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

greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I want me some thick-like-a-milkshake Bucky. Big, beautiful, muscley man who is all obedient to his slightly smaller handlers.

Some Hydra agent is a size queen. Pierce eventually notices something odd happening - every time the soldier goes back to cryo, he's a bit thicker around the middle and in the legs. The techs are doing something to him.
Bucky is a bulky motherfucker with tree trunk thighs and a barrel chest.
Some tech somewhere has a thing for feeding him or making him bigger in combination with trying to enlarge his dick and balls. They also like to tease him about how big his dick gets when he's hard. They call it a monster and squeeze it. His food is laced with super soldier viagra so he gets hard easily. He's embarrassed and doesn't get why they care about it. It rubs against his pants and he doesn't wear underwear so it makes him whine. Rumlow orders him to unzip his pants during a mission and just let it hang out.

Bonus points if you throw in some recovery stuff and Steve doesn't complain about Bucky's big body but instead tries to ply him with pies.

I love all of this, but "Rumlow orders him to unzip his pants during a mission and just let it hang out." YES. THIS. PLEASE. Winter trying to complete a mission with his monster dick flapping around openly is something I didn't know I needed.

Me neither, but I was gonna quote the exact same thing. \o/

I'm just gonna add my own "Agreed!" to this.

The asset hones in on the Commander as soon as he enters the transport van. His eyes flit anxiously to the Commander’s hands, expecting him to be holding—what, he doesn’t know. Expecting. His brow knits as he tries to link the reaction to an unnamable stimulus, slipping like smoke through his fingers as he rifles through the carefully maintained body of knowledge he is allowed to sustain. He looks at the Commander in silent question and the Commander’s face splits into a grin. His eyes slide down the asset’s body in naked appreciation, going sharp and dark in a way that makes the asset feel uneasy, although he can’t name why.

“Yeah, buddy. You remember, don’t you,” the Commander says lowly. He raps his knuckles against the metal partition separating them from the front end and after a moment the van lurches into movement.

*

“Let me take a look at you,” the Commander says. He slides off the flat metal bench opposite the asset and sets his rifle at the asset’s feet, settling on his knees in the open space between the asset’s legs. The asset balks. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he raises them carefully in the air and they hover like fretful sparrows over the Commander’s shoulders. The Commander slides his hands roughly up the asset’s chest then to the broad expanse of his shoulders. His eyes follow the progress of his hands and he breathes sharply from his nose as he slides them back down to grip and squeeze the asset sides. He’s a fit man, as all of the asset’s handlers, but next to the asset he seems small and the asset is distinctly aware of this fact and its implications. He has to be careful with his handlers. He knows the past instances where--he knows that there are scenarios he cannot allow to happen and so he must be vigilant and obedient.

“Shit, still a fuckin beast,” the Commander mutters. He sounds like he’s speaking to himself. The asset isn’t sure if a response is required, it seems to have no purpose that he is aware of so he holds motionless and categorizes the stimulus instead.

“Don’t tell me. You haven’t had a bite to eat since those protein bars in Tucson.”

The Commander says protein bar like it pains him, nose wrinkled in distaste. He moves away to rummage through his duffle, bent down on one knee. At first the asset thinks he might be the cause of the Commander’s upset so he holds very still in answer. It wasn’t a direct question. When the Commander shoots the asset a raised eyebrow he responds with a small shake of his head.

“Catch,” the Commander says. The asset’s metal hand intercepts the tossed sandwich in midair, bound tight in cellophane. He unwraps and inspects it slowly, looking up at the Commander in hesitant question. The Commander smiles and kneels back between the asset’s legs. His hands slide up the asset’s thighs and squeeze.

“That’s the best I could do for now. Go ahead. Take a bite.”

Biting in leads to a complete sensory overload in his mouth. The best--good--a feeling he can’t remember, that he doesn’t have a word for. The asset’s eyelids flutter shut in sheer pleasure before he can stop himself. He snaps them back open and freezes, anticipating punishment, but the Commander’s face is flushed, his hands rubbing hypnotically up and down the asset’s thighs and he doesn’t seem displeased at all. He moans low in his throat when the asset stops and rocks against him.

“It’s fine, Soldier. Finish the rest. I got more,” the Commander says. The asset delves back in, overwhelmed and hungry and terrified the moment will end. He won’t even mind having to throw it back up if he does end up getting punished for the momentary pleasure he can derive now. Fresh and delicious and good and he knows--the asset knows--the thought hits a steel wall. He chews and swallows and finishes faster than anticipated.

