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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The Avengers, quite frankly, looked like hell.

Oh, sure, they'd been battered and disheartened when they'd been locked away, and the little witch had cried at her cell door for the archer for nearly an hour before the guards shut her up with a rather brutal introduction to the collar they'd locked around her throat, but that was nothing compared to what Ross was seeing before him now.

Clint Barton was slouched in the corner of his cell, head hanging, and the first two fingers on his right hand bent at a strange angle. His uniform was stained dark and filthy with various splashed substances that Ross can't even begin to identify, and he had a bloody patch on his scalp where it looked like a chunk of hair had been torn out. His eyes both had dark rings bruised around them, the left eye completely bloodshot, and he had a split lip that was slowly dribbling blood over his shirt.

Not once did the man move to stop the bleeding.

In the cell beside the archer, Scott Lang was lying in his cot, curled in a little ball with his back to the security cameras. He was asleep, but restless, and whimpered in pain whenever he shifted his weight. There were red marks and bruises around his throat, like someone had tried to choke him out, and his shoulder was at a weird angle that made Ross wonder if it was dislocated. There was a long, bleeding gash across his temple that was crusted over with blood, and strange bruises across his cheeks that made it look like he had been gagged with something abrasive and tied far too tight.

In the final cell, Sam Wilson was sitting, staring out at the room through one eye. The other had a large cut over it, starting up at his eyebrow and running down to gouge into his cheek. The man's face was bruised and his nose was slightly crooked, suggesting it had been broken, and the blood from that was still dried across his lips and chin. The man's posture implied relaxation or ease, however the way he jumped at every little sound suggested differently. There was a bone-tired weariness about him, one that came from utter exhaustion and pain.

None of them spoke to him, or acknowledged his presence outside of a worried glance from Sam. When compared to the riled-up curses and threats they'd shouted the first time he'd stopped in, their silence this time around was...concerning.

The three men looked like hell, and Ross felt his stomach clench uneasily. They looked like they'd been beaten...tortured. He hadn't sanctioned anything like this. In fact, he'd specified that the prisoners weren't to be harmed in his custody, aside from little shocks as needed to control Maximoff should she try anything with her powers.

Speaking of Maximoff...

Ross returned to the elevator in the hall, leaving the men to their brooding, and went down two levels to the high-security cells where the little witch was being kept. The feeling of unease only grew stronger as he stepped into the cell block and heard a sharp gasp from the girl, followed by a desperate little scramble of movement. He approached her cell slowly, feeling sick, and peered in through the glass.

Wanda Maximoff was on the floor in the back of her cell, her spine pressed up against the wall, and her eyes fixed on him in frantic terror. She was still bound in the straitjacket, but the thing was covered in various off-colored stains, and looked like it had been fastened far tighter than it was intended to be. Some of her skin was showing where her pant leg had ridden up, and he could clearly make out a ring of chaffed bruising around her ankle. She had a bruise growing high on one cheekbone, and her lips were cracked and bleeding. Her hair was a wild mess, and her movements were awkward and clumsy, as if she was in pain and trying to avoid pressure where it hurt.

A sharp ache of pity for the pathetic creature had him reaching for his key card, and Maximoff went rigid as she watched him open the glass cell door. She tried to get away from him the moment he stepped into the cell, scrambling back into the corner, her wide eyes focused on him in terror as he took a few steps towards her and stopped.

Now that he was a bit closer, he could see that she had something dried in her hair that looked a bit like Elmer's glue or sugar glaze, and Ross' mind immediately went straight to the worst case scenario of what it could be. There were dozens of tiny clean streaks across her filthy cheeks from where her tears had run, and Ross moved a bit more slowly as he heard her breath catch in fright.

"It's all right," he murmured, voice low, like he was talking to a wounded animal. "It's okay. I'm just gonna check the restraints."

She let out a tiny, choked whimper, using her legs to jam herself back into the corner, and he winced as one of her knees buckled with the pressure, leaving her to curl up in a ball to try and protect herself.

Whatever they'd been doing to the prisoners while he was away had been bad.

Ross slowly lowered himself to a knee beside her, careful not to lean in any of the liquid-looking filth that covered the floor and swallowing hard to keep himself from gagging.

Most of the fight had gone out of the girl when she had found herself trapped in the corner, and she only curled tighter into herself when he reached to brush her shoulder with his fingertips.

"It's okay," he repeated, gently coaxing her to uncurl. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to check the restraints."

It was a flimsy lie, he knew. She was clearly secured in the straitjacket beyond escape, and he didn't have the key to any of the heavy locks along the back of it, but it was the only excuse he could think of to get as close to her as he needed without looking too suspicious.

Something bad was going on here, and until he had figured out exactly what, he didn't plan to give anything away - especially his relative ignorance of the matter.

It took a bit more force than he would have liked to drag Wanda upright, and to his mild horror she had tears streaming over her cheeks when he finally had her facing him. She was terrified.

Setting his jaw, he drew her close, pulling the girl's thin and trembling body up against his chest and winding one arm around her waist to secure her in place as he let his other hand stroke over her head soothingly. She went rigid in his hold, trying to twist away, but he quickly hushed her, pinning her up against him before letting his touch trail down the back of her restraints, fingers playing over the locks.

"Okay, okay, easy now...The cameras are watching," he murmured into her hair, smelling sweat, blood, and a sickening musky stench that couldn't be anything but dried semen as he pretended to check the heavy-duty buckles that lined her entire spine. "Keep your movements small, and do it slowly. Nod your head for yes, shake for no."

He could feel the tension in her body as she tried to make sense of what was going on, but to his relief he felt a little nod of her head where it was pressed to his shoulder.

"Have the guards been abusing you?"

A little nod.

"Has it been provoked?"

She shook her head a fraction.

"Torturing you for information, then?"

Another nod.

"Did they say that they had my permission to do this?"

She shook her head once more.

"Have they r-" and he paused to swallow hard before he could get the word out, because all he could think of was that if someone had done what he was about to say to his own little girl, he'd kill them using methods that the Inquisition would think were brutal. "Have they raped you?"

He felt the girl's shoulders hitch a little as a sob escaped her lips, and he didn't even need to feel the little nod of her head against his shoulder a second later to know that the answer was yes.

"Okay," he said softly, beginning to draw back. "Okay, that's what I needed to know."

Before he could pull too far away, however, the girl nudged her head up under his jaw, and he felt her cheek - hot, way too hot, she was probably running a fever - press against his chest.

For a minute he was thrown, unsure what she was doing, but then he felt her press herself insistently against him once more, and Ross turned his head a little so that she could murmur into his ear.

