Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

[trashmod]

Okay, kids, you know the drill. Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because hydratrashmeme is about as far from a safe space as you can get. Garbage we like: noncon, whump, aftermath, violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves. Garbage you should find a different trashcan for: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, OOC evil!good guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves, rotting leftovers dressed up as a romantic gourmet meal. Nothing wrong with 'em, but this isn't the crowd you should be pitching to if you're trying to sell Brock Rumlow as anything but a human dumpster fire.

Link your fills on the fill post, post unprompted fills as replies to a header comment so the wall o' text is collapsible, and let me know if you're interested in helping out with the Pinboard archive.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 4 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

All prompts or fills that contain Infinity War spoilers must go on the Infinity War spoiler post until May 26th. Spoilers in the main dumpsters will be deleted.

Round 4 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 5.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

I'm not asking for much, but I would just love myself some Asset on Santa Pierce's lap...

Christmas trash

[(Anonymous)]

HYDRA/STRIKE/board lab techs/whoever forcing the asset's hole open with a huge speculum and filling him with glass Christmas ornaments, then telling him that if he doesn't complete some impossible task, they'll take the speculum out and he'll have to push the ornaments out on his own.

+at least some of the ornaments break while he's trying to get them out

(frozen comment) Not exactly Hydra but, Graydon Creed/Victor Creed brutal noncon

[(Anonymous)]

Either one on top. If Victor is on top please make him a smug sadistic pervert. If he is the vic (pun totally intended lol), make Wolverine rescue him in terrible condition.
Hydra involvement optional.

(frozen comment) Re: Not exactly Hydra but, Graydon Creed/Victor Creed brutal noncon

[(Anonymous)]

HYDRA involvement isn't...really optional. This is the HYDRA trash party, after all.

Bucky/Hydra Agents, Bucky/Steve, somnophilia + flashbacks

[(Anonymous)]

A lot of Bucky's memories of cryo are indistinct and blurred; it usually took a few hours for his body to become fully operational as he slowly warmed up. During that time - fading in and out of consciousness, his body limp and pliant, practically paralysed - Hydra agents (and technicians) repeatedly took the opportunity to take their turns with the Winter Soldier.

Cue Steve waking Bucky up (having resumed/started up a relationship post-WS, not knowing about Bucky's sexual abuse) with a nice, slow handjob/blowjob/fingering, and all of Bucky's memories of waking up to being raped while he lay helpless coming flooding back. Optional: Steve doesn't realise that something's wrong until they've both come, and the ensuing aftermath.

+ If Bucky himself didn't remember his sexual abuse until that exact moment triggers it
+++ His treatment during the flashback/memories being particularly violent
++++++ The Winter Soldier being fisted and forced to orgasm

DNW: Bucky lashing out (physically or verbally) at Steve.

Re: Bucky/Hydra Agents, Bucky/Steve, somnophilia + flashbacks

[(Anonymous)]

Please I second this

Howard/Bucky: Kinky past through a Trash Filter.

[(Anonymous)]

Hope this is alright for this meme, so here we go.

Before the war, Howard and Bucky had met through some S&M underground, something that at the time was deviant and unknown. Howard wanted to give over control and be taken care of and Bucky was willing and good in bed (also helped him direct his anger in a positive direction). Howard had the time of his life getting tied up, being paddled and whipped, fisted and having golden showers rain down upon him. All safe, sane and consensual.

But, after Bucky got captured by Hydra the first time, they did some digging and after Bucky was rescued, things were awkward between Howard and Bucky.

After the fall, Bucky’s mind is a little confused. Zola and his men use this to help with the breaking process, convincing Bucky that he deserves his fate, that he’s just the kind of guy who fits right in with them as he’s already a sadistic rapist, even showing him pictures of him in action with Howard as without context they do appear damning. There might even be some role-play involved where willing or not red shirts play his ‘victims’ to help with his conditioning.

Eventually Bucky brakes and believes that he used to be a rapist and submits to the brainwashing.

Up to Anton if they wish to stay there or go further in time.

Bonus:

A reunion is arranged between Howard and Bucky for a live performance and fresh blackmail/fap fuel.

Bucky makes an odd comment when sent out to kill Howard.

Zemo put some of those pictures onto the tape he made for Tony.

The pictures are discovered during the Winter Soldier trial.

Evidence of the truth comes out but Bucky's mind is so muddled he can't remember which is the true series of events and which is false. (Maybe he confessed to Peggy or Maria about his wild youth or felt guilty seeing Steve morn his friend.)

Steve has trouble accepting that his friend always had this dark side, remembering how Bucky and Howard avoided each other.

Jukebox Crack!

[(Anonymous)]

It's some boring night at any Hydra facilitt your heart desires. The only requirement I have that the Asset is there too because what else is there to do on a boring evening other than...

Mission Report Jukebox!

Aka Hydra goons make the Winter Soldier recite his mission reports as if he's some kind of jukebox or a McDonald's drive-in station...

Sloppy Sevenths (Natasha)

[(Anonymous)]

Black Widow non-con with gaping and So. Much. Come. Maybe it's a gang thing with several at a time, maybe they line up to take turns, or maybe she's just tied up as the break room stress relief for people to visit. But they just keep filling her up over and over and over and over.

[(Anonymous)]

YES PLEASE

The Asset is compliant, but the arm is not

[(Anonymous)]

- The Asset is able to hold completely still and remain silent through the worst stuff, but the arm just keeps whirring and shifting

- When they try to fuck the Asset when he's half-awake or passed out, the arm attacks them. (Basically the only reason it doesn't when the Asset is awake is because the Asset is expending a lot of mental energy holding the arm in place.)

- post-TWS, the arm being super defensive of Bucky's sleep, until eventually Bucky's recovered enough that the arm stays in place when Steve or Sam or Nat or Tony lays down in bed next to him.

Re: The Asset is compliant, but the arm is not

[(Anonymous)]

"the arm being super defensive of Bucky's sleep" help this is so cute

Winter Soldier + Capsaicin torture

[(Anonymous)]

Strike is holed up in a safe house waiting for extraction, and Rumlow notices that the Asset has an erection. This in itself isn't a new occurrence, but this is the first time Rumlow decides to let the Asset do something about it. He gives three orders: touch yourself, don't move from your position, and, most important of all: use this, with the 'this' in question being a tube of capsaicin cream for the Asset to use as lube.

Cue all the pain (and humiliation, depending on how much awareness Bucky has) as Rumlow forces the Asset to keep going until it comes, even as the agony intensifies.