The asset is so intent on eating he notices a second too late that the Commander’s hands are at his waist, unbuckling the asset’s belt. He freezes and swallows slowly, watching as the Commander unzips the asset’s cargo pants and takes him out. Uncertainty swells through him and there’s a question forming where there shouldn’t be, but the Commander doesn’t seem to notice.

“Fuck, look at you,” the Commander says. He leans his forearms on the assets thighs and wraps one hand around the asset’s flaccid length. The Commander licks his lips, eyes nailed to where he squeezes appraisingly, up to the tip then down. He takes the asset’s balls in hand and rolls them gently, then leans down and stuffs his face between the asset’s legs so he can nose and lick at them as they grow heavier and swell. The asset shifts, a hot feeling like the beginning of a fever just below his skin, a heavy weight settling in his gut.

“Don’t fucking move,” the Commander says, with a warning squeeze to the asset’s cock. The asset bites back a whimper. They both lurch in place as the van hits a rough spot on the road and it seems to snatch the Commander from his reverie. He looks up at the asset sharply, noticing the bundled cellophane in one hand, held gently like it might explode.

“You done?”

The asset nods minutely.

“No you’re not, buddy. Grab another one,” the Commander jerks his head towards his duffle. His grip doesn’t relent around the asset’s length so the asset has to bend to his side careful and slow to reach inside the Commander’s belongings. The movement shifts his hips slightly away and the Commander’s fist squeezes warningly, tongue caught between his teeth in a teasing grin, making the flesh in his hand swell and lengthen and the asset whimper. When he’s upright again the Commander watches until the asset begins eating again before leaning down and licking at the wet head of the asset’s length. The asset’s fingers flex into his sandwich as he bites and chews and swallows down the soft noises he wants to make.

“So fucking big, fucking monster cock,” the Commander says, his voice rougher than before. The asset bites back a high sound as the Commander fits his mouth over the tip of the asset’s cock, mouth stretching around the thick girth. The Commander’s eyelids flutter shut then open again; he seems determined to watch the asset eat as he sucks at him, drooling over the way it won’t fit quite inside.

“Gonna take you all in one day,” the Commander grunts out, pulling off with a choked, wet sound. He seems a little angry and very determined. He fits his mouth over the asset again, steadying it with his hand as he forces his head down. The inside of the Commander’s mouth is hot and so wet and the asset moans softly at the feeling. His hand moves to hover over the Commander’s head of its own bidding, wanting to push, to sink deeper into that silken hold. The asset snatches it back just as the Commander makes a tight, rough noise and pulls off again, strands of saliva stretching and breaking between the wet length of the asset’s cock and the Commander’s red, swollen lips. His eyes have gone liquid and slightly red from exertion.

“Finish it,” he says to the asset, and strokes him up and down as the asset bites and chews and swallows. When he’s done the Commander makes him grab another sandwich, then another as he licks and strokes the asset until he’s rock hard and drooling continuously from the tip and the Commander has to stop every few seconds to watch the asset curl over uncontrollably, right on the precipice of something, some swelling, ticklish feeling deep inside him, a hungry swollen need.

“Commander,” the asset gasps out, his food forgotten as his hips twitch forward on the bench. His free hand reaches out for the Commander in silent plea. He pulls it back. He’s consumed enough food that his belly feels taut and full and the pressure seems to feed into the heaviness between his legs, making every breath hitch.

“Imminent malfunc—“ the asset begins, because he has to say something, a warning.

“Jesus, every time,” the Commander cuts him off. “You’re not malfunctioning. Disregard. You’re gonna ride this out.”

The asset nods because he has a reference to what that means at least, like ignoring a laceration out in the field when it isn’t a threat to primary function and he has yet to eliminate a target.

The van changes direction, tires crackling on gravel as the texture of the road changes beneath them. The Commander’s hand stills on the asset and the asset has time to try to control his breathing. He stares down in wonder at his red, swollen flesh, moving as if with a life of its own in minute jerks in the Commander’s fist. Viscous, clear liquid pools and dribbles from the slit at the top and down the Commander’s knuckles. The Commander begins stroking it once again as the comm comes to life in their ears.

“We’re arriving, Rumlow,” Rollins sardonic voice crackles through the channel, “Wrap up your weird shit, we’ve got a tight window today.”

