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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The doctor looks at Bucky in that infuriating, compassionate way she has.

He hates psychotherapy. It’s probably his least favorite of the endless roster of appointments he has to go to.

Steve is always telling him that he doesn’t actually have to go, that he can opt out and refuse anything he doesn’t want, but it’s pretty obvious that would be, well, not what Steve wants.

He knows he doesn’t have to do what Steve wants all the time. He’s even pretty sure Steve won’t hurt him if Bucky does something he doesn’t like. But he likes it when Steve smiles at him, and Steve won’t give him any orders so Bucky has to try and figure out what Steve likes best for himself. (He catches that thought, stops it in its tracks. He doesn’t have to wait for orders, and he doesn’t have to obey. That’s over now, and he’s free and safe). Nonetheless, it’s clear that Steve wants Bucky to go to therapy, so twice a week, for fifty minutes, Bucky sits on this tan couch and talks to a thin woman in a sharp suit who stares at him with infinite kindness like she somehow understands.

“So you’ve been having sexual thoughts about Steve?” she asks.

“No!” he exclaims, frustrated. “Not sexual. Bad.” He’d described to her, in the interests of being honest, and maybe a little bit because he’d hoped that she’d condemn him the way he deserved, the dream he’d had last night. “It—it wasn’t even now. It was before I was even the Soldier, when I was supposed to be a person, when I wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone, and I was still—“ On top of Steve, his tiny, helpless body, wrenching his arms behind his back, in him…

“Did you and Steve ever have a romantic relationship?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Could this have been a memory, bubbling up?”

He stands at that, furious suddenly. She shrinks back in her chair, minutely—she tries not to ever show Bucky that she’s afraid of him, of anything he says, but it gives him a sick thrill to watch her flinch, to know that he’s still powerful in some way. “I never did that to Steve!”

“I’m not suggesting you harmed him. But the two of you were very close.”

“No!” Bucky says, shaking his head, and now the memories are bubbling up again. The nightmares. He’s not sure which. He’s not sure if it was just a dream, just his fragile mind again inventing new horrors out of the shadowy ghosts of the real ones, or a memory of something he’d actually done. He remembers Steve’s small and fragile body, underneath him, below him, and he tries to press down the rest.

It’s still there, though, the thoughts. The horrible knowledge that he might have done that to Steve. When he was small and vulnerable and couldn’t protect himself. It doesn’t seem right, as much as he fears it may be. He doesn’t know a lot, but he knows he loves Steve. He knows he wouldn’t hurt Steve. Bucky never hurt anyone willingly, only when he was forced to. That doesn’t make him a good man, it doesn’t excuse what he did, but it’s something. He doesn’t have much, but he has that.

“I’m sensing a lot of resistance to this idea. I think we should have a conversation about sexuality and how yours has been affected by your time in captivity.”

Something happens in Bucky’s body. Up until now the panic has been in his head, in his thoughts, but now it travels into his throat, his stomach, bracing him with a quantity of adrenaline that feels like he’s preparing for a battle. His instincts say fight. His well-trained mind tells him that there is danger, and that he needs to defend himself against it, to the death if necessary.

“James, I see that this is upsetting for you. Can you sit down and take a deep breath for me?”

He tries, but his legs are locked up and his lungs are filled with panic. His whole body is screaming at him to subdue the threat, to take her down so that she’ll stop saying those terrible, perilous words, those orders that he cannot follow.

So that he doesn’t hurt her, he runs for the door. He hears his name, distantly, but he doesn’t respond. He just keeps running.

He returns to where he’s safe, where he knows he can be without harm or danger.

He returns to Steve.

The AI is saying something to him as he returns to Avengers Tower, but he can’t hear it over the roar of panic in his ears. He rushes upstairs, without stopping or hesitating, and straight into the suite that he shares with Steve. He’s running, tripping over his feet. He needs to get back to Steve, needs to see with his own eyes that Steve is safe, needs to hear from him the reassurance that Bucky has never hurt him, just as he knows in his heart that he never will.