"Hydra," she whispered, the sound costing her a little jolt of electricity from the collar that he could feel prickling at his skin where he was touching her. "Guards are-" she choked a little on the shock she was given- "all Hydra."

Oh.

Fuck.

"Here?" he asked, barely audible, and his blood ran cold when he felt her nod against him.

He'd heard of Hydra before, of course - everyone had - but he'd never seen it as a problem that he would have to face. The Avengers took care of Hydra bases when they were found, not the military. The closest to Hydra that he'd ever been was looking through case reports that had been pulled from the compromised bases, listing the atrocities that had been committed there.

That explained it, then. The prisoners looked tortured and abused because they had been, probably since the moment he left, and he had been gone for more than a week. God knew what the sick bastards could have done in that much time.

He absently stroked a hand over the girl's head, his mind whirling.

He needed more information. Names, ranks, numbers, how deeply they'd overrun his operation...but it wasn't safe to ask questions like that here. Not where they could possibly pull up the audio feed and listen in.

And the collar wouldn't let Maximoff speak, anyway. He needed to get it off of her, or at least change the settings so she could use her voice without being shocked.

"I'm going to need you to trust me," he murmured against her temple, slowly detangling himself from her and getting to his feet.

He paced outside of her cell, phoning the control room.

"Sir?"

"Send me a couple guards for prisoner transport. And get me the Warden. I need to speak with her."

"Right away, Sir. Guards will be there in a moment."

Ross paced the cell bay, absently aware that Maximoff was still curled in the back corner of her cell, sniffling pathetically. There were very few rooms at the Raft that didn't have a security feed on them, and most of those were the worker's restrooms and lounge. Fortunately for him, however, none of the offices of the higher-ranked personnel were monitored.

"You requested assistance with prisoner transport, Sir?"

Ross looked up to find a pair of guards in the doorway. One was a young man with sandy-brown hair in a buzz cut, and the other was a slightly older gentleman with short, dark hair spiked up off his head, and a sharp jaw line. Neither of them were men he remembered hiring.

"Where shall we bring her?" the older one asked.

"Have her brought to my office."

"Sir...the interrogation room is open for use," the younger guard suggested with what looked like a hopeful smile, and Ross had to take a moment not to grit his teeth when he next spoke.

"No, bring her to my office. You all might enjoy a bit of voyeurism, but I prefer to do my interrogations without a bunch of security cameras focused on me."

The older man sent him a filthy smirk that left his insides writhing, and motioned for the guard behind him to follow as he moved to fetch Maximoff.

The girl let out a frightened little sound as the two entered her cell, and he tried his best to ignore the sounds of the struggle taking place behind him. The dull sound of flesh being hit echoed out to him, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as one of the guards cursed at the girl for kicking him. The responding slap, however, had Ross looking over his shoulder, feeling chilled with shock.

"Behave, you little bitch, or I swear I'll make you regret it," the older guard threatened in a low snarl.

"You liked the baton? How about we use the electric one next time?"

"You want that...? No...? Yeah, that's what I thought. Get your ass up before I show you what pain really feels like."

Ross bit his tongue as the guards manhandled Wanda out of the cell, the girl stumbling along on shaky legs as they shoved her toward the hall. One of them was holding a fistful of her hair at the scalp, using that to force her upright as her chest heaved for breath against the over-tight buckles of the straitjacket.

Trying not to show how on edge he was, Ross followed them as they moved out into the hall.

The elevator ride was tense and silent, with only the soft wheeze of Wanda's labored breathing filling the space. On the upper floor, Ross led the way to unlock his office for the guards, and as he stepped back to watch them march the girl down the hallway, he was approached by the warden.

The warden - a heavily built woman in her early thirties with short, dark hair and a shaved patch on the side of her head - came to a stop beside him as the guards dragged Wanda into the room. She snorted derisively as Wanda let out a pitiful whimper, the girl wincing away in pain from where the guard grabbed her shoulder to shove her through the doorway.

"You asked to see me?" she said, her accent heavily California but with an undertone of something he didn't recognize.

"The collar shocks her whenever she speaks. How do I turn that off?" he questioned, watching as the girl was all but thrown into the chair opposite his desk.

"Why would you need to turn it off?" she asked, one eyebrow climbing her forehead in suspicion.

"The idea is to get her to talk. I don't want anything discouraging that," he replied with a grim smile, and the warden shot him a smirk.

"Little program button on the side. You'll need a pen or something to press it in. Hold five seconds for speak mode, three to turn the silencer back on, and ten to make it sensitive to all noise."

She turned, her hands on her hips, and her smirk spread into a wicked grin.

"The third mode is fun. If you clap your hands, it registers the sound and zaps her. Great for when she starts mouthing off or squirming around too much. Or if you want her really tensed up when you hit her."

"Good to know," he replied with a smile that tasted like death on his lips.

"All set up for you, sir," one of the guards grinned, wiping his hands on his pants like he'd just handled something distasteful. "Just let us know if you need any help with her."

"I should be fine. Thank you," he replied tersely, moving toward the office space as the younger of the two guards stepped back into the hall. "I don't wish to be interrupted, is that clear?"

"Perfectly. I'll see to it that you're not disturbed," the warden nodded.

With a final glance at the three, Ross took hold of the heavy office door and drew it closed with a thud, throwing the latch.

Now to get some damn answers.

EXCITE
(I love how Ross is like "not *that* kind of torture :///")

Oooo, this is deliciously horrible! I like all the little details Ross is taking in, and how every little action of the guards betrays how awful things have been for the Avengers.

[intrigued whale noises]

What a great start! And yikes, Ross was only gone a week and Team Cap is already in horrible shape. It's a good thing Ross wasn't away longer. Looking forwards to finding out what information Hydra wanted from them. Obviously, they want the Winter Soldier back, but what else might they want to know from our heroes?

Wanda focused on slowing down her breathing, her head spinning dizzily as her ribs strained against both the confines of the straitjacket and the pressure of her own arms, bound like a vice around her.

She could hear the door to Secretary Ross' office closing, followed by the dull snick of him throwing the lock, and she tried not to choke on her breath in panic as his footsteps approached her.

In her time here, the guards only ever brought her out of her cell for one thing.

Whether it was seeing how long they could hold her head underwater before she blacked out, or testing how far they could stretch her open before she tore, or stuffing her with something that was hot or abrasive or caustic, and seeing how long it took before she started crying - leaving the cell had only meant pain. Wanda didn't really expect this time to be any different.

