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.

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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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aight so it's my first time posting here in this trash world, and also my first time trying out sam's pov, so i hope i did alright?? sorry if it was as explicit??? as u wanted?? but i saw this prompt and had to stop what i was doing and write lmao

-

yes, okay, maybe the guy is a dick sometimes, and maybe he needs to cut his damn hair or put it up every once and a while and maybe he ripped the steering wheel out of sam’s arguably nice car and maybe sam never really let it go

(but he did let it go, of course he let it go, let it go the second he got a good look at those SSR files. it was just—it was banter, is what it was. that was what he did, it’s what he read in those damn files that made him think: i won’t treat this man like anything less than anyone else, and with him that meant giving him shit about a steering wheel from two years ago.

it was the curl of his lips that barnes tried to his when he quipped right back that meant he’d he’d done that, at least. and it was fun to fuck with him, it was nice to see barnes throw it right back in his face like it was easy)

but fuck. fuck, he never.

(missions go wrong all the time right and of course because this was barnes’s first time back in the big leagues since he’d been sort-of-halfway-kind-of cleared by t’challa’s medical team it had to go wrong, it had to go so goddamn wrong and end up with a bunch of hydra assholes and he and steve’s hands bound behind their backs and barnes on his fucking knees.)

he never, never in a million years, would ever have thought it would come to this. not this. and he’d read the files he’d read the goddamn files but it was best to tuck parts of them away so he didn’t feel horrible every time he looked at barnes because he didn’t deserve that—

he’d read the files, and he’d read about this, and he’d thought—he’d thought, and so had steve, and so had barnes, god—that it was over. he’d read the goddamn files but reading and experiencing are too very different things.

this was never supposed to happen and steve is shaking himself apart next to him, seething and grounding his teeth and breathing too hard, too scared, still vaguely out of breath from yelling and screaming and fighting against his retrains and barnes is bent over on the floor, braced on his hands and knees and rocking back and forth with the fucking fourth hydra bastard to touch him and god.

god, it’s.

barnes’s too-long hair is framing his face as he stares at the ground like it’s the one thing keeping him together, and his eyes are vacant, far far away from here, and sam knows dissociation when he sees it, and he can’t blame him. he can’t blame him at all.

and sam feels. he feels dirty, feels like some kind of voyeur seeing things he’s not supposed to see, hearing filthy words spewed like something out of a bad porno, things that were never supposed to happen again, god fucking dammit. so he does his best to avert his eyes, stealing glances whenever a man takes another man’s place, to see if barnes is still checked out (to hope that barnes is still checked out, as scary as it is to watch).

but sam can see it building up, the tremors in his body, the shaking in his hands. it’s when a man with crooked teeth and a horrible mullet grips the back of his neck, slides his hand into the thick hair on the back of his head and wrenches it back, that the dam breaks. a violent sob tears from barnes’s throat; steve flinches just as hard beside him; sam has to close his eyes.

not like it helps, either way. the sounds are loud as ever, but this time—this time bucky’s making sounds too, hisses and whimpers pulled from the back of his throat, choked back noises of someone trying very hard not to cry.

someone in the room coos, “don’t cry, soldier. you’re not even halfway done.”

barnes makes a sound like he’s dying, like he wants to die, and fuck if sam isn’t this close to crying himself, because god, he can feel steve shaking so hard beside him and knows barnes is shaking so hard on the ground and neither of them can fucking move.

after what feels like an eternity, the vulgar skin on skin slaps stop, and sam suddenly feels the cool metal of a gun against his temple. he opens his eyes. sort of wishes he didn’t. barnes is still bent over on the floor, the heel of some asshole’s boot pressing down on his back, looking all kinds of exhausted and shaken out of his mind.

“you,” the man says, nudging him with the barrel, “You next.”

“what?”

“you next,” he says, slower this time, like he’s talking to a particularly stupid child, “you fuck him next.”

sam blinks real slow. steve tenses up real fast. barnes sobs real heavy.