He tries the door to Steve’s room. It’s locked, but this is an emergency. He calls Steve’s name, but no one answers. With the panic he’s already feeling, he begins to worry that something else has happened, that someone else is hurting Steve. It’s as if his mind can no longer remember that the vulnerable little boy he remembers is decades gone. He reaches out with his metal arm and rips the door from its hinges.

HELP this is so good, I'm on the edge of my seat. What a gloriously fraught and painful setup for what Bucky's about to witness. I also love the way you portray Bucky's interaction with his therapist: she tries not to ever show Bucky that she’s afraid of him, of anything he says, but it gives him a sick thrill to watch her flinch. SO GOOD.

eeeee omg what a place to leave off!!

I love how you portrayed Bucky: how close to the edge he is, how he's still figuring out the boundaries between his old lives and who is now. I can't wait to see how everything plays out!

WOW!!!!! The original prompt wasn't my thing but I love what you've done with it. Bucky remembering but getting it all wrong--OUCH.

"He knows he doesn’t have to do what Steve wants all the time. He’s even pretty sure Steve won’t hurt him if Bucky does something he doesn’t like."

BUCKY

BUCKY THAT IS

YOU'RE SO CLOSE BUT

BUCKY NOOO

SO EXCITE

What a fucking awful shrink. Maybe stop pushing your pet agenda on your patient and try listening to them, you fucking cuntrag.

...can you tell I've had therapists like this? Haaa.

a/n: sorry for the LONG delay! it is not that easy to write a group sex scene turns out

“We don’t have that long,” Steve reminds them.

“We have an hour. Have you really forgotten what we can do to you in that time?” Natasha’s grin is fierce and warm, and it sends shivers down Steve’s spine.

“No, ma’am.”

“I love when you call me that. It always sounds so sweet and polite.” Her hand goes around his jaw, gripping firmly to turn his head towards her. She makes Steve meet her eyes. “Now, I think you should stop worrying about what time it is, and how long things are going to take, and everything else, and you should relax and trust us.”

“After all, you’re not in charge here,” Rhodey adds, and Steve tries to let himself hear it.

He’s been bearing so much, for so long. Almost since the moment he woke up, he’s had the burden of protecting this team, of leading them in fight after fight, against one unknowable, awful force after another. All that time, he’s had the burden of being a legend, of being Captain America—a hero who barely existed when he fell into the ice, and who now has been adored by generations of children, featured in films and comic books, had his face on t-shirts. And now there’s Bucky’s return: the thing he wanted most in the world, a gift too wonderful to have even hoped for, and yet also (if he has to admit it to himself) a constant weight of paralyzing worry.

Here, in this room, even for a few brief minutes, he can give all of that up. He’s not in charge of anything.

“Safeword?”

“Red, as always.”

“Good.” Tony steps in close to him, crowding him, and even though he’s significantly shorter than Steve the ploy works. Steve feels himself begin to sink into himself, feels that familiar state spread gentle and complete across his mind. Tony and Rhodey work together, stripping Steve’s clothes off to leave him naked in front of them.

“Do you know what we’re going to do to you?”

“Something I’ll like, I hope,” Steve says, with what he hopes is a winning smile.

Tony rolls his eyes and slaps Steve, open handed and hard, right across the face. “Is this about you?”

Steve’s stomach flips in excitement. This is just what he needed—to be thrown off-balance, roughed up, even humiliated a little. He’s lucky he has a team that’s able to give him this, that he can trust. “No, sir.”

“That’s a little better.”

Rough hands—Sam’s and Bruce’s, Steve thinks but isn’t sure—are on his shoulders suddenly, pushing him down onto his knees. It’s a comfortable, familiar position, and Steve feels the tension he’s been carrying for too long begin to recede. Sam strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently at first, and then starting to pull painfully. Steve pushes away the instinct that tells him he has to fight and lets himself relax into it. He’s helpless here (not really, of course not really, he can’t quite quiet the part of his brain that tells him exactly how he could win this fight) and he wants to be. He wants to be used, toyed with, hurt, taken. He wants not to choose. He wants for what he wants, what he does, what he believes, to—for one precious hour—not matter at all.

