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

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

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.

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//A/N: Warning for burns + watersports.

Carefully, Rumlow slides a single cigarette free and between his scarred lips, working the lighter a few times until the spark catches. He inhales, takes in that familiar drag of smoke, feels it heavy over his tongue, before exhaling slowly, pulling the cigarette out to rest between his gloved fingertips.

“You know what it's like to burn?”

Barnes makes a low, unhappy noise. His eyes track the cigarette in Rumlow’s hand.

“Because I do,” Rumlow says softly.

He reaches for Barnes’ bare foot, dragging it up onto his own knee for easy access.

“That was all I knew the first few weeks after you fucked up Insight.” Carefully, Rumlow presses the cigarette’s burning tip to the heel of Barnes’ foot, holding it in place until the burn is nice and raw, drinking in the sound of Barnes’ stifled groan. He pulls it away, takes another long puff.

“They didn't expect me to live. Third degree burns. Broken bones. Crush injuries. Traumatic brain injury.” He punctuates each listed wound with another press of the cigarette to smooth, untouched skin. “The first few times I woke up, I thought I was in hell. I was on fire. Never knew pain like that. Thought I was dying; wanted to die so it’d be over.”

“But I didn't die.”

Rumlow drags Barnes’ other foot forward, lights another cigarette, and gets to work.

“The thing about pain like that is: it shows you who you really are. Narrows you down to your core. That’s what HYDRA wanted: order through pain.”

He presses his gloved thumb over a weeping burn on the smooth arch of Barnes’ foot, digging into the wound until Barnes makes a choked noise, his leg spasming uselessly.

“You can feel it already, right? It's in your eyes: I can see it. You're going numb. Letting the Soldier back in. It’s instinct; it's who you are. We made you. Programmed you. Everything you say or do or think is HYDRA’s; nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

Rumlow shifts back a little to admire his handiwork: both of Barnes’ feet littered with a nice collection of precise burns, from the heel of his foot all the way up to the gaps between his toes. Putting any pressure on those is going to hurt like a bitch. But something about it still looks a little...sparse. Those blank spaces between the burns could use some work.

The knife is pretty solidly wedged into the muscle of Barnes’ leg, scraping against bone. Barnes shudders and then groans as Rumlow gets a grip on the knife’s handle. It takes a few seconds of jerking it back and forth to work it free with a wet noise, leaving a wide bloody gape in its wake. Looks like Barnes won't be walking any time soon.

Just to make doubly sure of that, though, Rumlow twists the knife in his grip, angling the tip of the blade to press at the centre of one of the dark burns on Barnes’ foot. Blood wells up. Barnes’ toes twitch. With a steady, practiced hand, Rumlow carves a deep line between one burn and the next. Then the next, and the next, joining up each burn like a more exciting version of connect-the-dots. The skin parts easily beneath the sharp blade. On some of the slices he cuts deeper, into muscle, down to bone. When he’s done, Barnes’ head is bowed, face hidden by his hair, his feet decorated with a collection of what looks like bloody constellations. It’s almost artistic.

Rumlow missed this. There's something so deeply satisfying about having a proper canvas to work with, especially when Barnes appears to be so convinced that he's a person. Not for much longer, though. It’s like something Rogers had described, once: scraping away the paint a little at a time to reveal the image underneath.

A low rumble cuts off that train of thought. A long moment, and the noise repeats. It’s Barnes’ stomach. It’s been about three days, give or take, since Rumlow first brought him here. He’d spent the first day or so heavily sedated while Rumlow got everything set up, and the intermittent hours since then being whipped bloody--Rumlow had stopped twice to slurp his way through some shakes, just about the only thing his still-healing stomach can handle--burned or being fucked with the baton; enough to build up anyone's appetite, let alone someone with a supersoldier’s metabolism.

“You want something to eat, huh?”

The tip of the first cigarette is still flickering faintly, the second one burning brighter. Both need disposing of. Rumlow has an idea.

