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

Re: Tainted Touch 6e/?

[(Anonymous)]

I should have posted this aged ago, but I never felt I could get it quite right, but here goes.

---

Natasha felt sweaty and uncomfortable, but she was one shower short of actually doing something about it. Intruding on him was not an option - he deserved his privacy. When she heard the start of water running, she deemed it safe to take off her clothes. She was soaked to her underwear, so that went, too. The sink was a small mercy, and she turned on the water. The liquid felt cool against her feverish skin.

She cleaned herself best as she could under the circumstances. Her hair still felt uncomfortably moist, even after she tried rubbing it with a towel. She was grateful that she had made the call to bring spare clothes, at least. It was nothing fancy - just a plain black tank top and equally dark yoga pants, but it made her feel a little bit more like a regular human being.

Bucky was taking his time with the shower, and that was okay, at this point she'd just wait until she got home. She went out and picked up his neatly folded clothing and his boots, and placed them in front of the bathroom door. She liked the scent of them. While he looked a bit scruffy half of the time, he smelled of old-timey soap, musk and maple syrup...and for a moment she wondered if he was binging on sweets now that no-one was stopping him, and she decided to make a mental note of it.

She felt restless, and at the same time annoyed at her own restlessness. Things had gone well, considering. He had gotten off. Neither of them suffered any real damage. They had still managed to talk as adults and out of the scene after. And yet, something did not sit quite right with her, but she could not put her finger on it.

As she waited for him to finish, she cleaned the used toys, and threw them into the duffel bag that had previously housed her spare clothes. She threw in the unused toys and her catsuit, too - she'd sort those later.

It was almost by accident that she ended up looking at the spot where she had fucked Barnes just a few minutes ago. While fading already, she could still see the wetness on the floor - the sweat where his knees and elbow had been planted, the stain of tears where his cheek had pressed against the ground. And maybe there was something else, too - a memory of a smell, she though, but before she was even aware her mind jumped to another place, another time.

Her hand was clutched tightly - too tightly - around a handgun, and her finger was teasing the trigger. She was fifteen, maybe sixteen, but she felt younger in this very moment.

The boy was lying on the floor, hands held up in a defensive gesture. Blond curls were falling in front of his tear-stricken face. He looked genuinely terrified.

"Pozhaluysta," he begged, "ya khochu zhit'".

She could not see the man standing behind her, but she could feel his presence. He was tall enough to loom over her. He had been introduced to her as Mikhail a few days ago, but he spoke with an impeccable American accent and called himself Michael when referring to himself. Teacher seemed to know him, but Natasha could not remember seeing him before. A spy - she was almost sure of it.

She had not cared for him from the moment she had seen him, long before he had brought her here and put a gun in her hands.

"Pull the trigger", he ordered, for the second time. "You are an assassin."

"No," she said, but she kept her eyes on the boy, and the finger on the trigger.

"No?" Mikhail asked, and she could hear him stepping closer. If he'd take one more step, she would be able to feel him breathing down her neck.

"I am not what you say," she said. In her emotional state, her Russian accent was more prominent. "I have not taken a life yet."

"If you do not, you are worthless. It is your only purpose. Refuse, and you are worth nothing."

Time seemed to slow, the world seemed to shrink in on itself. In a moment that was almost like a vision she could see all her potential tomorrows and the bullets she'd have to fire to buy herself one more day. She could imagine the smiles, both real and fake. She could see before her all the places she might travel to, from the frozen plains of Siberia to the Egyptian desert, and she decided to give them up. Some would have called it insanity, but to her it was clarity.

"So be it," she said, and lowered the gun.

As she turned to face Mikhail, a another gun cocked and was pressed to her temple. "You would die for a stranger?" he asked with disdain in his voice. "Has our training taught you nothing?"

That, of course, was not entirely true.

It was her training that made her move by instinct, at almost superhuman speed, taking even the old spy by surprise. She removed the gun from his clutch with one hand, and raised the one she was holding with the other. Before she even fully realized it, Natasha had emptied both weapons into Mikhail's chest. He crashed to the floor, back first. He twitched for a few seconds, but then life drained from him fully.

There was a sound behind her, and it took her a few seconds to even realize what it was.

Clapping.

As she turned, she could see Teacher standing in the dim light.

"That was an interesting show."

"I do not understand," Natasha said. "I did not obey."

"True, that will need work. But you are an assassin. Congratulations on your first kill, Natasha."

She dropped both guns and they clattered to the floor.

"I will accept punishment," she stammered. "I will accept death."

"Death would be a waste of your potential."

"He was your friend," Natasha protested, still thinking this must be a trick being played on her.

Teacher moved closer, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mikhail was a bastard, child. A familiar bastard, that is true, but death was overdue for him."

"I do not understand," she said again, and Teacher breathed in impatiently.

"Very well, child. This is today's lesson: There are more ways than one to pass a test, there are several solutions to a problem. Do you understand now?"

Natasha nodded, even though she was not quite sure that she did.

"What will happen to the boy?" she asked.

"Whatever you want," Teacher said. "His life is yours now." And with that, Teacher left.

Natasha snapped out of the memory as the bathroom door opened, and Bucky emerged in the bathrobe. His hair was still wet, but he looked quite relaxed now and he flashed her a gentle smile. He spotted his clothes on the floor, and picked them up, drawing them to his chest.

"Thank you for being so kind," he said to her, and she wanted to refute it, saying she wasn't nearly as kind as he deemed her to be, but she could not find the strength.

A few minutes later he re-emerged, properly dressed, as if nothing had ever happened, as if she had never laid a hand on him.

He kept his distance, seemingly sensing her unease. He made a few steps towards the door, then stopped, fidgeting with his fingers. "I was wondering....do we do this again?" he asked.

Without another word, she took out her notebook and handed it to him. He turned the pages, then placed his metal thumb on a day he seemed to like.

"Two weeks from now? Is that good? he asked.

She nodded and he scribbled down his initials.

Christ, how had she ever thought this would be easy? His writing in her notebook made her anxious - her promise weighing heavy on her chest, a half-baked plan she could not turn back on now.

"Drive safely," she called to him as he left, and it felt silly and mundane, but it was all she could think of. With his build, he could probably survive a dozen car accidents. And yet, she really did feel an inexplicable concern for his safety.

Be kind to yourself, Bucky Barnes," she whispered, but he never heard.

Re: Tainted Touch 6e/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you for updating! I love this story so much and I like the flashback! Once again I love how Natasha's flashbacks show her kindness but she doesn't see it that way.

Re: Tainted Touch 6e/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you for reading! This story has grown so much (oops) and these are the least smutty bits, but no worries, more sex will be had.