“what?” steve grinds out between his teeth, somehow sounding desperate and menacing at the same time.

“you fuck him after,” the man says to him, and then gestures to sam, “he fucks him first—well, not first,” the guards snicker, “unless you’d prefer to go first, captain.”

in the time sam has known him, he’s only seen steve speechless a few times; almost all of them have something to do with bucky fucking barnes. steve speechless is never anything good, if he really thinks about it. hell, sam speechless is never anything good. it’s never anything good.

sam feels like he’s going to vomit, the way he felt when riley started falling out of the fucking sky, and it’s never anything good.

“no,” steve says, “no, come on, no.”

“so you want the bird man to go first?”

“bird man?” sam cuts in, because it’s easy, distracting people, “really?”

the man grunts, and shoves the gun back against his head.

“either you fuck him, or me and my boys go another round.”

barnes flinches from where he’s still sprawled out, the metal of his hand grating against the concrete. sam had almost forgotten the kid could hear everything; a small part of him had hoped he was back in his head, as awful as it was. anywhere was better than here.

anything was better than shooting steve (and jesus he’d never seen him this mad, this terrified) an ‘it’s okay, i got this, it’s okay’ look, taking a deep breath and saying, “fine. i’ll—fine.” because he knows steve won’t say it, and he knows none of them could stand another goddamn round.

the man, for his part, looks too damn happy about it, face lighting up like a goddamn kid on christmas morning, and he feels the rope around his hands being sliced off. (gun still aimed at his skull, though, so no chance of escape). he’s nudged forward with a foot on his back; scowls, bites back a retort because at least the boot on barnes’s back had been lifted.

“fuck,” he says once he’s close enough to touch him. he doesn’t know where to touch him. there have been countless hands on his hips in the last hour and sam doesn’t want to be two more. he doesn’t want to hold him the same way as these nazi bastards. doesn’t want to be one more faceless nightmare who takes him like a dog until he cries. “fuck.”

“sam,” he hears; looks back to meet steve’s eyes. he has this look on his face, like he wants to cry, like he wants to kill someone, “it’s okay.” he says, chokes on his words like they hurt, “he’ll understand. it’s okay.”

(and goddamn is that the biggest lie steve rogers has ever told. but he takes those words and he swallows and he nods because they’ll get out this. they’ll get out of this and go home and fix bucky right up and kill every man in this room.)

the man with the gun makes an impatient noise, waves it around a few times. sam takes that as his cue. and fuck, barnes is still crying, these soft little noises he’s never heard him make before.

“hey,” sam murmurs, just under his breath; he puts a hand lightly on barnes’s back, flinches when he flinches. “hey, it’s okay.” he lies, “barnes, it’s me, it’s sam.”

bucky’s breath evens out, just a bit, and sam’ll take what he can get.

“i’m gonna need to turn over for me, can you do that?”

he can. shakes and shakes and manages to twist clumsily onto his back, automatically bringing his arms up to cover his face.

“good,” sam whispers, “good.” and doesn’t know where to go from there. hears the click of another gun being cocked and puts a hand on his hip.

“fuck,” he murmurs again. “fuck, barnes—i’m gonna have to—“

“please don’t,” barnes’s voice trembles, “please, i don’t want to.”

“i know; i know; i’m sorry—shit, i’m sorry.”

bucky whines, something horrible, and draws his knees up and together as much as he can—which isn’t much, with sam crouched between his legs. he hates the way his own hands shake when he has to grip the kid’s knees and gently pull them back down, with a:

“we’ll get through this, barnes. bucky. you’ll get through this, i know you can. i’ll be real fast, alright? always did have trouble lasting long around real beauties.”

that, at least, draws out something that could’ve been a laugh, once upon a time.

“you sayin’ i’m a beauty, wilson?” and for all the terror he’s feeling right now, he’s never been so fucking relieved to hear this asshole’s sarcastic voice.