++ The Asset involuntarily moving from its kneeling position and being punished with creative uses of a stun baton
++++ This happens post STRIKE-gangbang with the Asset suffering from the after effects of that too
++++++ Aftermath! Some possibilities: Rumlow capturing a post-WS Bucky and forcing him to repeat it; Rumlow enjoying the first time so much it becomes a regular occurrence, to the point that Bucky now associates erections with prolonged, agonising pain, and the resulting impact that this has on being intimate with Steve or Sam post-WS

Re: Winter Soldier + Capsaicin torture

[(Anonymous)]

Not quite sure about this, but I figured I might as well post it instead of letting it languish in my drafts forever unposted.



“Fuck,” Rumlow muttered, pulling out with a satisfied sigh. “That was good.”

He gave the Asset a congratulatory pat on its flank, right over the dark thundercloud of bruising covering its broken ribs. The rhythm of the Asset’s breathing continued unchanged; only the telltale twitch between its legs where Rumlow’d just been gave any indication that the pain was having any effect at all.

Rumlow pressed down harder, until he could feel bone shifting beneath his palm, watching as its hole twitched again, unable to close after being forced open again and again by the rest of STRIKE for the last few hours. Even as he watched, another bead of bloodied come trickled out of it, dripping a wet line down the inside of the Asset’s thigh and adding to the mess already there.

“Anyone feel up for round three?”

From the other side of the room there came a chorus of dissent; the team was knee-deep into a poker game that didn’t look like it’d be ending any time soon.

“Maybe in an hour or two,” Davies tore himself away from his cards long enough to shoot back.

Rumlow nodded; that was probably long enough for the Asset to get good and tight again. And if not: there was always the stun baton for that.

He stood, stepping back a little and settling in the chair in the corner of the room. The Asset stayed motionless, not moving from its spot - face against the floor, hips tilted up - on the floor, not even when Rumlow gave it a firm kick between the legs just to hear it shudder. From this angle, though, the Asset’s other reaction was impossible to miss: its dick twitched.

“Huh,” he said to no-one in particular, and kicked again. This time it was unmistakable: even as the Asset’s legs twitched like it wanted to close them, its cock was beginning to swell.

Clearly, some more investigation was in order.

“Get over here,” he commanded. The Asset tensed, slowly easing itself up from the floor and crawling to rest in front of Rumlow’s feet. He’d never really paid attention to it like this before. Sure, the Asset had gotten hard before, had come writhing on a STRIKE member’s cock so many times Rumlow’d lost count, but that had always been incidental; an added bonus - it was always entertaining to watch it make a mess of itself - but never the main aim. Now, though, watching as the Asset’s fattening dick gave another jerk when he pressed his boot to its balls, an idea began to materialize out of his curiosity,

“Hey, Mitch, you got any of that pain cream left?”

“Aw, come on, you know that shit’s expensive,” Mitchell groused from across the room, before he caught sight of Rumlow’s expression and the way his boot was pressed right up against the Asset’s crotch. His mouth curved into a grin. “Fine, go ahead. S’all yours.”

After a few moments of rummaging through his pack, he tossed it over.

“Careful,” he said, in mock warning. “That stuff stings like a bitch.”

“I’m counting on it,” Rumlow shot back. Just to check, though, he turned the tube around in his hands, narrowing his focus down to the list of ingredients, and sure enough, there it was: capsaicin.

“Left palm up,” he ordered. The Asset complied, and got a handful of cream slathered thickly over its metal fingers and palm. That’d be a bitch to clean out later, but that that was tech’s problem.

For now, Rumlow was going to have fun with this.

“Touch yourself here with your left hand,” he said slowly, miming a jerking-off motion, nudging the tip of his boot at the Asset’s cock where it hung between its legs, still half hard despite the number of times they’d fucked it through another shuddering orgasm over the last few hours.

Apparently one time too many, if the Asset’s reaction now was anything to go by. Instead of getting to work, the plates of its metal arm shifted and resettled, its lips parting into a silent snarl.

The room went quiet.

Rumlow let his fingers tap loudly against the hard surface of the stun baton strapped to his thigh, drawing the Asset’s gaze away from his face.

“Move from that spot,” he said steadily, curling his fingers around the handle to show how clearly he means it, “and you know where this is going.”

The Asset’s blank gaze cracked into a frown, its brow furrowing. Probably remembering how much it had screamed earlier when Rumlow’d made good on that threat and fucked it open with the stun baton. That seemed to do the trick; something in the Asset’s gaze shifted, and it lowered its gaze to the floor and its metal hand to its cock, and began to stroke.

It started off slow, a little tentative; unexpectedly gentle with itself, which hadn't been what Rumlow had been aiming for at all. He kicked the Asset hard in the balls as an incentive to speed up, and then again when it jerked, but not, he realised after a moment, in response to his boot. Instead, the effects of the cream - now smeared liberally from root to tip - were beginning to kick in. Already, the Asset’s dick was starting to flush a deep and painful-looking red, its breath catching in its throat as the motions of its hand worked the cream deeper into the sensitive skin there.

But clearly whatever programming that kept it from disobeying was doing the trick, or else the prospect of getting fucked with the stun baton for the second time that night was a pretty good deterrent, because the Asset didn't stop. It had settled into a steady rhythm, working itself in firm, methodical strokes from root to tip, the slide of its metal fingers made slick by the cream. It had to be agony, having it not only on the shaft but right on the tip too, rubbed right into the slit, but despite that, the Asset’s erection didn't seem to be subsiding. If anything, the Asset only seemed to be getting harder.

On the next stroke it made a choked, bitten-off noise, gritting its teeth as it swallowed back a moan. Whether it was of pain or pleasure was hard for Rumlow to tell; probably both, judging by the way the Asset’s hips twitched like it was trying to jerk away from its own touch, even as precome began to well up and spill from its dick, the flush between its legs spreading up to its chest and face.

Christ, Rumlow realized, it was really getting off on this, the sick fuck. Which hadn't exactly been the intended plan, but somehow this was better, discovering that their post-mission activities had fucked up the Asset’s head in a way the Chair never could: here was the Asset, fucking into its own fist even as its face contorted with agony. It had even managed to drag the rest of STRIKE’s attention away from their game, instead turning to watch the Asset shudder and shake as it continued to jerk itself off. The sound of its hand was getting wetter, the swollen, inflamed head sliding slickly between its fingers practically obscene.