“I’ll show your ass weird,” the Commander mutters, then he cracks a vicious smile. His eyes glint merrily and he starts stroking the asset in earnest as the van gently rolls and sways. The asset’s breathing goes sharp, he bites back the high sound clawing its way up his throat for as long as he can, his stomach tightening and chest heaving with the effort.

“You done with that, all full?” the Commander asks, nodding towards the asset’s disregarded food. Yes, the asset thinks, full, and when he tries to nod he keens helplessly instead, hips jerking forward suddenly as his cock spurts and shoots.

“There you go, fucking piss it out,” the Commander says, and his hand goes to work, an obscenely tight, focused movement as the asset comes and comes. It lands all over his lap and the Commander’s strong, tanned forearm. Up the asset’s front and splattering in the space between them. The pleasure is endless and all encompassing, rushing through the asset’s body like a tide. He catalogs desperately until he can’t think or function in any capacity other than a conduit, riding it out.

When he’s done the van has come to a full stop. The Commander instructs the asset to lick the come from his hands and forearms. Then he kneels back down and unbuckles the asset’s vest feverishly, rucking up his shirt. He presses with the flat of his hand against the asset’s uncovered belly, tight as a drum.
The front door opens and slams shut and the Commander presses his face there desperately, mouthing and kissing at the asset’s stomach and the meat of his sides.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispers under his breath. A fist bangs once on the outside of the van making the asset flinch. He stares beseechingly at the Commander’s back as he turns away and wipes his hands with a rag, waiting for the Commander to cover him or give him an order to do so himself.

Rollins opens the door and crooks an eyebrow at the asset’s state. The asset flushes hot, moving hesitantly to close his fly. The Commander turns just in time to kick at the asset’s feet.

“Get out,” he says. He grins crookedly and watches the asset get to his feet, hunched over and shuffling awkwardly out. The Commander pushes the asset with a hand to the small of his back once he hesitates at the exit. Rollins is leaning against the open door. A newbie with a shock of blonde hair gapes at the asset’s state, eyes shooting to his crotch then away, then back again. The asset’s member is softening once more but still thick and heavy, swaying with his every movement.

“Why don’t you start a fucking catering service next time,” Rollins says, but he doesn’t sound angry, only lazily amused.

“Could have filled a bucket, populated a whole city of freaks,” the Commander says as he hops out of the van. The asset stares at the ground, a tight hot pressure in his chest as Rollins barks out a laugh.

“God help us all if we had more than one running around.”

Then Rollins snaps for the rookie to move, and reaches in the van to being unloading once the blushing handler is off, striding briskly back to the front. The Commander approaches the asset from behind and grips him around his heavy middle, visibly pleased, rubbing his cheek against the asset’s back and shoving him a couple of awkward steps away from the van.

“How’s the time?” the Commander calls back. His hands travel appreciatively over the asset’s stomach, pinching and rubbing. He slaps at the asset’s full belly.

“Set-up team’s almost done. Another hour and we should be good,” Rollins voice echoes from inside the metal interior.

“Plenty,” the Commander says, pleased, and walks the asset up the gravel path.

*

Yesss. Wow, searingly hot, well done! *throws confetti made of expired coupons*

lovely! I shall build a nest with these. and thanks <3

This is gr9

:D! Thanks!

I never knew my one true love, chubby punk Bucky, could be trashified, but it could and it has and I'm just so happy.

heee :D if there's a will there's a way [music notes]

Amazing! Rumlow is such a creepy kinky shit and poor Bucky, at first just so eager for food, forced to be the subject of Rumlow's fetishization. Very wrong, very hot.

Ohh, this was so good. I loved the descriptions, from Rumlow's creepy fetishization to Bucky's not quite understanding. I think my favorite line was, The asset’s fingers flex into his sandwich as he bites and chews and swallows down the soft noises he wants to make. It's just so evocative, this contrast between the pleasure from the food that he wants and the pleasure from the blowjob he doesn't want.

*offers up some cracked plastic pots and old grocery receipts stained with mystery fluids as a token of appreciation*

Oh god I want more.

(Also I want to take a blacklight to Rumlow's combat gear. Scientific curiosity, y'know?)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Thick or Chunky Bucky and Size kink trash

Re: Thick or Chunky Bucky and Size kink trash

Re: Thick or Chunky Bucky and Size kink trash

Re: Thick or Chunky Bucky and Size kink trash

[fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]

Re: [fill] trou normand - WS/Rumlow [1/1]