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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It wasn’t like Bucky was any stranger to getting hurt. He’d had a couple broken fingers in his day, and a broken nose (Mrs. Rogers set that perfectly, you couldn’t even tell) and once he’d gotten a bad slice on the arm when one of Steve’s back-alley fights turned out to be a little more serious than either of them had expected.

But he’d never felt anything like this, fire that marched down his back in perfect lines, and he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction but he couldn’t help it—he might’ve been okay if he’d been able to brace himself from the beginning but once he started screaming he couldn’t stop. He struggled against the tiny amount of slack he had, but it didn’t help; the blows just kept coming.

The last hit struck right above the waistband of the pajama pants and when another didn’t fall Bucky managed to get ahold of himself, though he nearly bit through his lip doing it. He pressed his face into the mattress and was glad it muffled his breath because that way he couldn’t breathe fast enough to sob. He knew his eyes were streaming.

“Damn,” someone said, not Asshole #1 or Rollins or Handcuffs. “After the way he usually is—”

“I told you. Kid isn’t even in the Army yet,” Asshole #1 said. He sounded smug. Bucky would have cheerfully ripped out his throat with his teeth. “So pay up.”

“C’mon, Rumlow, you think I brought my wallet in here? I’ll pay you later.”

“You better. How about you, kid? Still feeling smart?”

Bucky turned his head enough to be able to talk and said, “Rumlow’s a stupid name.” But talking was a mistake because his mouth was open when the whip came down again and this time Bucky did sob, and he knew they all heard it before he could bury his face in the mattress. The lines this time lay almost parallel to his spine and made tiny hotter flares where they crossed the first set, and he had no idea how he could tell, who could feel such tiny things? His whole body was different, somehow.

“You don’t know when to shut up either, do you?” Rumlow asked him, sounding exasperated, like a teacher who’d caught him playing jacks when he should have been in class. Bucky tried to focus on the words but he couldn’t, the pain taking up the whole world. He barely noticed that he was struggling again; normally he’d have winced at the handcuff digging into his right wrist but under the circumstances it was drowned in the flood. It went on forever, and someone was telling them to stop it, please stop, and Bucky was grateful until he realized it was his own voice.

By the time it stopped he couldn’t form words anymore. He couldn’t even be ashamed of the tears that soaked the mattress. His back burned like there was a giant iron pressed to it. Someone sat on the cot next to his head and Bucky flinched.

“Relax, kid,” Rumlow said. “Take a second, breathe. I want you to be able to understand what I’m saying.”

Bucky rolled his face away. Rumlow let him, and waited with what seemed like patience while he sniffled. It took a long time to stop the tears. Oh God I want to go home, he thought.

“You will,” Rumlow said, and Bucky realized with horror he’d spoken aloud. “On the one hand it’s too bad, you’re a lot more fun than the asset. But the asset’s more valuable than fun.” He heaved a put-upon sigh as Bucky frowned; he’d thought he was ‘the asset’?. “So in a few days, you’ll be gone, back to your star-spangled buddy Rogers.”

That was...weird. Bucky turned his head enough to see Rumlow’s face. “What the hell does that mean?”

Rumlow grinned at him. “Rogers is gonna be Captain America,” he said like that was some kind of explanation. “He’s gonna run around Europe killing Nazis. And then he’s gonna die.”

“Pal, have you seen Steve?” Bucky asked raggedly. “Only way he’d kill anyone is by givin’ ‘em pneumonia.” It was the only part of the statement that made any sense. He ignored the dying part—and the ‘Captain America’ part, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Not to mention that even when the US eventually got into the War, no sane army, American or otherwise, would take Steve.

Rumlow shrugged.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“It doesn’t matter what I tell you, kid. When you get back, you won’t remember.” Rumlow patted him on the metal-covered shoulder and Bucky just stopped himself from trying to shrug the hand off. “Now here’s the deal: you have two choices.” He held up one end of the whip and grinned at whatever expression crossed Bucky’s face. “There’s this. Or you can ask us to fuck you.”

Bucky stared at him, speechless, for long enough that Rumlow said, "Well?"

"Go to Hell," Bucky said. He didn't let his voice crack.