Pretty soon the Asset was unable to keep itself from making noise; short, ragged gasps like it was trying to cut off its own screams before they happened. Beneath the sweat-soaked hair plastered to its face the skin was flushed a deep red, the Asset’s teeth bared in a snarl. Blood dripped down its leg, where the nails of its flesh hand had already scraped four deep lines of red into the meat of its thigh.

A few more strokes was all it took for the Asset’s harsh panting to stutter into silence, its whole body going taut as it began to shoot off in thick spurts over its own slick fist, marking up its chest and the floor and the tip of Rumlow’s boot. When it finally finished shuddering through it the Asset let its hand drop and curled in on itself, ducking its head down like it could hide beneath the curtain of its hair. Through a gap between the strands, Rumlow caught a glimpse of its eyes screwed shut tight.

He glanced down, and felt his mouth curve into a grin.

The Asset’s painful-looking erection had barely even flagged.

“So,” Rumlow said slowly, into the quiet of the room. “Who’s up for round three?”

He’d never seen the STRIKE team mobilize so fast.

hydra vs. the avengers

[(Anonymous)]

I'd like to see more characters in this dumpster, can we get the full team captured by hydra? and

Maybe hydra sets up some sort of breeding program?

Like all of them are modified to be able to carry babies and stuff and then someone Hydra deems a good genetic match is sent in to fuck them. There's no privacy so they all see what happens and have to deal with each other's rapes and subsequent pregnancies.

Or hydra is just training them to be sex slaves, breaking them by humiliating them in front of their teammates. Getting them to not only service hydra, but their teammates on command.

I'd even take just one big gang bang as long as it's the team and they are in it together.

HYDRA and Steve Emetophilia

[(Anonymous)]

Emetophilia aka HYDRA makes Steve puke. Things like forced blowjobs leading to vomiting, force-feeding/stuffing until puking, rape occurring in puddles of vomit, throwing up until all that comes up is blood and stomach acid. Someone coming to the rescue and taking out the bad guys only to come into contact with all of the vomit and the smell and sight of it making them spew chunks themselves. Will accept substituting Steve with Bucky if you absolutely must.

Re: HYDRA and Steve Emetophilia

[(Anonymous)]

SECONDED. ALL THE NONCONSENSUAL PUKE.

Bucky needs restraints to sleep

[(Anonymous)]

You know how in Cap3, we see the stasis chamber and Bucky's got all these shackles and tubes attached to him? I imagine the tubes might have various drugs and whatnot. And maybe a catheter and some sort of butt enema thing. What if he can only rest if he's properly restrained and plugged?

+ Months of little to no sleep until Bucky realizes that's what he needs
+ Bucky getting most of the way there by self bondage
+ Needing someone else to lock him in

Re: Bucky needs restraints to sleep

[(Anonymous)]

Yes please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Avengers have a charity auction, Bucky remembers HTP version

[jaune_chat]

Hydra used to have their own version of "charity" auctions, selling off weapons, "useless" former assets, units of mercenaries, all to Very Bad People for Very Bad Purposes. They would also sell off time with the Asset (in a people-pleasing state of mind, naturally).

Many years post-recovery, the Avengers hold a charity auction, raffling off an evening with themselves for various charities. Bucky goes along with it, because he knows it's not the same, but it's very hard for him as he remembers all the details of his HYDRA experiences.

(Which I filled myself, so sue me, but everyone else is of course welcome to have a go at it!)

[FILL] Avengers have a charity auction, Bucky remembers HTP version Part 1/2

[jaune_chat]

Steve and Bucky attend a charity auction. Bucky remembers sad Hydra trash party auctions he used to feature in.

“Hey Steve, Bucky, do you have a minute?”

Pepper Potts was not the sort of person who had to run people down; at this point in her career, with Stark Industries, the Avengers in general and Tony in specific, people came to her, not the other way around. Steve didn’t exclude himself or Bucky from that list; she reminded him of Peggy in a lot of ways, and you never kept Peggy waiting. Which made it highly unusual for her to seek them out in their apartment, dressed in casual clothes, her hands empty of their usual phone or tablet.

“Always,” Steve said, putting his book aside. Bucky just raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and uncurled himself from his cocoon of blankets, putting his phone down.

“Tony’s decided to up the ante for the charity gala this year, or rather, he asked me to.”

Bucky snorted softly. “You were going to do that already; I heard you say that months ago.”

“I like Tony to think he’s still in charge sometimes.”

“Don’t we all,” Bucky said, with a pointed glance at Steve. He didn’t dignify that with a response.

“This ended up being more last-minute than I was hoping, so I apologize for that in advance. I was talking with Maria Hill. They wanted to raise your profiles in regards to things that aren’t punching bad guys in the face,” Pepper said, her expression both a little apologetic, and a little exasperated. It sort of made Steve want to squirm in his chair like he was facing Sister Lucinda back in the second grade with a guilty conscience. The Avengers had made quite a comeback since the public opinion low a few years ago, but a little extra polish certainly wouldn’t hurt, particularly if it was going to be as painless as attending a party for an evening.

“But Steve is best at punching bad guys in the face,” Bucky said cheerfully. Steve shot him a glare and Pepper smiled.

“We were going to do a charity auction,” she clarified.

“Oh, you want me to draw something?” Steve asked.

“We’re auctioning off a date with an Avenger. Everyone who’s willing to participate, that is. It’ll be a good way to get some of your more well-heeled fans to put their money where you think it’ll do the most good. Send me your charity, and I’ll be sure that goes on the auction cards tonight.”

Steve relaxed at that. He’d done that twice in the USO, and once at an internal event at S.H.I.E.L.D., and it had been mostly harmless. A few hours’ conversation, a meal, and once a kiss, but he didn’t mind putting on his Captain America mask for a night out if it did some good all around. They hadn’t had anything planned tonight, and probably Pepper had put off asking both to keep the hype low enough to keep the crowds small and to prevent some other Avengers from thinking about it too much.

“Put us both down,” he said, shooting a glance at Bucky. It had been long enough since HYDRA’s reveal and Bucky’s defection from their torture and brainwashing, and the world had seen Bucky in a new light, fighting alongside the Avengers for their safety and freedom. He’d been doing fine for going on two years now, and something like this wouldn’t phase him a bit. Bucky just nodded silently, and Pepper’s face lit up.

“Excellent! I’m positive Wanda can convince Vision, and Laura is making Clint go if Natasha has to hog-tie him and deliver him on stage herself.”

“He might get more that way,” Steve laughed.