She had apparently judged wrong, as fucking usual, on who to trust. Telling Ross that the prison was crawling with Hydra agents only worked if he wasn't one of them - something her brain hadn't even thought to register until he ordered her be brought to his office for "interrogation."

And now it was too late.

She knew what "interrogation" entailed, of course. He was going to punish her for trying to rat them out, to make sure she never tried it again. He was going to ask her how she knew they were Hydra, hurting her until she confessed something - anything - to make it stop, and then he was going to punish her for doing whatever she'd confessed.

Taking a slow breath, Wanda retreated into her head, bringing the Lagos news feeds to mind as the man came to a stop in front of her, and forcing the reporter's hateful words to play through her head.

"Eleven people are dead at the hands of the Avengers, following an incident earlier today-"

Wanda kept her gaze on the floor, trying to concentrate on the words. She had found it to be an escape or sorts, in her time here. She'd figured out that if she viewed the guard's brutality as her punishment for Lagos and the deaths she'd caused there, she could tolerate the abuse, and could even manage to bite back most of her cries. It felt like her suffering had a reason, or at least a reason besides "she was there and the guards were bored."

It felt like it could be something that she deserved.

This, of course, infuriated the guards, who beat her harder, gave her less preparation before they fucked her, and ramped the voltage up on the shock collar, trying to get her to break.

In response, she'd stopped fighting back her tears. She could stay silent through most of their abuse, preventing the collar from hurting her, but the tears seemed to give the men a kind of gleeful joy that usually prevented them from taking things much further than they had to in order to make her cry.

It was a compromise that she was more than willing to make.

Wanda took another slow breath as Secretary Ross paced to his desk, the man opening the top drawer to dig around for a long moment.

"What legal authority does an enhanced individual like Wanda Maximoff have to operate in Nigeria?" rang through her mind loud and clear, the images of the flaming hotel filling her head as she braced herself for the pain that was coming.

She deserved it, she reminded herself, trying to stay calm.

She was a monster, she deserved this. People were dead, and it was her fault.

Ross straightened up, a ball point pen in his hand, and began to walk back toward her.

Wanda went tense on instinct as her brain snapped focus to the man.

Would he stab her? Gouge out an eye? Fuck her with it until she bled? Or some new, creative use that the guards hadn't thought of yet?

Wanda tried to refocus her attention to the news feed, to force herself to be calm because struggling always made it so much worse, but she couldn't seem to drag her eyes from the older man as he leaned over top of her.

"...hold button for five seconds..." he was muttering, and Wanda scrambled to get to her feet as he reached for the collar, her panic getting the better of her. "Whoa, hey, calm down-"

Ross caught a strap on her straitjacket, tugging her back into the chair before she could even properly get her feet beneath her, and added a little pressure to keep her sitting. Wanda glanced up at him in terror, wondering vaguely if she would be able to wrench herself away from his hold.

The man's expression, however, was pitying.

"It's okay..." he murmured gently, lowering himself to a knee at her side. "I'm just gonna turn this off, so it doesn't shock you when you speak anymore...all right? Just stay still for a few seconds longer..."

She felt a little pressure as he poked the tip of the pen into the side of her shock collar, and she choked back a whimper. She knew what was happening. He was turning on that other mode, the one where it shocked her over any sound it picked up. Where she would be punished not only for crying out, but for the ringing bang of their batons on her cell floor and walls, the over-heavy stomps of their feet, their curses and jeers, the sound of their strikes as they hit her, the slap of flesh on flesh as they fucked her - giving her a shock with every shove deep into her abused passage, because they loved the way it made her muscles clench up around their dicks, made them cum so fast...

Her thoughts were jolted to a violent stop as she heard the collar beep a little.

"There."

Wanda jerked back instinctively as the man spoke, expecting to get shocked, but to her surprise there was no pain.

"It's okay, you're all right," he murmured, getting to his feet once more. "I turned it off. You should be able to talk now."

Wanda swallowed hard, her mind whirling. She could speak...?

She didn't even know what to say.

"Unfortunately I can't really loosen the straitjacket," Ross said, looking her over slowly before taking a step back. "They've got it all padlocked, and asking for the key would be far too suspicious..."

She watched him as he crossed back to the desk, putting the pen away.

Perhaps...perhaps she hadn't misjudged? Maybe he truly wasn't here to hurt her? He had asked her to trust him right before having her dragged up here...

She looked up, startled, as Ross knelt at her side once more, reaching out for her face.

"Poor thing..." he murmured, his fingers brushing gently over a scabbed cut on her cheek. "It's all right, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm going to help you."

His finger ran slowly across her chapped, bleeding lips, and Wanda did her best not to cringe back. She wanted to trust him so badly...

"You thirsty?" he offered gently, and she nodded hard.

Ross turned, popping open the briefcase he'd been carrying, and retrieved a clear plastic bottle of water from inside of it.

"Thank you," she rasped, watching him open the bottle and making note in the back of her mind that she hadn't been shocked for the sound. He'd truly turned the awful collar off.

"Here you go," he murmured, tilting the rim at her lips, and Wanda ducked her head a little to increase the flow of water as she drank desperately, draining the bottle at a steady rate.

"Whoa, whoa, hey-"

Wanda choked on a gulp of water, coughing, and cringed away from Ross reflexively as he drew the water back.

"Slow down, kiddo. You drink that much water that fast you'll make yourself sick," he murmured.

Wanda glanced longingly after the half-full bottle of water as he moved to put it on his desk.

He was right, she knew. After so long without food or water, her stomach would reject a sudden input of too much liquid. But her thirst had finally gotten a taste of something that wasn't semen, or metallic-tasting water laced with sedatives, and her body was screaming at her to drink despite her mind's logic telling her to listen to Ross and wait.

The man must have noticed her pleading look, because he crossed back to her with something like pity in his expression.

"I'll give you some more in a bit, okay? Just make sure you can keep that down first. After being dehydrated, you've got to take it slow."

Wanda looked up at him in surprise.

"How did you...?"

"A guess," he shrugged, reaching out and gently stroking a hand through her hair, teasing knots loose as he went. "Your lips looked pretty dry. Were they depriving you of water?"

"They gave me water, but it had drugs in it," Wanda replied softly as he worked his fingers through another tuft of her hair, gently cleaning the crusted semen from it. "Going thirsty was better than letting them drug me."

"When did this start?"

"Yesterday. I... I think one of the guards was trying to get even with me, and wanted me drugged for whatever he had planned."

It was the only thing she could think of.