He leans in close, the first one in hand, watching Barnes’ eyes try to track its movement before closing as the realisation hits; bracing himself. Something in his jaw cracks from the force of trying to close his mouth against the gag as he yells with pain, the skin of his tongue sizzling as Rumlow presses the burning end of the cigarette against it, rubbing it in until the burn is nice and deep. When the cigarette is fully extinguished, he pulls it back, enough to see the bloody, blistered mess it's made. With a deft flick of his fingers, he pitches it to the back of Barnes’ throat and watches it spasm as he coughs and then chokes, trying and failing to expel it.

It doesn’t take long for Barnes to give up the fight, or maybe it’s just the instinct of having something jabbing against the back of his throat. After a long moment of struggle, his throat relaxes. He swallows it down, panting wetly for air once it's done.

Rumlow offers him an encouraging smile in reward. “There we go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Barnes doesn’t let up on the hateful glare, not even when Rumlow feeds him another cigarette, bypassing his tongue and going straight for the back of his throat. Barnes gags--another thing they’ll have to work on fixing--first from the intrusion and then from the pain when Rumlow sears a new hole into the flesh at the back of his throat before dropping it down for Barnes to swallow.

It takes a while longer for him to manage this one; every time he seems to be getting close the pain of the cigarette scraping over raw wounds--or maybe the taste of his own burnt flesh; or both--makes him gag, and the whole process starts again. It's a little painful to watch, really; it’s almost a relief when he finally manages it and Rumlow doesn’t have to watch him struggle anymore. Barnes tips his head forward, breathing raggedly. A single bead of bloodied spit slides down over his cracked lower lip and hangs there for a long moment, before dripping down onto the cool concrete floor.

From the exhausted slump in Barnes’ shoulders and the way his chest shudders with each breath, Rumlow can tell that they’re finally getting somewhere: defeat is beginning to set in. From here on out Rumlow doesn’t need to be so careful; he’s already made the first crack in Barnes’ armour. Time to force it open wide.

“Guess you must be pretty thirsty too. Want something to drink?”

Barnes doesn’t look up or react, but Rumlow’s not expecting him to. Not yet, anyway. The Asset had been like this a few times: belligerently stubborn, refusing to follow orders, not responding to commands. STRIKE had always figured out how to beat or burn or fuck it out of him. Now isn’t any different.

This, though. They didn’t do this much. Barely even at all, really: Rollins is the only one that ever actually did it, just over the Soldier’s fully-uniformed body, and liked to brag about it nearly every mission thereafter. Rumlow’d always been a little sore that he never got the chance to try it. Now that he’s got the Winter Soldier at his feet, he isn’t about to let this opportunity go to waste.

Rumlow gets to his feet and reaches for his belt. He’s been needing to piss for a while, his bladder full, and now that Barnes is awake and conscious, the bucket in the corner has lost its appeal. Why bother going through the effort of having to venture outside and empty out the bucket later when he’s got a perfectly good place to piss in right here.

Barnes tenses at the sound of Rumlow’s belt hitting the floor, his breath quickening at the slow rasp of the zipper as Rumlow inches it down. Probably bracing himself to get his mouth fucked, or his ass, as if Rumlow’s going to stick his dick into something so disgusting, so used. Besides, those things are predictable, and easy for Barnes to prepare for given his wealth of experience of being HYDRA’s bitch. But this won’t be a repeat of an old memory. No. This is gonna be new, both for Barnes and for him: fresh, untouched snow that Rumlow’s about to make his mark on.

Nothing will ever quite compare to the look on Barnes’ face when the first stream of piss hits his hair and he realises what's happening. Then Rumlow adjusts the angle to piss directly into Barnes’ open mouth, and his whole body crumples. The relief of finally getting to empty his bladder is almost as sweet as the look on Barnes’ face as the bitter liquid hits the ruin of his tongue as it's forced down his throat. There's a whole lot of it, and with his head tilted back like this, he's got no option other than to swallow it down, throat spasming as if he’s got the chance to keep it at bay. It’s no use. His body drinks in every last drop.

It feels like it lasts forever--thirty seconds, at least--before it finally tapers off. Rumlow arches his back, sighing with satisfaction. Fuck, that was good.