Pepper bit her lip trying not to smile. “Probably, but I am not giving Tony or Clint any more ammunition to do something that’s going to set off the fire alarms or crash the Internet. It’s tonight, 7:30pm sharp, and wear a tux. Thank you, guys!” She headed out the door and down the hallway to the elevator, and soon enough Steve heard the ding of her leaving. He turned back to Bucky, only to find his expression flat, his eyes seeing through him, in the thousand-yard stare of the Winter Soldier.

Then Bucky blinked, and grinned, and winked at him, the ghost of his past gone. “You think you’re gonna beat me, Steve? Don’t think so.”

“You all right with his, Bucky?”

Bucky picked up his phone again, tucking his blanket further around him. “Yeah, just dandy.”

----

“How far is he along?”

“Just finished verification. He’s ready to be prepared.”

Voices flashed over his head, just out of range the haze of lights. Tension flooded his body, needing to fight or flee, but not sure who or where or why…

There was a slightly creak, the rustle of paper pages, and a voice speaking.

“Sharp.”

Not the start of a combat sequence. He had not been reactivated to serve as a weapon.

“Crystal. Five. Moonrise. Drowning.”

A newer service code, but just as inevitable as the others drilled into his skull by electricity and pain. He fought it reflexively, as a man would fight to surface from the water, as a flower would turn to the sun, just as natural and instinctual as breathing. It never helped.

“Steel. Sculpture. Nova.”

His own screams were dying in his ears as the electricity crackles faded, the words reconfiguring his brain while he could just watch the process numbly.

“Intensity.”

His body felt heated, primed and supple and warm, far too much sensation flowing through his nerves. He would be able to feel too much to be an effective weapon.

“Heartbreak.”

His head sagged down in the compliant bow required of him.

“Ready to serve.”

The shackles around his body disengaged, and a gesture from his handler told him to rise. Someone placed a soft robe around him, and tied it shut. Beneath it, he was nude. His handler looked him over, brushed his hair back from his face, and nodded.

“You’re in luck, Asset. Today you have the privilege of serving HYDRA as an offering.” The handler chuckled softly. “Actually, there’s an auction today. Some information, pieces of equipment, captured persons of interest that are beyond their use, and of course, you. Our centerpiece.”

The handler forced the Asset to look up, but turned to look at the technicians instead, his expression dangerously mild. “You put the standard identification package in, I hope. I get tired of having to re-teach him everything.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Asset kept his eyes focused on the handler’s face until the implanted knowledge kicked in, knowing that to answer wrong would be another session in the chair. “Handler Pierce.”

Pierce smiled, teeth flashing, blond hair gleaming, and the Asset knew he’d been spared at least one round of extra punishment. “Good boy. The Council has been waiting for you all year. Let’s get you ready.”

----

Bucky’s hands fumbled with the bowtie, and Steve smiled. He could reassemble a rifle at a speed that left even Steve gaping and repeat that knife trick from that one movie about aliens at double speed, but give him a strip of cloth and he was all thumbs. Steve reached out and tied it carefully, tugging it just snug enough to keep its shape.

“Looking sharp, Bucky,” he said with a smile. Bucky gave him a small crooked grin, and Steve turned back to get their cufflinks, not seeing the joy drain from his face.

--

Handler Pierce snugged the collar around the Asset’s neck, just a little too tight, just enough to make him know his breath was, as always, at HYDRA’s discretion. He looked down the Asset’s body, to where his member was standing out stiff. His body had been so sensitive since his activation, but no relief would be permitted unless it came at the hands of another. Handler Pierce smiled a bit, and reached out to snap a similar strip of leather around the base of his swollen penis, a strip of black, smooth against the reddening flesh.

“That’ll make a nice presentation for the auction.” He clipped the leash to the Asset’s collar, and began to walk, leaving the Asset to keep up or have his air choked off completely. That he was hobbled and cuffed made no difference to Handler Pierce. It was difficult, but at least the Asset had a sense he’d done this many times. Body-memory kept him upright. Obedience kept him moving.

---

Bucky was watching closely as Thor strutted out onto the stage, the emcee fluttering a paper at her face a bit before turning on the charm.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the might Thor! This lovely Asgardian prince loves long walks through the mountains, watching storms from the top story, and having feasts by a roaring fire. Let’s start the bidding at one thousand dollars! One thousand here, do I see two? Three? Five thousand in the back! Do I hear ten?”

The emcee continued on as the various bigwigs raised their programs, laughter spreading through the audience as Thor flashed his million-watt smile at all and sundry.

“You’re not voting, Jane?” Steve asked, bending down to where Jane was leaning against the table.

She laughed. “Oh no, I promised Darcy she could. She’s over there by the pillar, driving up the bids.” Bucky flicked his eyes over to see Jane’s dark-haired friend waving her program enthusiastically as the bidding climbed past the twenty thousand mark. “Besides, most people can’t handle him for more than an hour anyways.”

---

The Asset stood unmoving as Handler Pierce took the podium, bright lights illuminating the stage and not letting him hide. The glare from his arm nearly blinded him, and he was grateful he’d been told to keep his head down, his hair swinging in front of his face to give him a little screen. The muzzle hadn’t been employed for this operation, though Handler Pierce had applied some slick, glossy substance to his lips, and more to his anus, pushing some thick, heavy object inside him he was not permitted to remove. His member was still hot and hard, his body sensitive beyond his control. If someone touched him, he wasn’t certain he would be able to remain unmoving.

“Council members, our last lots of the evening, time with our own Asset, the Winter Soldier. The first hour will start at two thousand dollars, subsequent two hours at one thousand dollars, and going down five hundred for every subsequent thirty minutes. After four hours, fifteen-minute time increments’ bidding will start at twenty dollars. He has been fully prepared for your personal use.” The gavel hit the podium, and the Asset flinched. “Do I hear two thousand?”

Head Injury Trash

[(Anonymous)]

I crave blood and violence whump. Hydra gets pissed at their Asset, perhaps he's not being compliant enough, he's asking too many questions. They throttle him and bash his head against the wall/floor until he's limp and pliant with blood pooling under his head, and then take him right there when he can't fight back. Am open to h/c/aftermath/etc., or not.

Re: Head Injury Trash

[(Anonymous)]

I am so onboard with that craving for blood and violence whump. I have a WIP in the works that includes some of this, specifically Bucky being subjected to a bad head injury + brutal rape, except that the perpetrator is Steve (due to mind-control/sex pollen reasons) and all the ensuing injuries of being attacked by someone with unrestrained supersoldier strength. If that's not your thing, I can see what I could crib from that to create something closer to what you're looking for !