From the beginning, the warden had made it clear that she was the only one allowed to use Wanda's mouth as she pleased, and the guards were to keep their dicks out of her face because the warden didn't want cross contamination. One of the guards had rampantly ignored that, however, apparently taking sick pleasure out of undermining the warden's authority, and the other day Wanda had managed to think through the choking pain enough to trap some of the man's semen beneath her tongue when he'd tried to cum down her throat. It had been vile to keep such a bitter, sour fluid in her mouth for the next few hours until the night shift switched out, but it had been worth it when she was able to spit it across the warden's hairy lower lips and send the woman into a rage against the guard who had disobeyed her orders.

At least, until the guard had come in the next evening and beaten her bloody for her trouble.

Wanda shuddered a little at the thought, forcing it from her mind.

The feeling of Ross's hands running through her hair was soothing her a lot more than she thought it would, and Wanda allowed herself to relax into his touch as he gently picked another knot loose.

"The interrogation you mentioned," Ross started mildly. "When did that start?"

Wanda thought back, tilting her head slightly so Ross could get the awful crunchy patch of dried something from just behind her ear.

"I believe it was the evening on the day you left."

"And what kind of stuff were they trying to question you about?"

"Where the others were. How my powers worked. Where they could find my brother's body. What I knew about Hydra, and what secrets Dr. Strucker was keeping. Where the Winter Soldier was. Nothing I could truly tell them," she said with a little shrug, swallowing hard.

"Were all of your injuries from the interrogation?"

"No," she whispered, feeling a little self-conscious. "They...they would also come to my cell, to have fun, or because they were bored, or because they supposedly caught me doing something they didn't approve of on security camera. They would hurt me and punish me, and they would tell me to do horrible, filthy things for them. They said that if I fought, they would hurt me. That did not stop my fighting. So then they said if I cooperated...if I went quietly...they would not hurt the others. So I did. But the only feeling I've been getting from them since then is gleeful dishonesty, so I suspect my cooperation was for nothing."

"Yeah," Ross said quietly a moment later, his voice pained. "The others looked like hell too, so I'm pretty sure they've been lying to you about that."

Wanda closed her eyes and let her head hang, calling herself a fool for the thousandth time.

She felt the man finish up another little section of hair, running his fingers through it before lying it gently across her shoulder. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and Wanda glanced up at him, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her.

"You, ah...you said that they raped you...?"

Wanda winced, glancing away, and forced a little nod.

"Just once? Or repeatedly?" Ross' voice was gentle as he asked her, but there was an undertone of fury there.

"Repeat," she choked out. She felt the man's hand stroke over her head again, and glanced back up to meet his gaze.

"Did they...are you hurt?" Ross asked, nodding toward her hips, and Wanda cringed.

"They tore something," she whispered, bitterness lacing into her tone. "I'm not sure what, but it burns every time they fuck me."

"How bad?" he asked, his gentle voice cautious.

"I don't know. It feels very bad. It bled for a long time after they left."

Ross let out a slow sigh, his brows drawing in thought.

"I can't take you to medical, they're probably Hydra scum too. Bringing you to a hospital off site is way too suspicious..." he muttered to himself, fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. "Could try to bring a doctor in, but that'll take at least twenty-four hours..."

She blinked up at him in curiosity as he dragged a hand over his face, and a moment later the man glanced down at her with a tentative pity that sent something uneasy writhing in her stomach.

"I can...I can look at it, if you want. See if there's anything I can do...disinfect your wounds and get you cleaned up a bit," he offered hesitantly. "If you'd be comfortable with that."

Wanda looked away, taking a slow breath before she glanced back, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

"Why not? Everyone else here has already seen me nude."

The man visibly cringed, disgust crossing his features.

"I'm gonna kill the fucking lot of them..."

[EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED WHALE NOISES]

Wanda didn't fight as he helped her to her feet and led her over to his desk, she only hissed a little in pain as he grabbed her up by her bruised hips to lift her onto the polished wood.

"Here..."

She watched with a raised eyebrow as he stripped off his suit jacket, bundling it up into a crude pillow before setting it on the desk.

"Lie back. I'll... Christ... Just-...just tell me if I'm hurting you at all."

Wanda lay back across the desk, positioning her head on his bundled jacket with her feet up on the edge of the wood, and feeling weirdly like she was at some kind of back-alley gynecology appointment as Ross pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used the bottle of water to dampen it.

He set it aside on the table, his hands slowly moving to the hem of her filthy prison-issued pants, and he hesitantly looked up, meeting her eyes.

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Wanda nodded a little.

"To have someone touching me without trying to cause harm...It will be a nice change."

Ross muttered a low curse as he eased her pants off, his expression appearing decidedly sick as he looked her over.

"They weren't exactly gentle," Wanda said with forced humor, trying to keep her emotions from following the tugging memory of being forced over a table, having someone stabbing a broom handle up inside of her as she screamed in pain, the collar crackling at her throat.

"Let's...let's start with the cuts. I can't do anything for the bruises," he said gently.

She jolted a little in surprise as she felt the cool dampness of the cloth running over the back of her thigh, and forced herself to lie back as Ross murmured comfort to her.

She let her gaze travel over the ceiling, focusing on the gentleness of his movements rather than what he was seeing, or where he was touching her. If she didn't think to hard about it, her mind wouldn't follow the awful, lingering memories that were trying to resurface of the guards running their hands over the same places, just before they-

Wanda grit her teeth, shaking her head a little.

No.

No, she was not going to let her thoughts go there. Living it once was enough. She wasn't going to allow her own mind to betray her into re-playing her suffering if she could help it.

"God, that's a lot of blood..." Ross murmured softly, his voice pitying, and Wanda swallowed hard as she felt the cloth smoothing over the inside of her thigh, down to where her pubic hair had been hacked and pulled and burned away by the guards. "You need a real doctor. I'll do what I can for now, but I need to get you out of here and have you looked over by someone who can actually help..."

Wanda hummed a little note of ascent, trying to dispel the nerves she could feel building in her stomach with every touch. Her body was still trying to react in terror, bracing for a pain that she kept trying to convince herself was not coming. Ross must have noticed her tensing up, because his movements slowed a little and he looked up at her in concern.

"I've got some painkillers with me," he offered. "I'll give them to you when I give you the rest of the water, if you think it will help."

Wanda nodded, taking a slow breath to calm herself as he began moving again. Anything that could help ease the pain sounded wonderful.

"Where else did they hurt you?" he asked after another moment, and she swallowed hard before speaking.

"On the left, down low. I-inside. That's where it hurts the most."