He gives himself one last shake, gathering up the few remaining drops on his gloved fingertips before rubbing them over Barnes’ tongue to wipe them clean, making sure to pay the burn mark a little extra attention. Barnes doesn't do anything more than shake, his eyes screwed shut tight, face crumpled in numb shock and pain and disgust. He’s breathing shallowly, quietly; Rumlow’d almost mistake it for calmness if not for the visible flutter of Barnes’ pulse at his throat, like an animal trying to claw its way free.

Rumlow crouches down until they're practically face to face, toying with the chain until Barnes’ sagging body is forced a little more upright.

“There we go; all filled up now, huh. Don't say I never gave you anything.” The scars on his face pull tight as he grins, flicking at one of the deepest burns on Barnes’ outstretched foot until he flinches, breath hitching.

“Look at you,” he says slowly, surveying the damage: Barnes is a real mess all over; it’s hard to find a patch of skin that hasn’t been sliced open or burned or smeared with blood. “I think it’s time we get you cleaned up.”

Barnes shudders.

//A/N: This has basically descended into an excuse to write all the gratuitous, fucked-up Bucky whump that I want to see in the world, so...brace yourself for (possible) upcoming wound-fucking in a later part.

Nonnie, I will be right here reading every word of gratuitous fucked-up Bucky whump you write, because I love this.

I totally wasn't inspired by you, ahem ahem, look...I just tried...

http://alveyandthechipmunks.tumblr.com/post/154259835887/a-hydra-carol

OP

hehe, it's great!

You know how 'men can't be raped' because 'if you're aroused, that means you want it'. (Bullshit, i know) But I would like to see this post CA:TFA and pre CA:TWS- the winter soldier is in a HYDRA base and is raped by operatives (NO penetrating him, though being penetrated BY him is ok) Preferably female HYDRA, though male agents are ok as well: they order him to be quiet and take it as they blow him, jack him off, use his dick to penetrate themelves and orgasm. He is humiliated but repeatedly told that it's rape because he enjoyed it: he cums every single time it happens so he must be enjoying it.

Now on Ao3 (and properly edited!): archiveofourown.org/works/8807017

So no promises because I'm really busy this time of year, but I have an idea for this prompt I'd like to run by you.

How would you feel about a few female Hydra agents who tend to hang around the Winter Soldier because, in the testosterone driven, male-dominated space of being a Hydra field agent, the Soldier is actually the safest and least threatening guy around. So the Soldier thinks he has some friends, people who eat with him and talk to him sometimes and seem to enjoy his company. And then they start using him for sexual pleasure, because ladies still have needs and here's a guy, a really hot guy, who will obey their every command, never demand sex when they aren't interested, and never slut shame them for being horny. And of course he gets off every time too, so it's not like they're doing anything bad or raping him. It's even safe to laugh at him for his sex faces and talk about his body to the other women in a totally objectifying way while he's right there.

I wasn't sure from the prompt if that would fit what you were looking for.

Not OP but DAMN, this is SPECTACULAR.

I'd really like a version of the classic Bucky mistakes a young Pierce for Steve who then takes advantage of Bucky and rapes him story, but that explores how this fucks with him after returning to live with Steve

The way I imagine it'd go is that he doesn't immediately realize that this memory wasn't with Steve and was in fact of Pierce raping him. Maybe he brings it up to Steve who's like "what? That never happened." Or maybe he doesn't, but slowly starts remembering other details that make it impossible to have been anyone but Pierce. Whether he and Steve were together during and/or before the war, and whether rape by hydra agents was frequent or not is up to you, I don't have a preference. What I really want is the mind fuckery, not being sure what's true and what's not, and subsequent confusion about how this will affect his and Steve's relationship

+ flashbacks to the rape scene bc tbh I don't get tired of that flavor of trash

I'm looking for pretty much anything, set at any point, where The Asset (current code name: Bucky Barnes) expects the avengers to use it the way Hydra did. If Emotion was permitted, it would be confused and frightened.

I will never get tired of this flavor of trash, which is to say seconded!

So, for the sake of this prompt, let's say that Bucky as the Winter Soldier was still mostly Bucky personality wise, but brainwashed to obey and believe he was on the right side with Hydra.

Now he's been getting therapy, and spending a lot of time with Steve. Almost every trace of the brainwashing has vanished.