Unprompted: Pierce/WS, control, obedience, watersports, confusion, mild infantilization, 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Night In

Summary: Pierce takes the Soldier back to his house to test his limits and play around with him. Shamelessness ensues. If you don't like watersports, stop reading after part 1.


Once he was clean but before he was wiped, Pierce makes an executive decision and, the moment he has the opportunity, beckons the soldier to follow him. The soldier does so, blank and obedient as ever, shambling along behind Pierce like a dog he’d just shouted at. He’s not on guard duty, just now, so he won’t even look up. Not unless Pierce tells him to.

When they get to the parking garage—and thank god it’s so late, or Pierce would never have made it so far unaccosted with the soldier in tow—Pierce redirects the soldier towards the car with a firm hand at the base of his neck, steering him, and the asset keeps his eyes down, his face hidden behind that filthy hair, and allows himself to be shepherded to Pierce’s sleek silver Maserati. Pierce cups the back of the soldier’s skull as he pushes him into the car, like he was a cop and the solider was being arrested.

When Pierce has walked around and gotten into the car himself, he finds the solider sitting where he was deposited, face still hidden by his hair. Pierce reaches around him to buckle his seatbelt, enjoying the sense of ownership, of the solider’s powerlessness.

Which. Come to think of it, is something he should investigate.

“Look up,” he says, and the soldier does, first out the windshield and then, squinting momentarily, at Pierce, who he regards dully with those lightless eyes, his mouth just the slightest bit open, revealing only a sliver of his teeth.

Pierce casts around and picks up a large, nearly full water bottle, several days old, warm and probably leaching its plastic into the water itself, and he thrusts it towards the soldier. “Drink this,” he says, and the solider guilelessly raises his hands to take the bottle, open it, and drain it, eyes still fixed hazily on Pierce.

It’s exhilarating, watching the soldier suckle the bottle without any sense of shame, without any sense of what was happening, just doing it because he was told.

“That’s right,” says Pierce, “eyes on me.”

The soldier’s gaze stays on Pierce’s face, his neck twisting to counteract the odd angle he’d landed in the car in, as Pierce pulls out of the garage and drives home, grateful for the dark and his tinted windows. When the solider finishes the water bottle, he keeps it held up against his mouth, whether out of fidelity to orders or exhaustion Pierce doesn’t know.

Pierce, enjoying the game of it, says, “Do you know what an erection is?”

He has no idea what he’s expecting. He’s never heard the soldier speak outside of missions and their reports, even on those occasions when things had gotten, for lack of a better word, extracurricular. Even when he was first introduced to the soldier, and to show his obedience his previous handler had given him a gun and instructed him to put it to his temple and pull the trigger. The soldier had done it unflinchingly, and while Pierce had assumed that was clever showmanship—surely the soldier knew there were no bullets in the gun—he shortly thereafter stoically and unprotestingly obeyed an order to punch himself, hard and with his metal fist, in the groin. There was no telegraphing or faking that.

Pierce had still believed it to be a trick, so the first time he’d had the soldier to himself, he’d peppered him with orders to watch him obey. On your knees. Slap yourself in the face. Stick out your tongue. Lie down face down on the floor. Roll over. Stay still. He’s stepped on the soldier’s fingers then, his chest, his stomach, his neck. He’d delivered a swift and merciless kick to the soldier’s balls. None of it produced any resistance from the solider, though by the end he was panting faintly, his mouth hanging open and his face pink and shining from the pain.

Pierce himself, thirty-seven and flushed with the sheer power coursing through him, had ignored the slight tightening in his pants and had instead told the soldier firmly, “Now you know who owns you.” The soldier had stared and, after a moment, nodded slightly.

Now, the precious asset doesn’t seem to understand Pierce’s question. He repeats in his sluggish stupid no-thinking-allowed way, “Erection?” Pierce glances at him, sees him swallow. “Erektsiya, kogda chelovek—”

“Ah, ah. English, silly boy.” Pierce loves to condescend to the asset.

The soldier swallows again, frowns as if he is trying to access long ago buried information, information he picked up in a biology class, nothing first hand. Never mind Pierce has seen the asset’s erection, teased it from him, laughed when the soldier couldn’t seem to follow what was happening to him. “When a man has—has—”

Pierce cut him off, laughing, avuncular. “Clearly we need to go back further, stupid little boy,” he sing-songs, turning onto Canal Road. “Where do babies come from?”

The soldier blinks, still holding the empty plastic water bottle a little in front of his face, poised dumbly. “Babies?”

Pierce loves when he’s like this.

“Do you know? Did they take that out of your head?” Pierce clucks his tongue sympathetically. “It’s hard to remember, isn’t it? Such a stupid little boy. Good to take away things you don’t need. You don’t need that right now. Do you know what you need to remember right now, sweetie?”

The asset frowns. “Mission?”

Pierce smiles. “Close.” He turns, at a stoplight, to look at the soldier, and takes his chin in his hands and looks at him hard. “Who do you belong to?”

The asset blinks hard. The wattle bottle makes a crunching sound, as if the soldier is squeezing it. “You,” he says, eventually, and Pierce releases the asset’s chin, smiling, feeling generous.

“Good boy.” He starts the car again. “Now touch yourself.”

He loves to give this command, though the solider never understands it. He knows without looking that the soldier’s free hand is roving nervously over his chest, his legs, trying to work out what his director wants.

He reaches over, still without looking, and presses the heel of his hand hard on the soldier’s groin, running it down roughly over the soldier’s genitals through his pants, enjoying the way he can hear the soldier’s quickened breath. “Like that, stupid boy. I won’t show you again.”

He wrenches his hand back and puts it back on the wheel, feigning disgust, though the soldier’s stupid confusion was delicious every time. From the corner of his eye he watches the soldier hastily copy the motion, spasmodically crushing his hand over his genitals though his pants. Pierce has no idea if it feels any good at all, though experience has taught him the touch-starved little soldier boy gets hard pitifully fast.

By the time they pulled into Pierce’s driveway, the asset is making breathy little noises of confusion and arousal, and Pierce gets out of the car, walks around, opens the passenger door, and unbuckles the soldier’s seatbelt for him. The soldier, once disentangled, keeps right on kneading pathetically at his crotch. Pierce watches for a moment, then puts his arm around the soldier’s shoulders and guides him out of the car.

