's no challenge anymore, no need for secrecy or deception, the token pockets of resistance are dying out, and he's even got Captain Goddamn America riding his dick anyway he wants. But without the challenge, it's just not any fun.

+ For a focus on Rumlow slowly going stir-crazy now that Hydra has everything they want.
+ Rumlow using his time with Steve to try and kill some of that boredom, coming up with ever-escalating requests and kinks for him to see if it'll make any of his old personality emerge and say 'No'.
+++ Rumlow getting frustrated when Steve goes along with whatever fucked up, twisted thing he comes up with.
+++++ Rumlow finally bringing along his entire STRIKE team to see if a good old fashioned gang-bang will bring some of the spark back.

(piglet here)

holy shit this is amazing I love you sooooooo much! The humor and the kindness and the filth and .... just everything. <33333 First authorship and the lip balm and the google translate and Skinny Steve kicking so much butt and the cuddling and possessiveness...

(and the gag. omg. You know how much I love gags halp.) \o/

Basically this is the best thing ever.

I love this idea so much.

Oh, this is GLORIOUS.

SCREAMING AT THE BRILLIANCE OF THIS TRASH!

"A minor oversight in the design of the containment area meant that smaller-Steve had simply wriggled out of the now ridiculously-oversized restraints like an angry ferret escaping a paper bag, and punched the nearest technician in the nuts."

SO FUNNY AND SO VERY ODDLY TOUCHING (Bucky gets to take his BOOKS)

You get 10% of my apartment dumpster in perpetuity.

"Steve was ready to punch God Himself to keep Bucky safe."

yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

So Bucky and Steve have a 100% non-romantic brotherly love going on. There's zero sexual or romantic attraction there, and neither of them would even fathom it because it would be akin to incest for them. Stuff happens, Bucky becomes the Winter Soldier, and Steve finds and saves him. However later on they get captured, and HYDRA forces Bucky and Steve to fuck. I wanna see how that effects them, when it's not just rape but feels as awful as fucking as sibling.

YOU ARE AMAZING!

I love your writing, it's so funny and wonderfully descriptive at times.

"Their jubilation was dampened by the discovery that Steve's smaller self might no longer be Captain America-sized but was still 100% Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers was now mad enough to spit nails. A minor oversight in the design of the containment area meant that smaller-Steve had simply wriggled out of the now ridiculously-oversized restraints like an angry ferret escaping a paper bag, and punched the nearest technician in the nuts."

This is just pure gold, I squeed, and you have more wonderful expressions like that.
"
I also loved the actual sex scene, and how they're just sort of having a moment there, and the guards are completely oblivious to it.

So, I had this idea.

What if Hydra gets their hanbds on Bucky one last time. They don't need him right now, they're scattered and they're no longer have a cryo facility - but they implant him with false memories, give him a new identity.

So flash forward a few weeks, and there's Bucky being a car mechanic/librarian/martial arts instructor/whatever strikes your fancy who thinks he's an ordinary guy. But the false memories were a sloppy job and he starts figuring things are terribly wrong. He has no family, realizes he does not remember his childhood...and whe he actually tries to dig in his memories he starts getting gruesome flashbacks of murder and rape.

Bonus points if Steve finds him and he STILL does not get what's going on...like he remembers him, but he still thinks his civilian life is the "real one", until everything comes crashing down in buautiful, awful hurt.

Extra bonus points if at first Steve thinks the rape memories are implanted, too, but to his horror realizes those are actually the real ones.

This is hilarious and adorable! I love how unimpressed they both are with the guards, like the Winter Soldier's judgmental face at the "Call Me Maybe" ring tone and Steve wondering if they were brought in by an evil temp agency.

[H]e wasn’t sure whether to thank the leftover serum in his veins or his appetite for cock. Steve, asking the important questions.

Wonderful.

Steve's sense of time had begun to slip erratically. The lighting in the room never changed and with no outside noises he had nothing to track by except his own heart; trying to count beats was a fool's game.

After a while--he knew he'd never know how long--Rumlow set down the shock baton and gave Steve more water and even a granola bar; it wasn't nearly enough to calm his hunger but every little bit helped. All he had to do was hold on until Sam could find him. Maybe Sam would think to call Nat and Clint, or Tony; Tony was maybe angry at him but surely he'd set that aside for this? It was hard to be mad at a dead guy...