“i wouldn’t go that far,” and then it’s all ruined by the shot of a blank fired at the ceiling and the “get on with it, bird man”.

he takes a long stuttering breath, and says, “bucky? i’m gonna touch your waist, okay?”

(and he doesn’t get a reply, he doesn’t get a reply and he does it anyway, and he hates it all.)

“i’m gonna touch your knees now, alright?” he asks anyways, gives barnes a minute to brace himself, and pushes his legs further apart.

and he continues like that, announcing his next move and working around the finger print bruises all over his skin and trying to be a light as possible, as delicate as he can, because a part of him thinks bucky may just shatter to pieces if he presses too hard.

he continues like that until he has to unzip his pants and pull himself out and close his eyes and try to get it up. (feels humiliated and exposed and how the hell do they expect him to get hard right now; how can they be hard right now, the sick fucking bastards.)

he continues like that until he can’t bring himself to say "okay, i’m gonna put my dick in your bleeding ass and try my best to get off knowing that it probably hurts you like hell and i’m just adding to it". can’t really bring himself to say "i don’t know how the hell you’re gonna be able to look at me after, i’m so fucking sorry."

he tries to fuck him gentle—not hard, not rough, just. steady, slow, slicked up by the come of at least six other men i’m so fucking sorry.

barnes trembles through it all. shakes himself apart, almost. doesn’t even try to hold back his wounded animal cries and squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head back and forth and says "i’m sorry," says "please i’m sorry i’ll be good i swear please," like he can’t tell sam apart from the bad guys—sam lost him somewhere between the gunshot and the hands on his thighs and he’s so fucking far gone sam can’t even blame him.

and it takes so long, so long it feels like years before he can focus on the friction long enough to shoot off the most pathetic excuse for an orgasm he’s ever had in his life. he feels dirty and awful, feels like the scum of the damn earth when he pulls out. he’s just added to the mess spilling all over the floor.

he catches his breath. zips himself back up and sits back on his knees and tries his best to keep himself together because he knows without even looking that steve is one word away from losing his shit.

and then: “captain’s turn.” a man says.

and that might as well be the word, because steve hisses like he’d forgotten, like he would rather tear them all apart.

sam lets them drag him away and forces himself to look his friend in the eye and say, “steve. it’ll be alright, man,” because he owes the two of them that much.

he can’t force himself to watch, though. can barely handle listening, because barnes knows steve like he doesn’t know anyone else; has known him through decades of brainwashing and shit, and now it’s steve hovering over him and touching his waist and fuck, sam’s gonna throw up.

(it ends, eventually. like everything does. it ends and steve’s hands are free so he does his super soldier shit and beats the hell out of every damn man in the room while sam finds some clothes for barnes.)

(and that’s something good about bad things, sam thinks vaguely, they have to end, eventually.)

(barnes stares at the ceiling and shakes himself apart.)

Oh god this is amazing!

Holy Christmas this is incredible. It is so painful I want to happy-cry. Bucky being so worn down he can't put a brave face on anymore, just whimper and plead for it to stop, and how much that breaks Sam's heart, and just the sheer raw horror of having to do something so sickeningly wrong. You are amazing. And I love the style; I wasnt sure about it going in, because unusual style often gets used to mask hack writing. But this is not that. :)

Oh hell to the agonizing painful YES.

This is brutal and AMAZING! Holy shit, your voice for Sam is wonderful, thank you for sharing this!

HOW DARE YOU. This is amazing. The style works perfectly and my poor heart can't take it.

bucky whines, something horrible, and draws his knees up and together as much as he can—which isn’t much, with sam crouched between his legs. he hates the way his own hands shake when he has to grip the kid’s knees and gently pull them back down

Gorgeous work. I'd stick around for another, oh, hundred thousand words or so of aftermath, but what you've given us here is perfect.

This is amazing, and gripping, and hurts so good. Very well written!

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

nothing's good and everything hurts

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