“You can stop now,” he says, as the asset keeps trying to touch himself, and he hopes he’s not imagining a little disappointment in the soldier’s breathing as he drops his arm and lets it hang, tucked pitifully under Pierce’s arm.

Once they’re inside, Pierce has the soldier stand by the counter, orders him to strip, and leaves to fetch some bourbon for himself, and the Everclear he’d picked up for the soldier. He suspects it’ll take a lot to make the soldier tipsy. If it doesn’t, he doesn’t really care.

When he comes back the soldier is standing next to a puddle of clothing, looking oddly small and narrow divested of his jacket and pants and boots, his half-
hard cock dangling between his legs. Pierce is glad the discussion about castrating him back in ’94 had been tabled.

He opens the Everclear and passes it to the soldier. “Drink this until I tell you to stop,” he says, well on his way to a semi just thinking about the next few hours, getting ahead of himself. The soldier is already doing what he’s told.

It can’t be pleasant; the soldier almost never eats or drinks in the first place, taking it all medically, mechanically, like a machine, and the alcohol has got to burn like it’s stripping his insides raw. Pierce palms at his dick idly, pouring the bourbon, as the soldier’s eyes water and spill over and his screwed up little face turns red.

After another long moment, after the asset had consumed enough of the liquor that if he were a normal person on an empty stomach he’d be fucked up enough to be in actual danger, Pierce tells him to stop. The soldier wrenches his mouth away from the bottle, spilling some liquor down himself, gasping and heaving. His face is coated in tears. He pants but holds still, the bottle poised to have more.

“You can give that to me, baby,” says Pierce, taking it, watching the soldier sway. The soldier does so silently, his eyes taking far too long to focus on Pierce, which Pierce enjoys. He’s confused, he doesn’t have a protocol. It’s delightful.

He gestures down, almost forgetfully, at the asset’s wilding erection. “Fix that,” he says, and the solider, wobbly and confused, presses on his cock experimentally with the heel of his hand. “Like this, stupid baby,” says Pierce, unable to stop himself smiling, and he shows the soldier in the air, making a hollow fist and running it over air. The asset copies the motion stupidly, then, seeing Pierce’s eyes flick down to his groin, gets it at least, and grasps his dick.

Pierce knows the soldier has jerked off before, because he’s seen it happen, but every time it’s like the soldier is discovering it anew. He gasps, his mouth falling open and his eyelids fluttering, as his dry, jittery hand tugs almost experimentally at his cock, and he remembers himself just in time to look back at Pierce as he finds a rhythm, his mouth—wet and pink from chugging the Everclear—hanging open.

Pierce considers his options. He could have the soldier blow him, but that got old fast. He could ruin the soldier’s orgasm, but then the soldier wouldn’t look at him all shaky and pitiful and adoring, just wounded and sorry. He could do something he’d never done before, he thought, and fuck the soldier properly.

“You’re a good little doll, aren’t you?” he asks, and the soldier, whose brow his furrowed and whose mouth is working continuously to form some overwhelmed
sound, frowns at him and nods distractedly. Pierce smiles.

He grabs the soldier round the middle—and for all the soldier could break his neck without breaking a sweat, he doesn’t even react now, just lets himself be dragged, the hand that was on his cock dangling, his chest pink and warm from the alcohol.

The best part of this, Pierce thinks, as he artfully arranges the soldier in his living room, the solider’s palms flat on the coffee table, his ass up, his cock bobbing, strained and wet, is that the soldier has no notion of what’s coming. He never telegraphs any of it. In a fight, he can guess what might come next, because he’s been allowed to keep that. This, though. This is just for Pierce, just for owners, and the soldier couldn’t guess what’s about to happen, can’t name the strain in his groin, can’t identify the swirling sickness in his head as the effect of the drink. He’s so stupid; it’s so cute.

It’s been a long time since Pierce has fucked anybody, much less in his own home, but he finds some Vaseline which he’s sure will do. When he returns, the soldier is where he left him, balanced, panting, strained, probably dizzy, his starved cock dripping minutely and otherwise abandoned.

Pierce turns on the Redskins game, and it takes him almost no time to be ready—controlling the solider like a little toy gets him like nothing has, the soldier’s stupid gasps and pants, his utter obedience, his need for guidance, his arousal he didn’t understand—it made Pierce’s whole body hum.

He gives the soldier, after some consideration, the courtesy of one finger’s preparation, more for his own comfort than the soldier’s, and for the improved view of the soldier’s face, screwing up in confusion and pain, as Pierce reaches inside, enjoying the body’s useless resistance and the ensuing warmth and softness, enjoying the way the soldier’s elbows begin to shake and the way his mouth falls open and stays that way as Pierce pads around, smiling, before saying, “How do you feel, sweetie? How’s this feel?”

The asset doesn’t appear to register the question, and Pierce withdraws and slaps the asset’s ass very hard, watches the asset absorb it, says, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“S-sorry,” the asset croaks, his default response to pain, and Pierce enjoys how much pain he could cause for a moment, gingerly cupping the asset’s balls and wondering if he remembers how much capacity punishment they offer.

“What for?” Pierce asks.

The asset trembles. “Sorry, sir,” he tries again, trying so hard to think, and Pierce smiles, because the poor little soldier shouldn’t be trying to do that. There’s more important things to do.

Pierce doesn’t know, he thinks, as he lines his cock up and sinks, slowly and measuredly and against an unaccommodating body and the soldier’s squirms and gasps and whines, if the soldier was ever fucked before this. He suspects probably, not least because of the fact that he’s got god-given-dick-sucking lips and these things tend to follow, but it doesn’t matter, because right now, the asset is a virgin but twice as pure, twice as unprepared, twice as squirmy and shocked and all his and pliant, as Pierce began to move, slowly, relishing it. The soldier beneath him is making noises like an animal stuck, whining and gasping, and Pierce slap him for shaking if he didn’t love the way he was taking the solider apart, owning him entirely.

Pierce comes after several very long and pleasant minutes of his, listening to the soldier whimper helplessly—he doesn’t even whimper when he’s shot—and gripping his hips hard and holding him firmly in place, a helpless little warm breathing doll.

With his cock still in the asset, his breath coming in pants, he says, in a moment of pure inspiration he thinks must have come on from the sheer orgasmic bliss, “Mission report.” The soldier makes a noise like someone who has just finished vomiting, and Pierce digs his fingernails into the skin at the soldier’s hips. “Mission report.”