Except the Winter Soldier isn't dead. Turns out that the better Bucky feels, the farther he gets in recovering from Hydra and putting it in his past, the bigger the Winter Soldier grows under the surface. He is his own separate personality now. He is mean, he is cruel, and he is pissed. Because he never got to finish his last mission.

He decides to make his first appearance as his very own person with his own black heart right as Steve and Bucky decide to take their relationship to the next level. While they are having sex the Winter Soldier pushes Bucky aside and starts killing Steve, still thrusting into him, and telling him just how much he hates him for ruining everything and how much better things will be when he's dead.

Steve definitely doesn't have to actually die, he can be badly hurt but survive it if you want, just looking for the surprise murder attempt during sex.

Not sure if Bucky is aware of what's going on when the Winter Soldier is in control or not. You decide.

I'd also be up for a new take on this. Maybe a relapse when Bucky is living with the Avengers post-CACW? Or some alternate continuity where they find him before CAWS?
Maybe they keep him in a holding cell until they are sure he won't attack them. They try to make it comfortable, but that just makes him more sure of what's coming. Or they give him a room adjourning Steve's so he can keep an eye on him, but Bucky thinks that means he's for Steve to use...
Or for whatever reason, he wakes up strapped down in the medbay, all the Avengers around him...

Op loves all these scenarios

OP here; i was actually looking for something more rape-y. I don't really want him 'enjoying' it per se or even looking forward to it: he hates every second of what happens to him but he doesn't fight back and he doesn't say no because he hasn't been programmed to be given a choice.

If you wanted to write in the way above, that would great as well! Just as long as the soldier is embarrassed afterwards or feels humiliated by it

AYART

Oh yeah, it was definitely not going to be something Bucky enjoyed. More that it would be especially horrible as a betrayal of sorts from people who he thought were his friends for once, which makes the rape even more horrible and humiliating, but he still goes along with it because, as you said, he hasn't been programmed to be given a choice.

I guess I was just curious if you had any particular mindset you wanted from the rapists, or the women I described were in line with your prompt. It sounds like they are, though, so if I manage to get this written I'll post it here. :)

OP here: that sounds perfect, thanks!!!

Simply that—fake marriage. Somewhere in those decades of brain washing, someone pretended to be married to him.

My preferences are for Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow, or Vasily Karpov. Ideally, this has happened with numerous people, and the fic is a compare and contrast between their various styles of being his “husband.”

Would be fantastic if you also found two other Hydra characters for him to be “married” to for a 5 + 1, with Steve being the +1—whether he and Steve do the fake marriage thing or whether they don’t, or whether they do or don’t do real marriage, but some how, some way, the previous fake marriages are really ruining his relationship with Steve.

I, also, can never get enough of this. :D

(ok so there's no porn yet as such but bear with me...)
---

“The bathroom’s almost - almost - good enough for me not to wear these,” Agent Crabbe says. ‘These’ are bright yellow plastic shoes, like galoshes but covered in holes. They don’t appear to have any significance, but the entire team always reacts in horror upon seeing them.

“You mean your big rubber ma-” the Commander starts, and Agent Rollins hits him around the head in a manner that's not taken as an attack. It’s apparently a punishment, although he grins and fends off the hand.

“You’re disgusting,” Agent Crabbe declares.

“Your shoes are disgusting. They’re an abomination. Get them out of my sight.” It’s not a direct order, but Agent Crabbe obeys anyway, sticking her finger up at them as she goes.

It’s another joke that he doesn’t understand, the shoes. And the Commander sees him trying to work it out and says “The fuck you lookin’ at?”, so he lies back on his bunk - the top, and he’s grateful for that - and stares at the ceiling instead. He doesn’t think about the shoes any more.

“Hey,” the Commander says, quietly, but it’s addressed to Agent Rollins. “Hey, check this out.”

It’s acceptable to risk a look. The Commander is showing Agent Rollins something on the screen of his phone. Agent Rollins shows no change of expression, which is normal.

“Really? You can’t go one fuckin’ day without -?”