Steve felt thick-headed and shook himself but it didn't make him much clearer. Rumlow stood in his usual position a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. "Where's Barnes?"

"I don't know," Steve said wearily.

Rumlow shrugged, the motion stiff. "I'm starting to believe you."

"You should, because it's true."

Rumlow said, "What I don't believe is that you don't know where to look for him. You're obsessed, Cap, and we did work together. I know what you're like when you have the bit between your teeth." He grinned his awful grin again. “So tell me where to look for Barnes.”

It was stupid to get mad; it wasted energy just like trying not to scream would have. But Steve snarled, “By now it wouldn’t do you any good anyway, he’s better than that.” It had been months since they’d had a lead this fresh and Rumlow was making him waste it--

Rumlow’s smile got wider. “So you do know where to look,” he said, all satisfaction, and Steve’s stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back until it rested on the wall. Fuck, he thought.

He’d gotten into the habit of riding herd on everyone’s language back when he never knew if there was going to be a film crew when he and the Howlies got back to base. But sometimes profanity was just the best available way to relieve his feelings, at least inside his own head.

Without opening his eyes, Steve said, “May the curse of Mary Murphy and her nine blind illegitimate children chase you so far over the hills of Hell that God himself couldn't find you with a radio telescope.” A moment passed. “As my mother used to say.” Not the radio telescope part, of course, but Steve had liked the addition ever since he’d found out what a radio telescope was.

“You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?” Rumlow asked, all friendly teasing, like they were on a mission together. “Where’s Barnes, Cap?” Steve didn’t answer or open his eyes, which turned out to be a mistake because it meant he had no significant warning before the nightstick slammed down on his fingers.

Steve howled, his brain whiting out under the sudden shock. Rumlow waited patiently while he gasped through it. At least it was my left hand, he thought, though since the serum he was really more ambidextrous than anything.

“Tell me where Barnes is and I’ll shoot you up with enough morphine for even you to feel it before we let you go.”

“No,” Steve gritted, and it really should have occurred to him to clench the fingers of his right hand.

Not that having two broken hands was going to be significantly more of a disadvantage than only one, but he wasn’t looking forward to what it was going to feel like the next time his legs gave out on him.

Rumlow patted him on the cheek, the condescending bastard, but Steve had the satisfaction of making him snatch his hand away before Steve could bite it. “I’m gonna let you think for a while,” Rumlow said. “Just remember: tell me where Barnes is and you’re in the wind.”

He turned and headed for the door, jerking his head at his silent minions as he went; they followed him out. The door closed behind them, leaving Steve alone with his own reflection. He stared at it and concentrated on not crying.

*

His hands throbbed, hot, the skin too tight. Steve could tell that some of the bones were going to set wrong and have to be rebroken when he got out of this, and he would get out of it. He wasn't going to die without seeing Bucky again.

He was tired, though that didn't mean much; he didn't need as much sleep as most people, but he'd known since 1926 that pain made you tired. But he couldn't afford to let himself even try to doze, not when that would mean putting all his weight on his arms. Rumlow wasn't going to open the wrist restraints to let him reposition his hands, and even with broken fingers he couldn't pull them through.

The insistent pain tried to force tears from his eyes and Steve blinked against them.

*

Despite his best efforts, by the time Rumlow returned Steve was drifting off occasionally, only to jerk back awake when his weight fell on his wrists. Rumlow looked cheerful and rested, as far as Steve could tell, and Steve felt a stab of the irrational hatred that came from lying awake when someone else could sleep. He'd felt that towards his mother and Bucky both, before the serum had fixed his occasional insomnia, and it infuriated him to feel such an intimate thing towards Rumlow, of all people. He'd never have wanted to be that close to the man even before he'd found out about Hydra.

"Feeling more cooperative yet?" Rumlow asked, still in his old bantering tone.

"Fuck you," Steve snapped with all the force he could muster.

Rumlow sucked on his teeth thoughtfully. "You know, it's an interesting thought, but I'm not sure I want to get that close."

Steve was too tired to supress a shudder of revulsion and Rumlow laughed. "Tell me where Barnes is."

"No," Steve said.

Rumlow looked him up and down and made a beckoning gesture. From the still-open door one of his lackeys pushed in a wheeled metal table, covered in implements Steve didn't have names for. "I was hoping you'd say that," Rumlow said.

!!! You've made me so happy, author anon.

Loving all of the physical torture stuff in this fill! <333

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