The soldier says “guh,” then groans out, “Dis—disfunktsiya—”

“English, you ugly stupid thing,” says Pierce, pinching the soldier’s skin and smiling.

“Malfunction,” chokes the soldier.

“No, silly baby, this is just what real people do.”

Pierce pulls out, lavishing the way the solider’s elbows and knees shake, and sits down on the couch. The soldier stays put. Pierce kicks his calf lightly. “Kneel,” he says, and the soldier does, and with a hand in his sweaty hair Pierce guys the soldier’s cheek to his own bare thigh. He leans him that way.

Re: Unprompted: Pierce/WS, control, obedience, watersports, confusion, mild infantilization, 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

He’s watching the game in silence for a long time, sleepy and happy, before he realizes the soldier is twitching a little. He glances down to see the soldier looking down at his long-soft cock, looking nervous.

“No,” says Pierce, “that’s for real people.”

The soldier stiffens, but his eyes don’t leave his dick, and his hands are twitching too, like he wants to grab it. Pierce huffs and tugs the soldier’s hair lightly. “Bad,” he says, “you never touch that unless I say so. Say it back to me.”

“Never touch it ’less you say so,” says the soldier dully, his eyes drifting up reluctantly to Pierce’s face.

“Good boy,” says Pierce, and then he adds, “Lie down on the floor. Don’t move.”

The soldier does as he’s told immediately, and Pierce enjoys the notion that he’s crushing his blossoming erection against the floor for awhile before returning to the game.

After quite a long time he realizes the soldier is rocking back and forth, minutely but notably, on the floor. He enjoys how pitiful it looks for a moment, then stands and, with a socked foot, kicks the soldier very hard in the ribs.

“You’re a greedy little animal,” he says, “a greedy little boy rutting into the floor. What do you want? Look at me.” He shoves the soldier onto his back with his foot. “What do you want, greedy little pig?”

The soldier doesn’t answer. He knows he doesn’t want. Wanting is for people.

Pleased, Pierce extends his foot down to press lightly on the soldier’s cock. He shudders and whines.

“What do you need?”

“Piss,” the soldier says, immediately, desperately, and Pierce surprises himself twice: first, when he laughs, and second, when his belly and groin get hot and excited at this, even if at his age he knows he’s done for the night.

Pierce says, “Stand up.” The soldier does so, at once, and at Pierce’s direction he follows Pierce into the kitchen, where Pierce fills a tall glass of water and hands it to the soldier, leaving the sink running. “Drink that,” he says, and the soldier, mouth twisting and face desperate and pink, does. Pierce watches imperiously.

“Are you going to piss on the floor like an animal?” he asks.

“No, sir,” says the solider, the empty glass held tight in front of his wet mouth, “not ’nymore.”

The soldier had never put forth such biographical information before, and Pierce raised his eyebrows. “Not anymore? When did you piss on the floor, dirty boy?”

“Ya ne pomnyu,” whines the soldier.

Pierce smiles again. He says, “I know, sweetie. It’s hard to remember, isn’t it, when you’re so stupid? When you need to—” He steps forward, crouches, and flicks the head of the solider’s cock, on the slit, to punctuate each word, “let—go—so—bad?”

The soldier is whining continuously now, choking out “prosti” and “pozhaluysta,” apologies and pleas, and Pierce is getting hard again. He stands up and, with abrupt and kinetic violence, seizes the soldier’s hair and drags him bodily to the sink, where the water is still running. He shoves the soldier’s face under the water, tilting his face up so the water falls into his mouth.

“Drink it,” says Pierce, simply, aware that the order is enough to force the soldier to obey, and helplessly, unquestioningly, he does, swallowing messily like he’s dying of thirst.

After several minutes Pierce wrenches the asset back out from under the stream and shoves him hard down onto his knees, not wasting a word as he feeds his now unexpectedly very eager cock into the soldier’s slack mouth, ordering “suck” curtly and using the soldier’s hair to fuck his face impartially while the soldier sloppily tries to obey the order.

Only after Pierce has come, on the soldier’s chest and the floor, so the soldier can clean it up, does he say, “Piss.”

The soldier doesn’t hesitate or seem to even mentally register the order before his body is obeying, and Pierce steps back so it’s only the soldier soaked in the mess. It’s only a little more to clean up. It’s better than watching him come, because the relief is familiar, complete—his mouth falls open and his eyes roll back and he lets out a strangled moan of relief, obscene and dirty, as he pisses all over himself.

When the soldier is done, cock still dripping little yellow droplets onto the puddle on the floor and a belated flush creeping over his face, Pierce says, “Now, wasn’t that nice of me?”

The asset nods, and Pierce thinks, smiling as he pictures the solider lapping up the come and piss from the floor, that the poor little soldier might actually believe it.

Bucky/Hydra Lady, riding, fingernail scratching

[(Anonymous)]

All I want is a drunk Hydra lady after a fancy party deciding she wants some recently unfrozen Winter Soldier to finish off her night, pulling Bucky into her room, and riding him while scratching furrows down his chest, up his thighs, down his shoulders and arms, and being fascinated at how quickly they heal.

Bucky's terrified as hell, because hey, drunk handler who's slurring her orders and scratching him up. Sure, the pain isn't bad *yet*, but he still spends the entire time in a heightened state of fear and tension, just waiting for it to get worse.

Up to a filler if it does get worse the next morning, whether Bucky left after she passed out and she wanted him to stay, or whether he stayed and she wanted him to leave.

infantilization - Steve

[(Anonymous)]

We've obviously seen some really great age play stuff with Bucky, but I'd like some with Steve.

Steve being weakened and babied by his enemies. Steve having diapers changed and put in humiliating clothes. Maybe even going the extra mile and making him a baby girl.

Like imagine all that happening when Steve first wakes up after the ice. After finding Steve, Hydra covers it up and does this instead. Steve has no idea what year it is or what happened, only that he's in the hands of people who want him to be their baby. Maybe they get the winter soldier to help because he's the only one strong enough to pick Steve up.

Anyway I JUST REALLY WANT SOME NON-CON INFANTILIZATION WITH STEVE

actual sex is optional

Re: infantilization - Steve

[(Anonymous)]

OOOH!!! how do you feel about: after Steve's found in the Valkyrie, Hydra hushes it up and keeps him contained. They keep trying to condition him, but they can't really get him docile even after attempted mindwipes, unless they use a shit ton of drugs on him. So he's disoriented a lot of the time, and feebly trying to resist.