Someone else is behind him. Natasha, he thinks, from the cool touch of her soft hands. She carefully arranges the rope around his wrists, then pulls it tight to restrain him with one great tug. Her motions are soothing even if the rope stings a little as it’s pulled taut. Steve just lets it happen. If he tried, he could pull himself free, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be just here, with Natasha tying an intricate series of knots all the way up his arms, with Sam petting and pulling his hair, with Tony and Rhodey standing in front of him, with Bruce at his side.

His teammates, his friends. They won’t let him fall.

After that, it becomes a wonderful blur of touch and movement. Natasha ties him so he’s on his knees, his ankles and his wrists bound tightly together. He can even struggle a little bit without moving. When the bonds are secure, Tony takes her place behind Steve and starts opening him up, his clever, careful fingers working at him quickly.

“How are you doing?” Bruce checks in. “Color?”

“Green, sir,” Steve manages, choking on a gasp as Tony’s fingers slide into him. It’s overwhelming, to have so much attention focused on him all at once. There’s so much stimulation, so much pleasure, and all at once, all focused right on him. As he gasps, his lips opening, suddenly Bruce is grabbing his head and grinding his clothed erection into Steve’s face. “Please, please,” Steve begs, hearing rather than feeling the high pitch of his voice. “Sir, please, let me have it, let me suck you—“

“Is that what you want?” Natasha’s voice again, cruel and perfect. “To be taken from both ends, passed around between us when we’re finished with you? To be used, however it entertains us, with no thought at all for you?”

“Please,” Steve repeats, his voice breaking, and Natasha just laughs at him, pulling hard on his hair as Bruce opens his trousers. A moment later, and, just as he’d been promised, Steve is being filled up at both ends. Tony and Bruce seem to move in perfect sync. Bruce is in his mouth, making him gag a little, just as Tony pushes into his not-quite-prepared ass. Steve lets out a loud cry, muffled by the cock in his mouth, down his throat, and then relaxes into it.

This is what he wanted. He’s going to be pushed between the two of them, and then passed around for the rest of the team. Every worry drifts away as he gives into this. He admits silently to himself how badly he’s been craving it, how much he’s been needing it, and at last lets himself give in.

There is a hand pulling painfully in his hair, and someone fucking him hard, and someone choking him, and it doesn’t matter who because it’s all a wonderful blur of sensation and he can trust them all completely, he can just let it happen.

He’s floating peacefully, his mind at rest as every touch sends him deeper and deeper, when suddenly there is a crash as the door is ripped off its hinges.

YES YES YES YES YES to every part of this: Steve's headspace, the negotiation, the group sex, and the delicious horror that's about to ensue. I am so glad this isn't abandoned.

This was wonderful! It may have been hard to write but it really works well, and my heart goes out for Bucky not really understanding this. It's about to go so wrong...

Bucky arrives home in a rush. He calls out Steve’s name—no answer. Then he runs up to Steve’s room. He can hear something beeping, the quiet, calm voice of the AI that manages in the tower, but he ignores it.

Steve has told him enough times that if he ever has an emergency, Bucky should come straight to him. No matter what the circumstances, if Bucky is ever really upset, Steve wants to know.

And this is pretty much as upset as he can remember being.

He’s questioned a lot of his memories. He’s had to, given the fact that he can’t trust his own mind, that seventy years for him went by in a haze of false memories and conditioned apathy, but he never questioned that he could have hurt Steve.

It’s not like Bucky thinks he’s a good person. He knows he’s a bad man, a murderer. But he’d never touched anyone like that, he’s sure of it.

He thought he was sure of it.

He finds Steve’s door closed and locked. When he knocks, there’s no answer. So he does the only thing he can think of to do. With his metal arm, he reaches out and rips the door cleanly off its hinges so he can step into the room.

He stares in blank confusion into the room. What he’s seeing doesn’t make any sense.

Steve is kneeling in the middle of the room. His arms have been deactivated (that can’t be right, Steve is real, his arms can’t be turned off. His arms have been bound somehow, though, behind his back.) Stark is behind him, fucking him, while Banner uses his mouth. The Widow is standing too close to him, while the rest of the team watches, visibly erect, turned on, waiting for their turn with him.

Bucky knows what this is. The memory of it is in every cell of his body.

The Avengers are having a party, and Steve is the favor.