She tried not to shudder as she felt gentle, warm fingers coaxing her open a little, reminding herself that Ross wasn't going to hurt her even as every instinct screamed that it was a trick, that any moment now she was going to feel his dick pushing into her, ripping her open-

"Ah...fuck...yeah, I see where they tore you. Fucking bastards..."

She couldn't help a little whimper as his finger brushed over the sensitive spot, his touch like fire.

"I don't have much on hand, but we can try saline to sanitize it."

Wanda nodded a little, feeling light-headed.

Ross moved back to his briefcase, digging out a small bottle of saline eye drops.

"It's not the best," he murmured, positioning himself between her legs once more. "But it's sterile. And it will help clean the area out a bit."

Wanda nodded, taking a slow breath as she felt him gently open her up with his fingers.

"This might sting," he warned her gently, and Wanda bit back a yelp as a prickling, needle-like pain washed over the place where it burned the worst when they fucked her.

"F-fuck," she choked out, writhing despite herself, and Ross moved his hand to splay across her stomach with just enough pressure to keep her from moving around too much and falling off the desk. "Damnit! Fuck!" It burned. It burned.

The man tried to hush her, one hand rubbing her knee where it pressed into his side as she tried to clamp her legs together reflexively in agony.

"I know, I know, it stings...it'll be over in just a minute."

And Wanda couldn't help but gag as Ross unintentionally echoed one of the guard's words, her memory flashing back to her cell as the creepy man from the night shift held her head to his groin, leaving her choking helplessly around his cock.

"It'll be over in just a minute. Stop trying to pull away. Your gag reflex will numb out, and then you can take my whole dick like a good little girl."

Her nose was buried in his coarse, sweaty pubic hair, her body lurching as her diaphragm heaved up, desperately trying to clear out whatever was blocking her airway. There wasn't anything in her stomach to gag up but bile and watery semen, however, most of which already dribbled down the front of her straitjacket and pooled on the tile in front of her, but her body still tried to vomit as the man drew her back an inch or so before hauling her close again by her hair, driving his cock into the back of her throat with bruising force.

"Fuck...yeah...your throat constricting like that feels so good, bitch. Swallow again, that feels amazing. Wish I had a longer cock to stuff down your esophagus...you just love this, don't you? You love having your face fucked like some little wh-"

"Maximoff!"

She gasped in shock, suddenly finding herself looking up into a pair of ice blue eyes set in a worried face. Ross was standing at her side, his hand still splayed over her stomach, but the other now cupped gently around her cheek, his thumb smoothing across the skin.

"There you are...that's it...come back. You're safe here, come back to me. Just try to focus."

She took a choking breath, her eyes darting around as she tried to ground herself.

Office.

Ross' office.

Not a cell. No guards here. Only Ross, and he was... a friend? An ally.

A compassionate, temporary ally. And he was trying to help her.

She took a shuddering breath, letting it out slowly, and forced herself to relax into the gentle stroke of his thumb over her cheek.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly. "What happened? You went stiff and started crying out all of a sudden..."

Wanda became aware of the tears that streaked her face, fresh and rapidly chilling in the cool air of the prison as she blinked up at him.

"Memory," she choked out after a long second. "Bad memory."

"Jesus..." the man muttered, stroking her hair back from her forehead. "They've really fucked you up..."

"You don't know the half of it," she whispered, letting her eyes close over once again.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked gently, but Wanda shook her head, blinking up at him.

"That one was the worst. The rest are all on my skin, or too deep to reach."

"Okay. Just let me know if you want me to stop."

Wanda nodded, listening to him move back down by her feet as she forced a slow, shuddering breath.

For a long while the only sound was the rustle of movement from Ross as he gently cleaned her up, and the sound of her own breathing - just a bit too fast to be normal. Wanda closed her eyes and tried to relax, half wishing the man would go back to stroking her hair, because it reminded her a bit of how Clint had comforted her whenever she was upset, and she was desperately longing to be comforted right about now. The soft stroke of his handkerchief over her legs and stomach was fairly calming, but Wanda's skin still crawled instinctively at any touch near her waist.

She blinked her eyes open as she heard Ross clear his throat a little, and glanced up to find him looking down at her with a kind of pitying realization on his face.

"Are you..." Ross started, waving a hand over her stomach as he glanced away in guilt and disgust. "Did they give...erm. Should we be worried about the possibility that you're...well...pregnant?"

Wanda shook her head, hating the tightness in her throat.

"They've been slipping mild doses of poison into my food to keep my body from allowing a child to form," she muttered in disgust. "I overheard them explaining to one of the newer recruits after he came within me. They said they had to wait to forcibly sterilize me until they'd heard from the higher-ups. In case they wanted to br- to breed me." She choked out the last few words, hating the sickening twist of fright in her stomach as she recalled the guards' hushed words and hungry looks.

Ross' horrified expression told her all she needed to know about what he thought of the matter.

"Fucking hell..." he muttered in disgust. "Did they say what poison?"

Wanda shook her head.

"I've been afraid to eat too much because I can feel it making me sick."

The man muttered another long curse.

"Of course today would be the day I didn't bring any food with me," Ross admitted, frustration coloring his tone. "God, when I get my hands on them...!"

Her stomach rumbled a little at the mention of food, and Wanda took a long, slow breath, allowing herself the daydream of a plate of warm syrniki with sour cream and strawberry preserves, served with a big glass of cold milk...

At least until her brain wondered if drinking milk would remind her of having to drink the guard's semen, and she had to swallow hard to keep the water she drank earlier from coming right back up as her stomach twisted in revulsion.

She was grateful for the distraction when Ross caught her attention once again.

[WHALE NOISES INTENSIFY]

"Would you be okay if I removed these?" he asked gently, his hand going to the prison pants that were bunched up around her knees, and Wanda forced herself to nod.

"I'm just gonna get the rest of the cuts on your legs," he soothed.

Wanda focused her gaze on the ceiling once more as Ross gently eased her pants the rest of the way off, shivering a little as she felt the cool air hit her legs.

"How long has this been bleeding?" he asked after a second, his finger brushing the skin on the back of her thigh, up near her knee, where one of the guards had dug the tip of his knife in to "convince" her to keep her legs up as he fucked her.

"Not sure. I received it yesterday."

"That's been bleeding for far too long, then... I wonder if I have anything that I can-...?"

Wanda glanced up as he moved for the briefcase once more, ruffling papers around as he searched the bottom lining and pockets for something.

"Ha, I do have one," he said triumphantly a moment later, pulling a tiny bandage from one of the flaps on his briefcase and holding it up like a prize as he crossed back to her. "It's not much, but...let me get this open..."