"Your choice," said Rumlow, standing up. "Just remember: the longer you make us wait, the nicer you're gonna have to ask." He must have made a gesture Bucky couldn't see, because the scissors put in another appearance, taking the pajama pants and what flimsy protection they offered. I can do this, Bucky thought, his lips firmly closed. The moment stretched unbearably. I can. I can. I—

The faint sound of the whip cutting the air made him jump, trying to curl in on himself. It landed with a crack, right across his bare ass. Bucky didn't scream. He didn't scream till the fifth one, on his back again. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw and couldn't stop the whine that rose in his throat and tried desperately to pass out before he could beg them to stop.

For a minute he thought he was going to manage it, and then he made the mistake of opening his mouth to gasp for air. "Stop it, stop it, please stop, I can't I can't please—"

"That's not the right thing to ask for, kid," said Rumlow pleasantly, and Bucky wailed.

*

He had no idea how many times Rumlow had paused to ask him if he was ready to ask nicely yet. He was past wanting to kill them, past wanting to escape; he wanted to die. The whip came down, the end curling around his ribs, and he barely twitched. It didn't matter, nothing mattered, nothing he could do would stop them hurting him, and Bucky waited for the next blow in the grip of a fear that was so huge it drove out everything else.

It didn't come.

Rumlow said, "You know, kid, I'm impressed, I really am. But my arm's starting to get tired, so unless you want to find out what comes next..."

"Fuck me," Bucky said dully.

Someone whistled. "Sorry, kid, I didn't hear you," Rumlow said.

"Fuck me," Bucky repeated. "Please."

Rumlow grabbed him by the hair, the 'asset's' too-long hair, and hauled his head back. "Say that again, nicer."

"Please fuck me."

"I'm not sure he really wants it," said the guy who'd brought the chain in.

Rumlow nodded slowly and said, "You know, Svenson, you're right. That wasn't very convincing. Try again, kid."

Bucky swallowed. His voice was rough. "Please fuck me, please," he said and it was like a dam burst. "Please, I want it, I want you to fuck me, please fuck me." He groped for the kind of things the dames would say in eight-pagers and couldn't come up with anything beyond, "Fuck me hard, please, please, I—"

Rumlow chuckled. "Somehow the Winter Soldier ain't so scary when it's begging for my cock."

They laughed. Bucky closed his eyes.

*incoherent flailing*

You! This! skddksafdf

oh my godddddddddddd this is amazing. Poor bb Bucky staring to dissociate ugggghhhhhh this hurts so good. I'm bracing myself for the end because Bucky's already sort of on the path back to Asset when he finally breaks, poor bb.

AND NOT ANGRY JUST DISAPPOINTED RUMLOW waiting for Bucky to stop crying, what is this. Rumlow's just so terrible and affable and reasonable in this it underlines just how normalized this is ugggghhhhhh AND BUCKY BEING CALLED IT AT THE END K I L L M E

author anon, if you ever chose to unanon I would like to read everything you've ever written and subscribe to your newsletter.

http://archiveofourown.org/users/MilesHibernus

Everything except one non-trashy WIP is already on the meme (and this one will be going up there once it's complete but the dumpster gets it first). I also have another AO3 name but it's mostly Supernatural.

DA

Holy crap you've written so many of my favorite recent fills!! You are truly a gift to this dumpster.

Well, I'm glad to hear it. I adore getting nice juicy comments--not that the short complimentary ones aren't great, but it's especially wonderful to have a little more information about why people like things, you know?

(yet another anon)

Haha, is it sad that at this point, by about 2 parts in I'm like "ooo, this is a MilesHibernus fill"???? Something between the writing style (especially around depictions of brutality), the fill speed, and the way you know how many parts there's gonna be around the halfway mark...

I clearly spend too long in the trash heap...

Aw, doll, ain't no such thing!

I love the way Bucky tries to establish a frame of reference for this torture, like sure he's been hurt before, he had those broken fingers and that broken nose. And let's not think too hard about why, because it probably means I'm a terrible person, but I really like the way Rumlow calls him "kid." Kid isn’t even in the Army yet. It's just so trashily affectionate, like Bucky is someone young and small, and you'd expect the accompanying emotion to be protectiveness, but NOPE. (Oh no, I thought about it. TERRIBLE.)

miles hibernus sine hibernis? *whispers* what does it mean? all the google results are in latin*

what does it mean? all the google results are in latin

That's because I'm the kind of geek who translates things into Latin when all the reasonable English permutations are taken.

It means "Winter Soldier". :)

(ayrt) Aahhh I love it. :)

Oh hell yes.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

FILL: Gather Ye Rosebuds 4/5

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