“Hey, I didn’t say I was gonna. But I found wi-fi.” which, apparently, is wireless internet, because nothing needs wires any more except what they do in the vault, whatever it is, with the wires… his thoughts slide away from it of their own accord, as if he can’t make contact with the surface. “And c’mon, you gotta keep the streak going, know what I mean?”

“No, Brock,” the Commander has a first and last name, like all the rest, and Agent Rollins is permitted to use it, “I’ve no idea. Y’all gotta explain it to me, about how you can’t go more than 24 hours without your fuckin’ hand down your fuckin’ pants.”

The Commander laughs and pats Agent Rollins’ shoulder, in a friendly way, then slides his hand down and links their fingers. “Or someone else’s hand….”

“I’ll break both your fuckin’ wrists,” Agent Rollins says, but doesn’t do it.

“Sure, buddy. You think about that while I think about…” he cocks his head to one side and looks at the phone, “his name’s Tayte, huh.”

Agent Crabbe returns. “Why are you two holding hands?”

“You didn’t hear?” The Commander says, still staring at the phone, “We’re gettin' married. April wedding, we’ll rent the top floor of the North Tower. Party back at Secretary Pierce’s crib. And then, I am getting some.”

“No, you’re not,” Agent Rollins says emphatically.

“I like how you’re still ok with the wedding,”

“I’m fine with the fuckin’ wedding. I’m not tapping that. No matter how much y’all try.”

Agent Crabbe lies down on her bunk and produces a nail file - a permitted item, for her - and mutters “hashtag ace problems”, an incantation that has little meaning, and Agent Rollins smiles very slightly. Blink and you’d miss it.

Weddings are permitted, too; pairs of men can get married now, and women. Someone told him this news a while ago (he doesn’t know how long), trying to get a reaction. Something hurt in his chest for a couple of minutes, but he didn’t report it. And the pre-cryo diagnostics showed nothing.

Hydra regularly sends the Winter Soldier to rape their captives, as it helps keep them in line.

He gets sent to rape someone with a sensory deprivation hood on, not something on uncommon, but later they send back in, this time with orders to act like a fellow captive and pump him for information. The hood is off during these sessions, the man, Steve, claims to recognize the winter soldier and the soldier uses it to his advantage.

Every night the soldier is sent on his rounds to rape whoever Hydra feels needs it, and Steve is always on the list. Since Steve wears the hood, he doesn't know that Bucky, who he spends days with, is the one raping him at night. Until one night where they send Bucky in to rape Steve without the hood.

Love to have plenty of Bucky mis-interpreting signals - Thor is frustrated with something so he tries to fuck him to make him happy, he loses a sparring match with Tony so he strips and assumes the position, and so on.

Something hurt in his chest for a couple of minutes, but he didn’t report it. And the pre-cryo diagnostics showed nothing.
You know it's funny, I had exactly the same malfunction just now...

Love these voices. I'm always a sucker for WS POV, especially when he's very present and always trying to figure things out (insofar as the paradigm Hydra gave him allows) like this.

HEllo, yes, I love this!!! Bucky being with it enough to know the way he looks severely affects the prisoner, but being too confused to really understand why (maybe even getting wiped every week or so when he starts asking too many questions). Steve thinking Hydra has got Bucky as a POW, and maybe starting to question reality, since all he knows are his surreal days with a Bucky who doesn't remember, and his terrible nights being tortured and receiving the invasive touch of someone he cant see. Only to finally understand that Bucky's been under their control this entire time : D : D

OP, you are the soul of patience. Thanks for sticking with me! Hope you enjoy the last little bit.

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Page 61 of 205

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

[FILL] Conversion (4/?)

Re: [FILL] Conversion (4/?)

Re: Fucking the asset with a christmas tree

Re: Fucking the asset with a christmas tree

Winter Soldier Rape

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Re: Winter Soldier Rape

Re: Winter Soldier Rape

no subject

The old classic

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Bucky loves Steve and the Winter Soldier wants to destroy him

Re: The old classic

Re: The old classic

Re: Winter Soldier Rape

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The Asset in a Fake Marriage

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Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 1/?

Identity Porn in captivity

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Re: Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 1/?

Re: Identity Porn in captivity

Re: Little Victories [3/4]