Wanda watched the man as he carefully took the wrapping off, sweeping the crumpled paper and plastic bits into the trash with a quick brush of his hand, then taking both ends of the band-aid between his fingers and carefully lowering it into position on her skin before smoothing it out.

"There we are. That should help it clot up properly. Now, to get the rest of this crap off of you..."

She let her head fall back against his jacket as he poured a bit more of the water onto the handkerchief and returned to cleaning the guard's filth off of her skin.

Not for the first time, Wanda wondered why.

Her mind was whirling with questions, of course, but always seemed to land back on the same one, and as he gently cleaned out another little scratch on her leg, she finally plucked up the courage to ask.

"Why are you helping me? I thought you hated people like me?"

She felt the smooth stroke of the cloth over her hip as he debated his answer, his hands gentle as he worked around cuts and bruises.

"This...this goes a bit beyond who I do or do not like."

"What does that mean?" she asked, nerves fluttering uneasily in her stomach.

"It means that I don't hate anybody enough to wish this on them."

"But you still hate me."

Ross gave her a little shrug.

"I am not fond of enhanced...of anyone who would willingly mutate themselves into a monster, or give themselves massively destructive capabilities for kicks. Now, Captain Rogers already explained to us that you and your brother were talked into the process as children, so I don't hold you responsible for that part. I do, however, believe that you need to be reined in, or trained, or something, so that you aren't a liability in the field."

"Thus, the collar," she said, unable to hide the bitter tone in her voice. But Ross was shaking his head.

"Not the way those Hydra bastards are using it," he spat. "It was intended purely to startle you mid-attack and prevent you focusing your powers. Much like Rhodes' sound cannon, but with less risk of long-term damage. We didn't want to harm your hearing. The shock from the collar was only supposed to be mildly uncomfortable, and distracting. It was never supposed to hurt you like that. And it was supposed to be temporary, until we were sure that you hadn't gone rogue."

"Was I the reason for the Accords?" she asked quietly, because that idea had plagued her, the thought that she had been the one to bring this suffering on the team that had taken her in and treated her like family. The thought that this was all her fault.

To her relief, however, Ross was shaking his head.

"The Accords have been in the works since SHIELD went down. The 'Sokovia' part got tacked on after Stark's invention went rogue and destroyed the city, not because that's where you were from. It just happened to be a coincidence that your accident was the one we brought them up after."

"What about SHIELD?" she asked, more to keep herself distracted than because she didn't know. Steve and Clint had told her all about SHIELD, of course. At least, as much as they knew.

Ross leaned back a little, gently wiping the yellow pus from her burnt skin where one of the guards had put his cigarette out on the top of her foot.

"The Avengers have always mostly handled themselves; or at least they did while SHIELD was still functioning. With SHIELD fallen, however, you guys didn't have anyone monitoring your actions any more. There wasn't anything holding you accountable for the damage you caused. That's what we were trying to establish - accountability."

"That's why you pushed for us to sign the Accords?" she asked, aware of his hands on her thigh, gently cleaning away the caked-on bodily fluids.

"I'd been hoping for more of a military chain of command, and not whatever the hell those wackjob Hydra bastards wound up changing it to say. But yes, that's why it was imperative that you all sign. Because while your group might be willing to save the world with as little collateral damage as possible, there might be another group that decides to go for the glory or the fame. Or people who tried to enhance themselves just to join in. That's how innocents get hurt. That's what SHIELD was supposed to prevent."

"If we signed now, would they have to release us?" she asked, a faint, hollow hope clawing at her lungs.

"No," Ross said, his voice sorrowful. "They changed the document from my last edit. If you signed it now, you'd probably just be signing your life over to Hydra."

"So you are definitely not working for Hydra...?" she asked tentatively. The man glanced up, meeting her gaze with a raised eyebrow. After a second he straightened, moving to clean a dried blood stain from her calf with a light sigh.

"No. I'm not working with Hydra. I may not be the nicest man, but I'm no Nazi. And I won't tolerate their filth in one of my operations."

Wanda winced as he carefully dripped saline across a few more of her burns and cuts, biting her bottom lip to distract from the stinging pain as he disinfected them.

"Additionally," he said, "the way they've been treating you all is absolutely vile, and I could kill them myself for raping you. That's something I'm not planning to forgive."

He took a step back, putting the cap on the saline.

"There, that should be most of the damage."

"So what happens now?" she asked, lifting her feet as he helped her slip her pants back on.

"Right now, as far as I know, they think I'm an ally, so I have to be careful what I do so I don't make them suspicious. I can't do anything more to help you just now. We're way outnumbered, you're still in that stupid collar, and all of your teammates are unarmed. I don't know where they're holding your confiscated gear, either. I've got to buy some time, maybe get some backup, figure out how to get a hold of the keys to your straitjacket...and then I'll come back and take care of this infestation we have."

He spat the word "infestation" like a curse, tossing his soiled handkerchief into the trash can with a sharp jerk of his arm.

"And in the meantime?" she asked softly, allowing the man to help her into a sitting position.

"I'll tell them to keep their hands off of you."

"You can't," she whispered sharply. "If they think you might be an ally, you can't compromise yourself by acting as a friend to us. You need a reason for them to keep their hands off of me..." She cringed a little, thinking back to the Warden's filthy grin as she addressed her underlings. "You need to tell them...tell them that you want me for yourself. That I'm off limits to anyone but you. It won't stop the beatings, but it might lessen the...other things."

Ross looked disgusted by the mere suggestion, and Wanda ducked her head, swallowing hard.

"That's what the warden's done," she said softly, glancing up from beneath her hair. "She picked her favorites - or her favorite parts - and told the others to keep their dicks away."

"If you truly think it will help..." he said, his expression radiating regret, and she nodded.

"If nothing else, it will keep a few of the more obedient ones away from me."

The man reached to stroke her hair back once again, his hand slipping around to cradle her cheek as he looked down at her in sorrow.

"You still feel too warm..." he murmured gently. "I think you're running a fever."

Ross pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, a concerned little frown crossing his face.

"The painkillers should help that. Here, hold on, let me get those before I forget..."

Wanda watched him move to his bag once more, resisting the urge to swing her feet in the air as she sat waiting on the edge of the desk.

"Asprin," he said, drawing a little white pill bottle from his briefcase a moment later. "Never leave the house without it."

Wanda obediently opened her mouth so he could give her the tablets, quickly finishing off the rest of the water when he held the bottle to her lips. He dropped the empty bottle back in his briefcase after capping it, the pill bottle quick to follow, and then he grabbed up his jacket from where she'd been leaning on it and smoothed it out with a hard shake.

