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.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

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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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It was just a few shots and grunts, when it finally happens -- and suddenly all of the squids around him and in him are slumped down on the ground. It was over so quickly Steve barely had time to bite down hard on the guy in his mouth before he is buried under a pile of dead squids. Dimly, he hears Sarge give efficient commands for the others to do a final check in of the base and surrounds. Steve is filled with a surge of admiration for them. Maybe, if he worked hard, he'd one day be able to ... A hand reaches out and pulls him free of the guy weighing him down. It's the Sarge, with blood spatter on his face and boots.

"You okay, Rogers?" The Sarge doesn't seem happy to see him, eyebrows creasing into a frown.

Steve hurries to pull his pants back up and his shirt back down. "I'm A-okay, Sarge. Gimme a sec to clean up, and I'll be ready for night shift." Drat, there's still that button missing, and his pants won't stay up properly.

Sarge grimaces at Steve's face. Oh, that. Steve wipes the semen off with the back of his sleeve. Can't do anything about the black eye, though. He glares at Barnes. "Sarge, I said I can do night shift. Your guys don't need to look at my face for that, do they? My mouth works just fine."

"Yeah, Rogers, I can tell your mouth works just fine." Oh shoot, he's giving lip like he was back in Brooklyn, forgetting that Sarge is his commanding officer. This sort of thing has gotten him dismissed from so many clerking jobs.

But Steve isn't good at apologizing, so he just stares sullenly up at Sarge. Daring the Sarge to send him back to London.

It's the Sarge who breaks eye contact first. "I was just asking if you're okay. I saw some bruises, wondered if you'd need Jones' med kit."

Oh.

Steve hadn't had someone be concerned about *his* health in so long that he'd forgotten that was a thing.

"Um.... I should be fine. No broken bones, no..." And then a thought hits him, and he scrambles to check the cocks of the four squids who'd fucked him. Safe. Safe. Safe.

The last guy was lying face down, where he'd fallen on top of Steve. Steve strains to roll the guy over, but then an arm reaches over him and flips the guy easily.

"He hurt you." Sarge was frowning at the guard's cock, still tinted red from fucking Steve's bloody ass.

Steve shrugged, "That doesn't matter. I need to check if he's clean or not. If he isn't..." They'll have to send him home, and not just to London. *Home* home. The tiny bare room with the one chair, for when Arnie stops by. Where all he can do is twiddle his thumbs while everyone else went to war.

Steve heaves a sigh of relief when he discovers that the guy is also safe.

"You want to stay in the war that bad, huh?"

Steve looks up to find the Sarge giving him an odd expression. "You shake off all the stuff that they did to you, and only panic when you think you might'a caught something."

Steve is saved from having to explain as the other guys return from their perimeter check. Better this way -- Steve hates the look of pity he gets when folks hear about his ma.

Morita claps him on the back, and Jones smiles at him. As if getting fucked by 7 squids was some sort of accomplishment. Steve finds heat rising to his cheeks, and busies himself with getting stuff ready for the march back to camp.

His pants are still falling off, and it's going to be hard to find a single brown (or green or red) button in all this debris.

"Here." Sarge rips off one of the buttons on his jacket. "Use this."

Steve fingers the button, hesitant. From what he could tell, Barnes liked to dress neat. To rip off a button like that...

"Think of it as earning your stripes," Sarge mutters before moving to the front of the line.

Well then. Steve can't help a small chuckle as he rushes to catch up. Appropriate that his first stripe is something to hold his pants up.

OH STEEEEEEEVE OH MY HEART

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

Re: fill [1b/?] Re: 4F tiny Steve trash

Re: fill [1b/?] Re: 4F tiny Steve trash