hydratrashmeme | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That small, irrational hurt, the one that bloomed like humiliation when Steve said that they were all sick and disgusting … He knew that it was irrational. He knew that Steve wasn’t talking about him. But he’d been a part of that, and it felt like it was thrown in his direction.

“This really puts a new spin on the whole situation, doesn’t it, boys?” Shankman crowed. “Here I thought Captain Right and Proper of the SS Tight-ass wouldn’t dream of this. And all along, he already does.”

He climbed off of Steve and grabbed the pair of gloves Kane had thrown to the side, pulling them back on. Within moments of kneeling down, he already had his fingers in Steve’s ass, prodding and searching.

He tried for a good fifteen minutes, poking at Steve’s prostate and having a go at his genitals, but nothing worked. Steve was just in too much pain to get even remotely hard, which earned him a round of laughter and a booted foot mashing his dick into his pubic bone.

Shankman laughed again when Steve’s hands reflexively went back to his injured penis, pulling them away by his wrists. “Don’t be so pathetic,” he said. “Maybe your little bitch will kiss it and make it better later.”

Steve lunged forward, using the grip Shankman had on his wrists to leverage himself up and grind his thumbs into the man’s eyes, rubbing his hands over his face.

He shrieked and threw himself away from Steve, who used the spectacle as a distraction, seizing the moment where the other men were focused on their leader to roll himself over to Shankman’s weapon and make a grab for it.

It was unreal how terrible the odds were for them one moment, and the next, before anyone could react, Steve had shot everyone in the room.

Shankman was still sputtering, blood pouring from his chest where he lay on the floor, when Steve leaned over him. “Orgasms make men lazy. Dull the reflexes. But the stupid was all on you. You brought that with you.” He shot him again, right between his red and teary eyes.

He sat still and quiet for a minute, not looking at Bucky, not looking at the carnage. Eventually he crawled over to their bags and rooted around until he came up with a travel bar of soap and a bottle of water and set about washing the capsaicin cream from his hands.

Of course. He hadn’t been cradling himself. He’d been arming himself, covering his bloody, irritated hands in that hell cream and then waiting until the right opportunity to use it.

He scrubbed and rinsed for ten minutes, then tried to gingerly clean anywhere else the stuff had touched. Bucky tried to give him some privacy while he did that, sitting there awkwardly with tape over his mouth and his hands in shackles. In his peripheral, Steve’s shoulders sagged, sinking lower and lower until Steve just lay down on the floor and breathed shallow and slow.

The last thing that Bucky wanted to do was bother him, or, really, have to look him in the eye, if he was being honest, but he was seriously concerned about the urgency of Steve’s injuries and, also, he really fucking didn’t want to sit here shackled and helpless any longer. He rattled the chains just a bit, just enough to get Steve’s attention, and he could tell when Steve heard the clinking, but he still didn’t get up right away. When he moved, a minute or so later (a minute that felt like an eternity), it was just to reach into the nearest pocket and root around. When he came up empty, he rolled the corpse over to reach another pocket, then reached over to another body, moving himself no more than the bare minimum required. Despite having had to do the very same thing during the war, and having seen Steve do it, it made Bucky a little nauseous to watch.

Finally Steve came up with the key and tossed it over to Bucky, then lay back down with his arms over his ribs.

The first thing that Bucky did after he unlocked himself and ripped the tape from his mouth was to spit out stomach acid and keep spitting until his mouth tasted less like pennies.

The second was follow the trail of blood around the room that led to Steve’s beaten body, trying to calculate how much was on the floor and how much was left in Steve. The math made him hurry faster to Steve’s side.

He intended to get Steve help and get out of there and deal with everything else later, but when he reached Steve and looked down at him … when he looked at him, he kept thinking about what Steve had said. About what he knew. Until Steve looked up at him, eyes hazy, covered in blood, sweat, and filth, surrounded by dead bodies that had not even an hour ago been live monsters. Just lying there like it was taking all of his effort to stay conscious.

“Later,” Bucky said. He put his hand on Steve’s forehead, ignoring what it came away with. “Rest. I’ll deal with this. You don’t need to do anything right now. Be here later.”

Steve closed his eyes, nodding absently, and Bucky would have been concerned by the speed at which he drifted off, but he was already fumbling a cell phone out of yet another pocket and calling Natasha, briefly darting upstairs to get a location. If he didn’t get the bleeding taken care of and Steve wasn’t seen by a doctor soon, it wouldn’t really much matter whether he was conscious or not, so why did he have to be?

Up close the bruising was horrifying. New Guy hadn’t been exaggerating. There was something wrong with his chest. How he’d managed to breathe, let alone speak, let alone do everything he’d done, that was a mystery. There was nothing that Bucky could do about that. He focused instead on the lacerations, the handful of burns, and the blood between his legs. There was a lot of it. It had sounded like they’d been going for distance, and that way led to perforated organs.

Bucky palpated his abdomen, feeling for any unnatural firmness that might indicate internal bleeding, and he found it.

Goddamn it, Steve.

He did what triage he could, and when that turned out to not be much, he grabbed a towel from the bag, wetted it, and cleaned Steve up. Steve didn’t stir, losing color and breathing shallowly, forehead cool to the touch.

But not gone yet.

When he was finished, he took off his jacket and laid it over Steve, then lay down beside him, trying gingerly to share his body heat without aggravating Steve’s injuries. He interlaced their fingers and waited for help to arrive.

AMAZING UPDATE IS AMAZING

This is so good. Hurry Natasha!

ILUUUUUUU THANK U FOR THIS GIFT NONNIE

OP

AUGH THIS IS GREAT. The cream in particular was such a creatively awful touch, and the fact that that's what Steve used to finally get the upper hand is just the cherry on top. (...so to speak.)

Also, kudos for not skimping on the nasty internal injuries. Not fun to think about, but if you're going to go there, might as well do it with a character who's got super-healing.

Oh, cool, you're still around, yay. The dumpster really is forever. Thank you, OP (and the other people who left comments). I'm glad it's working for you, and that people are still interested. Yeah, I had to let Steve have that moment. The rest was just SO dark and awful that he needed a win, such as it was.
It's ... looking a little longer. I'm not sure how far I'll take it, but Bucky and Steve have a lot of shit to work out between them. Aftermath is more my thing anyway (uh, not that anyone could tell based on the 8k of violence I opened with). Suggestions and ideas are totally welcome, by the way.

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d

Re: Fill continuation: not so unsullied anymore pt. 4d