She blinked up at him as he slipped his arms back through the sleeves.

"Is there anyone on the outside that you think might be able to help?" he asked her. "Besides Rogers, because he's become a ghost and I doubt I can dig him out in any decent amount of time."

Wanda glanced down, worrying her bottom lip.

There were people who would help, all right, but most of them were deep undercover, or couldn't do anything without putting themselves at risk. Fury had dropped off the map, along with the rest of SHIELD that wasn't Hydra. Steve's friend Sharon was on thin ice as it was, and another bit of help from her might land her in the Raft as well. Laura had Nathaniel and the two older kids to take care of, and couldn't hazard revealing herself to Ross, regardless of his current willingness to help. It was just too much of a risk in the long run. That significantly narrowed her options.

"I think Scott said he had someone...Hank Prim? Or something?" she shrugged. "Natasha would help you get us out. And Tony might help...if you told him about the others. I...I don't think he cares what happens to me."

"I'm sure he wouldn't be okay with this."

"You underestimate how much he hates me..." she whispered, feeling wretched. "He would probably rather have me locked away where I can't cause harm..."

"Well, I care, even if he doesn't," Ross said gently, tipping her chin up with a finger to meet her gaze. "No one is going to be leaving you behind."

Wanda offered him a little smile, which he returned, but before he could say anything more there was a little beep from his hand.

Ross checked his wristwatch with a wince. When he next met her gaze, his expression was pure regret.

"I've had you away for over an hour....I'm going to have to send you back. We can't afford to have them get suspicious."

Wanda nodded, and the man reached to gently tuck her hair behind an ear.

"I'm sorry I can't get you out of here sooner," he whispered.

"You've done more than I could have hoped for," she replied, offering a little smile before she hopped off the desk, allowing him to help her balance upright. "Thank you. For everything."

"You can thank me when I free you and the others from this hell hole."

He gave her shoulder one final squeeze before making his way to the door, and as Wanda watched him step out into the hall, there was a little curl of warmth in her chest that she hadn't felt in weeks.

For the first time in far too long, Wanda dared to hope.

Author!anon, you are amazing, I'm hanging on every word. This is glorious trash.

This fill continues to be awesome.

The detail about the aspirin was a nice touch, a nod to Ross's mention of his heart attack.

Re: Fill: There Is A Line (4/?)

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-20 19:26 (UTC) - Expand

Ross swallowed hard, feeling sick to his stomach.

Calling the guards to come put Maximoff back in her cell tasted like bile on his tongue, and watching them haul her roughly away made rage spike within him.

All he could think of was if someone was treating his daughter this way...if someone had taken Betty and restrained her like that...tortured her, molested her, raped and abused her the way they had done to Wanda...

He grit his teeth, forcing a slow breath.

He had to focus.

He was the only one that the captured Avengers had to help them right now, the only one on the outside who knew where they were, or could fight to free them. He couldn't blow his cover.

"She give you anything good?"

Ross turned slowly, forcing a mild smile across his face as he found the warden at his side, a gleefully sadistic grin on her face.

"A few things. All classified information, of course. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, of course. Shall we continue to...interrogate her" - and the way she said the words made him want to shudder - "while you're away?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I've got all of the information I need for now, and I'd like her to remain relatively undamaged. No need to ruin such a pretty face over nothing."

"Ah, you've taken a liking to her as well?" the warden asked, raising an eyebrow in a way that left no doubt at all that she meant sexually.

Ross swallowed hard, trying not to let his face betray what he was feeling.

Wanda had warned him that he would have to play along.

"I'd like her a lot better if she wasn't such a complete, disgusting mess. Have you let every damn guard in this joint have a turn with her?"

"Is...is there a problem with that?" the woman asked, but to his relief she sounded more nervous than suspicious, so he pressed on.

"Let me make something clear," he said, turning to the warden with his arms crossed. "Maximoff is mine. I don't want your men in there using her and leaving her all stretched out or covered in their filth - it took me long enough to clean her off as it was. And she'd better be in the same damn condition that I left her in when I next return. I don't need to spend half my time here cleaning her out before I get to have a go. Do you think you could manage a simple task like that?"

"Of course, sir," the warden replied with a humble, if wicked smile. "I'll tell the boys to keep their paws off her from now on."

"Good. If anyone is going to make a mess of the little bitch, it's going to be me," Ross nodded.

He wanted to throw up.

"She is a rather sweet little creature," the warden hummed, making a motion for him to follow and waiting for him to grab his briefcase before leading the way back to the landing pad. "Nice body...pretty face...a bit defiant, but the collar does a good job of taking the fight out of her, as I'm sure you've seen. If you would like, we can have her brought up to your office for you, the next time you drop by."

"That would be nice."

"And perhaps next time you're here, I'll have an offer to share with you," she said, a little smile in her words that had Ross feeling chilled.

"I don't take bribes."

"I was leaning more toward 'business proposal.' And don't think of it as a bribe...think of her as a signing bonus, of sorts."

"Go on," he replied as mildly as he could, making his way toward the waiting jet.

"I can't guarantee anything yet, but once I've talked to some of the higher-ups, I'm sure we could find room for a man of your...influence."

His skin felt like something was crawling along it.

"You have until I next return to impress me. Do try not to mess up my plaything while I'm gone," he said with as much of a dismissive tone as he could muster, firmly shoving the memory of Wanda's terrified glance to the back of his mind.

"We'll be sure to take good care of her for you," the warden smiled, pacing to a stop at the edge of the landing pad. Ross had to suppress a shudder.

"And do try not to damage the others too badly," he added, tossing the words calmly over his shoulder as he crossed the launch pad and boarded the jet. "I need them to be in one piece for my plans. Bind the archer's broken fingers, at the very least. Make sure they're set properly. He's useless to me without them. And make sure Falcon's eye isn't damaged. I don't need a half-blind pilot."

"Yes, Sir," she nodded, that wicked shark-grin back in place. "We look forward to your return."

Ross gave a little wave, dismissing her, before ducking around the corner of the jet and letting himself slouch into one of the seats.

"Where to, Sir?" the pilot called, flicking switches as the engines roared to life around them.

"DC. I have some people to talk to."

"Roger."

The craft lurched a little as the ground moved upward beneath them, the enormous prison doors opening above their heads to allow the landing pad to rise above the water. Once they were cleared of the prison, the pilot lifted them off the ground, circling for half a lap to get them headed in the right direction before tipping back and gaining altitude.

Ross stared out the window, his eyes focused without seeing on the gray ocean beneath him, taking slow breaths to quell the sick feeling that was choking him.

