Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

[trashmod]

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.

Comments

FILL: 95, Not Dead 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

Steve went through the window shield-first and landed rolling. The assassin was almost at the edge of the roof and Steve threw his shield; there was a risk the assassin would go over the edge when he (almost certainly a man by the silhouette) collapsed but maybe they'd--

The assassin turned and his left arm (it wasn't a sleeve, wasn't armor, his whole arm was metal) shot out straight and caught the shield. Steve froze where he stood and the assassin just stared at him for a long moment, and there was something in the hunch of his shoulders, the shadow of his lower face that set off a faint ring of familiarity, but there wasn't time to track it down before the man threw the shield back, hurling it harder than anyone but Steve himself should have been able to. He caught it against his stomach, so hard that he was driven back half a step; there'd be bruises on his palms for a few hours.

Steve wasted half a second looking down at the shield in pure disbelief, and by the time he made it to the edge of the roof the assassin was gone, vanished like a ghost.

*

Steve couldn't figure out what it was about Secretary Pierce's voice that made him uneasy. It niggled at him right away, even before it became clear that Pierce thought he'd been somehow involved in Fury's death.

*

"All right, I have a question for you, which you do not have to answer," Natasha said. "I feel like, if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know."

"All right, all right, what?" Steve said.

"Was that your first kiss since 1945?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that," Natasha protested.

"Well, it kind of sounds like that's what you're saying."

"No, I didn't..." She sounded a little flustered, and Steve wondered how gullible she thought he was. "I just wanted to know how much practice you have."

"You don't need practice," he said, trying to sound like he thought it was a joke.

"Everybody needs practice," she replied, like it was a truth of the universe.

Steve blew out air and said, "It was not my first kiss since 1945." He'd kissed Peggy, a few times, on very good days when he was sure she knew who he was. "I'm 95, I'm not dead."

Natasha snorted delicately, something he wouldn't have believed possible before he met Peggy. "You act like it."

Steve heard the creaking, but it took him a second to connect it to the tightening of his hands on the wheel. "Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experiences," he said, carefully even, and forced himself to loosen his grip. "And I'm not interested in someone who wants Captain America. Men have survived without sex before and will again."

Natasha twisted in her seat to look at him more closely. Steve kept his eyes firmly on the road. Lightly, she said, "Tell me someone at least explained masturbating--"

"Goddamnit!" Steve bellowed, and pulled the truck over with a wrench. Once they were stopped he shoved it into park and put his forehead down on the wheel. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I am familiar with the concept of masturbating."

There was a long pause before Natasha said quietly. "I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't realize quite how bad it was." He turned his head enough to look at her. She didn't look amused anymore. "What the hell happened on Valentine's Day, anyway?" Steve blinked at her and she offered him a small, sincere-looking smile. "I am that good, but even I can't work out the details."

Steve sat up. "Last fall some of the STRIKE guys showed me a video. A blue movie. Porn."

"I get it."

"The guy in it," Steve said. She knew he liked men too, of course she did; Natasha could figure out your sports preferences from what you had for breakfast. "He looked a lot like Bucky."

Natasha thought that over for a second and then whistled. "So I'll bet that was awkward back in '42"

"Not so much as you'd think, as long as at least one of you stepped out with dames," Steve said, recovered enough to try to sound dry.

She smirked, but for once it didn't look like she was making fun of him. "I've seen photos, so just, you know, excuse me while I take a moment to picture that. I might need to be alone."

"Take all the time you need," Steve told her, and she let her lips straighten into a smile.

"So...you know you don't need to feel guilty about that, right? He wouldn't mind."

"That part I knew," Steve said, and sighed. "What happened on Valentine's Day was, some more videos of the same man got...posted, discovered, I don't know. But they were, God. They were torture. The things they did to this man, Natasha. No one would agree to it."

Seriously, Natasha said, "Don't be too sure of that." Steve shook his head and she went on, "But I understand."

"I thought about trying to track him down, help him, but...by now, he's either out of their hands or dead. The most recent video was from 1985."

"So instead you took up running," Natasha said, and Steve forced out a breath of laughter and shook his head.

"Yeah. How's that for a shared life experience?" He put the truck back into gear and glanced over his shoulder. The road behind them was clear.

Natasha leaned back in her seat and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling as Steve pulled back onto the road. "It's not that complicated, Rogers. Just make something up."

Re: FILL: 95, Not Dead 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

Yo, I love where this is going. Especially the fact that Steve watched the torture porn, recognized it as rape, consciously compared it to the earlier vids which were "real sex" (oh no), deleted everything anyway, and then... the end! That's it. He feels bad and it affected him to such an extent Natasha noticed, but he doesn't go burning the world down to rescue the guy in the videos. There are many good, practical reasons why he doesn't do that, but if he knew it were Bucky, things would be different. There are plenty of levels of awful to this: that Steve watched the torture porn at all is one, and another is that he whacked it to Bucky's non-violent rapes and didn't even recognize them as non-consensual. I cannot wait for the reveal, holy shit.