hydratrashmeme | 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.

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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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So I decided to post the first part of this because I'm kind of a slow writer, and having it posted is going to motivate me to write faster.

---

It's the flowers that give it away. Steve likes to keep flowers around their apartment, for painting and because his ma used to like them. Bucky likes to care for them. He's working his way up to a dog, now they don't have to worry about another mouth to feed, but doesn't trust himself enough to care for a living thing just yet.

The sunflowers on the center table are on the floor, the vase broken. Steve would never leave them there, and there is nothing that could have made them fall.

Not too long ago, his senses would have been immediately on edge as soon as he entered a room. But he's grown lazy, soft (careless). He's coming home from class, and it's a Thursday. The sun is shining and he has bought strawberries to welcome Steve home with a pie. It takes him 2.63 seconds to react.

It's enough time for them to disable his left arm. It's a new one, Stark technology, but still metal and wires, and still susceptible to electric currents in just the right place, just the right intensity. It hurts, the aftershocks running straight through him as the groceries fall to the floor, and he has to resort to the place inside his brain he thought he wouldn't need anymore to help him ignore the pain and fight. They know what they are doing, though, shoot him with something and he only has time to punch two of them away before he's swaying on his feet.

Bucky doesn't think a lot of time has passed when he wakes up, but he is face down on the couch, his wrists bound behind his back and his ankles shackled to a spreader bar. Oh. They're not here to kill him. Or at least not immediately. Still, he thinks, maybe this is just the way they devised to keep him immobilized. Maybe they don't really mean to...

He can hear them moving about the apartment. He tries to pull against the restraints, but it's good stuff, HYDRA, of course, and his limbs still feel sluggish, his brain fuzzy.

"Hey, boss, he's up", someone says. Bucky recognizes the voice, though he doesn't remember the man's name: an agent from the STRIKE team, one of Rumlow's. Bucky tries to turn his head in the direction the man spoke, because it can't be Rumlow, Rumlow is dead.

It's not Rumlow.

Oh my god, bless you! -happy tears-

Yay another fill!!! I can never have too much of this type of trash, oh my goodness. I am so excited, great start!

Kulich is older know, his light blond hair mostly silver, deep lines on his face. He's eating one of the strawberries, and for a second Bucky thinks, stupidly, that there won't be enough for the pie, before Kulich yanks his head back by his hair.

"Привет, солдат", he says, his voice as raspy as Bucky remembers. His face is so close that Bucky's vision starts to blur, and he can smell alcohol beneath the strawberry. "Glad to have you with us". His accent in English is still as thick as it was in 1994, when Bucky was handed over to the Americans (to Alexander Pierce). "Nice little place you've got here. Or, should I say, you and your boyfriend?"

The other men laugh. There are four around them, but Bucky can hear three others moving in the kitchen, opening the cabinets. Something breaks. Kulich continues. "It's pathetic. HYDRA's fist playing house with Captain America."

"My 8th grade history teacher said there were 'grounds for a homoerotic interpretation’ of their relationship", the STRIKE team agent says. "They've been fucking since the war."

"Did you let the other soldiers fuck you?" another agent, older, Russian too, says. "Did they take turns like we're going to do? I bet they used that pretty mouth..." He tries to push his thumb inside Bucky's mouth and Bucky bites it. It earns him a punch to the face. "He needs to respect his superiors."

Kulich smiles at Bucky before he begins. "желание. ржaвый."

With each word, Bucky feels a shiver down his spine. He knows it won't work, can't work. T'Challa's scientists removed the triggers from his brain and he burned the Red Book, but he still can't help thinking they might make him HYDRA's again. He tries to fight it, struggles against the bonds (but, just for a second, thinks it might be a relief to get away from himself now, to escape from this, if only for a while). By the time Kulich gets to грузовой вагон, Bucky is sweating and breathing hard, but his mind is still his own.

Kulich realizes this, disappointed. "Pity. Still, it would be better for you to comply, солдат. I'm going to do what I want whether you do or not. "

He lets go of Bucky to walk to the bookshelf. Bucky has arranged the books, by subject and by author. Kulich pulls them one by one, lets them fall to the floor as he takes notice of the covers. "Art, philosophy, engineering... To think there was a time you couldn't wipe your own ass if we didn't say so."

He liked to talk. Bucky can remember that. He liked to tease him, call him a блядь and list all the things he would like to do to the солдат, if only Karpov didn't insist in being civil to it (at least as civil as HYDRA could be to its attack dog). Bucky can only hope he doesn't intend to follow through with all of it.

Kulich’s foot comes up against Bucky's book bag, thrown away as Bucky defended himself from the agents. He picks it up and rummages through it, pulling out Bucky's pencil case, his books, and finally his notebook.

"You are studying difficult things, солдат", he says, dropping everything else on the floor and opening the notebook. "You think you're smart? You think you can go to university?"

"They only accepted him out of pity", an agent coming out of the kitchen says. He is drinking the orange juice that was on the top shelf of the fridge. "Because he's a war hero."

His voice is mocking, and despite everything, Bucky feels his cheeks flush. It is true the university accepted him even though he finished school almost a hundred years ago, but he had an interview with the director of the Engineering Department to make sure he could actually keep up with the classes. He started slow and he's actually good. Of course, saying this would only make them laugh harder.

Kulich tears away a page from the notebook, and then another, and another, like a child plucking the wings off bugs. Bucky's notes scatter through the floor, and even though it's silly, he feels an almost physical pain. He is not the best student in his class, but he's the best note taker. He prides himself in his notebooks, written in careful handwriting, color coded, and he forces himself not to slip into another language because his classmates usually borrow them when they miss class. His right wrist is getting raw from rubbing against the handcuffs and the metal plates on his left arm, but the restraints won’t budge.

“Hey, boss, the time”, says the agent closer to Bucky’s head, nodding at the clock on the wall. It’s three-thirty. These fuckers are organized, they know about his schedule. They know Steve is only coming home after six. Which means they need to save time for… the next part.

“Fine, then”, Kulich sighs, and drops Bucky’s notebook. “No more foreplay.”

I AM VERY EXCITED. Also aww Bucky babe :( at the part where his notes get ripped up I was like "shit no he needs those!!" And then I was like wait priorities here, that is definitely not the worst thing that's gonna happen here

THANK YOU! You know, in a way I think the psychological violation is almost as bad as the rape itself. They're not just invading his body, they're invading his life.

(op) Omg, I don't know how I missed this before but it's ridiculously, chillingly good so far and absolutely horribly delightful!!

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

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