Eventually, some of his handlers start making fun of him as a sort of intra-department in joke. Oh, he's just like a little baby? Did the big hero piss himself (nevermind that they're the ones who kept him restrained for hours on end)? Looks like it's time for a diaper change!

This gets found out by a higher up, but instead of them getting in trouble, the higher up finds it PERFECT that even if they can't get Captain America to be their tool, he can at least be their Little Boy.

Bucky undercover as WS: the long game

[(Anonymous)]

There's been many glorious fics along the lines of "Bucky has to pretend to be the Winter Soldier and endure all sorts of torture/rape in order to get info." But usually they get resolved within a day or two. What if it took longer?

Say... Bucky has to go undercover as the WS for *months*, in order to gain the trust of the higher-ups in order to hear some crucial bit of information. And during that time, he's getting ye olde Trash Party treatment, of course, and probably also left in some dank cell. But maybe also sent on some minor missions to prove his continued effectiveness? Anyway, let's say that this HYDRA branch doesn't have mind-wipe technology, or doesn't feel the need to wipe him, since he's SOOOOO compliant. How does this constant playing-the-bad-guy affect his newly-recovering humanity? What does he sacrifice for the sake of the mission, and where does he draw the line?

Re: Bucky undercover as WS: the long game

[(Anonymous)]

OH MAN-- and i can't decide which is worse, if he has NO contact w/ the good guys & has to deal w/ all this completely alone (maybe doubting that he ever managed to get away in the first place) or if he still has to check in sometimes and consciously make the decision (over and over again) to hide what he's going through.
GAAH!

Zola is *still alive*

[(Anonymous)]

Arnim Zola's consciousness is still with us post Cap II unless you can prove beyond all possible doubt otherwise. The first thing a man who uploaded his consciousness to magnetic tape will do, when exposed to the Internet, is backup his consciousness to the Cloud.

So, Zola, from the Cloud, locates a piece of Bucky's personal WiFi-enabled technology. A smartphone. A fitbit. His favorite Internet cafe.

Limited to the world of information, Zola cannot physically recapture Bucky. But he can haunt him. He can hunt him. He can isolate him, and try to drive him mad.

Re: Zola is *still alive*

[(Anonymous)]

Seconded. I love this.

Bucky, muscle growth

[(Anonymous)]

So I'm obsessed with MXSXE's thick Bucky (https://twitter.com/mxsxe/status/821356974990163968) and think it's ripe for trash potential. I'm thinking something about Hydra bulking the Asset up in lab tests (low doses of gamma radiation, maybe?) to maximize his fighting potential? Of course, the growth in muscle unintentionally gives a proportionate increase in the Asset's sex drive, and Hydra has to scramble to drain an Asset who shoots buckets of cum, has no refractory period, and has an insatiable desire to fuck and be fucked.

(I'm also fine with Hydra bulking him up expressly for sex purposes, but I'd also love to see an in-character Hydra that only uses Bucky for combat, and who are suddenly faced with the problem of "oh shit, we just created a 350 pound sex beast.")

The Asset has a noise phobia from his time in the trenches

[(Anonymous)]

World Wars I and II were spectacularly brutal, because of the advanced weapons and large numbers of troops involved and also because frontline infantry spent much of their time in trenches, hiding from artillery fire.

The most reliable way to train a lasting, intense fear reaction is to expose the subject to an inescapable warning, and randomly reinforce the warning with an aversive stimulus.

In battlefield conditions, the warning tone is the shriek of the artillery shells flying overhead, and the aversive stimulus is your buddy getting shrapnel in his throat and bleeding out on top of you. So, I would argue, if Sgt. Barnes ever experienced trench warfare, he would come out of it with a phobia of the sound of shrieking airborne explosives to one degree or another.

HYDRA now has to deal with this. Is it a liability in the field? Do they exploit it as a punishment, like for sleep deprivation? Does it catch them all by surprise and ruin an op? I think the doctors in charge would see it as a personal affront that their asset has emotional damage that they didn't cause on purpose.

Locker room blow jobs

[(Anonymous)]

So the guys at Hydra would always start something with the Asset in the locker room, most often ordering him to give them a blow job, and they'd say it was a team bonding exercise. The Avengers don't do that, they just get their business done and leave. Bucky is rather relieved at first, but then he notices that the team hasn't really warmed up to him. Obviously the solution is some hydra style locker room bonding.

I'll leave it up to the filler to decide who Bucky goes for and how resistant they are to Bucky (they should be at least a bit dubious though), just so long as it isn't Steve. (He can watch though)

Bonus points for Bucky giving really sloppy and enthusiastic blow jobs

Re: Locker room blow jobs

[(Anonymous)]

yes please

ok let's get political

[(Anonymous)]

Riffs on the theme of "jackbooted authoritarian thugs defiling Captain America": GO.

Winter soldier/Steve torture and breathplay with Hydra jerking off to it

[(Anonymous)]

Hydra's got Steve immobilized and sic their Asset on him to torture, and it turns into noncon breathplay somehow and the Hydra goons unzip and jack off to it. And Steve isn't kinky and would never be aroused by this but he pops a boner himself because of adrenaline and whatnot. Bonus if it's something besides choking/strangling.

Re: Winter soldier/Steve torture and breathplay with Hydra jerking off to it

[(Anonymous)]

.....yessss, do want.

Underage Grant Ward coerced into joining a gangbang on the Winter Soldier

[(Anonymous)]

Um. Pretty much what it says in the subject line. Teenage Ward, as one of the up-and-coming Hydra elite, gets sent on a mission with the Winter Soldier. Afterwards, the other members of the team (including Rumlow if that's your jam) demonstrate some of the benefits that those who join Hydra "willingly" get at the expense of those who have to be mind-controlled into obedience. Ward is freaked the hell out, and tries to talk his way out of it with bluster like "not all of us think with our dicks"/"go ahead and waste your time," instead of "this is fucked-up even for us and I'm getting queasy watching it and shut up I am definitely not a virgin." But the other agents make it clear that either be joins in their little bonding ritual, or he joins the Soldier on his knees and afterwards Garrett gets all the gory details of how his protege chickened out.

Bonus: when he does finally get in on the gang-rape, Ward is extra-brutal out of sheer, overcompensating bravado.

Re: Underage Grant Ward coerced into joining a gangbang on the Winter Soldier

[(Anonymous)]

OH MY GOD YES PLEASE. Baby Diet Rumlow blooming into a full-fledged trash heap is something I didn't know I needed until this moment.