It doesn’t make any sense. Steve is a person—not an asset, a thing, a fucktoy. He doesn’t deserve to be treated this way, especially not when Bucky has been spared this kind of use since he found Steve again.

But Bucky doesn’t have time to think about why this is happening. The possibilities run lightning-fast through his mind. Maybe he’s been physically subdued. Unlikely, given his enhanced strength, but Bucky knows too well that even a super-soldier can be beaten into submission. Maybe he, too, has been implanted with codewords, trigger phrases that make him a helpless prisoner in his own mind. Maybe they’ve simply blackmailed him, threatening an innocent civilian in order to ensure his compliance.

And he does look compliant there. He’s not struggling at all, but rather actively participating, sucking Banner’s cock further into his mouth, forced to be complicit in his own humiliation.

This was never supposed to happen to Steve, sweet good Steve, who never deserved to be hurt like this.

How many times has this happened to him before? How many times has he been used like this, without Bucky even knowing?

No wonder he was so understanding when Bucky finally spoke of his own rapes. No wonder he wasn’t disgusted the way Bucky expected him to be. He knows what it’s like to be helpless like this—and Bucky never saw.

But he can’t just stand around worrying about this. All these thoughts have raced through his head in a few mere moments, and now it’s time to act.

First possibility: physical force. He can’t count on Steve to be able to fight at all. Indeed, if he’s been brainwashed, it’s possible Bucky might have to fight Steve himself to get to the others, or even that Steve has been conditioned to hurt himself if they’re interrupted. Ruling that plan out.

Second possibility: plea for mercy. Ludicrous, it’s never worked before and it won’t in the future. He thought that some members of the team, Falcon in particular, were becoming friends and allies, but obviously that’s untrue. They’re all here hurting Steve. Dismissed.

Third possibility: allow this to go on, and take revenge later. It’s a very neat plan, but he doesn’t have the capability to walk away and let them hurt Steve. It’s what the Soldier would do, but Bucky can’t do it.

Fourth, and the only possibility that makes any sense. He steps into the room. He deactivates his arm so they’ll know he comes in peace, letting it whir helplessly to his side. He bows his head.

And he speaks.

“Let Steve go. Take me instead.”

He’s relieved to see that at once they’re letting Steve go—no, they’re not, because Stark is still holding onto him tight so he can’t escape, but they’re not fucking him anymore. They’re listening.

“Bucky, listen to me,” the Widow begins, but he can’t stop.

He wants to obey orders, he knows that will please them, but first he has to explain. “He isn’t trained for this. Conditioned for it. Not like I am. Whatever he’s doing for you, I’ll do it better, a thousand times better. I have a lot of experience with—whatever you like. I promise. I’ll do it so well.”

They keep trying to talk over him but he won’t let them, he can’t let them. This is his chance. He’s never had to do this before. They’ve made him beg for it in the moment, but he’s never had to convince handlers to use him before. But he’ll do it.

For Steve, he’ll do it. “You can’t do to him what you can do to me. He’s your Captain, he needs to be out in the field. I don’t. I can just be your toy. You can use me any way you want to, and I’ll do anything you want. If you want me to fight I’ll give you just as good a fight as he could. If you want me submissive I’ll do that. You can cut me open and I won’t fight you only please, you have to let Stevie go. He doesn’t deserve this. You don’t understand. He’s good, he’s not like me. I’m made for this. Let me trade places with him. Please.”

Oh God. This is wonderful anon. Begging his handlers to use him indeed ...

oh god. oh god oh god oh god, BUCKYYYYY :(

He just has no context anymore to understand a scenario like this as anything but rape :(. Steve is gonna blame himself so hard, and everything is gonna be a mess. This hurts so good.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

that can’t be right, Steve is real

omg bucky honey no

(this story is so good! i was very excited to see it updated and as usual it did not disappoint!)

I just absolutely *love* all the little bits of "Bucky doesn't think of himself as a real person" stuff you slipped in. Bucky thinking he's bad, a thing, made for this, etc.

*shameboner*

guhhhh soo good

oh god...Bucky is so damn brave here, so amazing, and I really hope that the others can see that

Ahhh omg this is my favourite trash! Bucky you poor thing, what a mess.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

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