He had a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in.

He had to get to the States, get help, and get back before the guards did anything worse to his prisoners.

The only problem was...he no longer knew who he could truly trust.

Oh man, this continues to be great! I love the way Ross has to go undercover here—how important it is that he pretend, and how much it sickens him. (I can't help thinking about this charade taken to its logical conclusion, with Ross forced to perpetrate trash against an already traumatized Wanda, but that's only because I'm horrible.) I'm glad he thinks to protect the other captives as well, ensuring that Clint and Sam receive medical attention. Excited for the next part!

yussss I love me some plot in my trash. BLESS

Wanda bit back a pained yelp as she was thrown unceremoniously back into her cell, glaring up at her usual daytime guards as they stood outside the door, watching her. She took a long moment to wriggle herself into a sitting position, her back braced against the cot, aware of the two staring at her in contempt. That never boded well for her.

She pointedly ignored them as she forced herself to her feet, moving so she could sit on the thin, hard mattress instead of the cold concrete. When she next glanced up, the dark-haired one had stepped toward the bars.

"Overheard the General. Said you squealed for him. Clearly we weren't riding you hard enough when we asked you the same fucking questions, huh bitch?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Either that or she liked riding the General's dick a lot better than yours," the younger of the two sniggered. The dark-haired one threw him the bird in reply.

The two focused their attention on her once more, and she met their gazes with a glare. The dark-haired one leaned up against the glass, looking her over as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip.

"Wonder if the warden will ease up on us now that the little whore is out of information. Let us do some real damage for once."

"Not likely. Warden's finally got a bitch in here to fuck herself on, she won't want us killing her," the light-haired one muttered, sounding almost disappointed.

"I'm sure she wouldn't complain if we knocked a few teeth out. Less chance of biting. Besides, I like the way this one cries."

"Just smack her a few times. That usually does the trick."

"It's not the same."

Wanda turned her head away, focusing instead on the smooth fall of her hair, somewhat clean and untangled for the first time in a week. Her mood had been lifted a surprising amount by Secretary Ross' unexpected kindness, and despite the icy shock of being flung right back into her hell-hole of a prison cell, she was feeling better than she had been in days.

The aspirin was finally kicking in, and the unbearable aches across her whole body were dying back into a dull throb that she could almost ignore.

If it weren't for the two guards outside of her cell, trying to goad a reaction from her, she could almost curl up on the little cot and sleep peacefully.

The dull hiss of the door to her cell bay sliding open drew her attention, and Wanda glanced up as the warden entered the room, flanked by four guards.

Wanda went stiff on instinct.

"So what's the word? Can we break the little whore?" the dark-haired guard asked.

"Sorry, boys, this one's off limits."

"What?" the blond one yelped. "No fair!"

"Sorry," the warden gave him a shrug that wasn't apologetic in the least. "Ross said this one is his, special. If you're gonna use her, make sure you can clean it up afterwards. And do not damage her looks...it's the only thing the little bitch has going for her."

"How about her mouth?"

"I already told you worthless pricks, her mouth is mine. And you all know what happened to the last jackass who ignored that. You have three men upstairs with perfectly good mouths, if you've got balls enough to take them. A hole is a hole, and you can put a bag over their heads if you don't like their faces. Though Lang's pretty enough that you could probably put some lipstick on him and enjoy the blowjob."

A couple of the men snickered at that.

Wanda wanted to gag.

"So what's that mean for us?" the dark-haired guard asked, sending a sideways glance in at Wanda.

"It means don't make a mess of her. You're welcome to have your fun, just so long as you don't get her too filthy or break anything important. Don't cum inside of her, either. The General complained about the slop you all left behind. But you two are coming with me for now. We've got work to be done on the other prisoners. You two," she nodded at a pair of the guards that had followed her in. "Stay here and watch her."

With that the woman swept out of the room, Wanda's day guards following her with muttered complaints as the two she'd nodded at moved toward her cell.

The guards that the warden left in the room were familiar to her, but only in passing. They were usually posted up with her other teammates, although they would shift switches occasionally, if they "got tired of fucking ass and wanted some sweet pussy for a change," as she'd overheard.

Wanda did her best to shoot them a glare, hoping that they would take it as a warning rather than a challenge, but the men just sniggered and nudged one another, nodding in her direction like she was some small animal trying to be fierce and they thought it was adorable.

The cell bay door slid closed with a hiss, and the two were quick to open Wanda's cage and step inside.

She let out a little growl as they entered and the two smiled at one another again, their expressions making her feel sick.

"Still so fiery," the one by the door commented, making sure the glass behind them was sealed so she couldn't escape. Not that she would get very far.

The other guard, more heavyset than his companion, crossed the room to stand before her, cornering her on her little cot.

"I would'a sworn that they'd have broken it out of her by now, but apparently the newbies down here don't know the right way to treat a prisoner with attitude."

Wanda didn't get time to react before she was backhanded. The action was light - the man mindful not to damage her face after what the warden had said - but it was still enough to shock her into silence.

"There, that's better," the one by the door laughed. He took a moment to scratch his stubble, and Wanda had the fleeting thought that he might be considered attractive if it weren't for the sick smile across his face. "Second best way to shut a bitch up."

"So...you been spending some quality time with the General, huh?" the one closer to her asked, reaching out to flick her cheek. Wanda bit back a little snarl as she leaned away, glaring up into his chubby grin.

"Wonder if he filled her up with his cum to make sure she knew whose bitch she was?" the other one cackled. "Fucked her across that big fancy desk of his."

"I did hear her crying out from down the hall...Wanna check?"

Wanda snarled a little, trying to kick them away as they grabbed her ankles and dragged her from her cot to the floor, smashing her tailbone agonizingly against the tile and scraping her spine against the metal frame of the cot.

She let out an indignant cry as the one with the scruff hauled her pants down, and he looked up at her in surprise as she did.

"Huh...she didn't get zapped. He must'a turned off the shocker. Guess the guy wanted to hear her moan for him," he laughed.

"Just as well. I wanna hear this bitch scream for me," the heavyset guard muttered, moving so he was above her head and kneeling on her shoulders to pin her down.

Wanda tried to ram her head up into his crotch as the opportunity presented itself, but the man caught a hand around her neck and slammed her back into the concrete hard enough to daze her before she could.

"Dumb bitch, did you really think I would fall for that?"

Wanda yelped as she felt a hard slap connect between her legs, and the guard with the facial hair pried her knees apart with a laugh before striking her again.

"Better behave yourself, little witch. Or we'll come up with all kinds of horrible things to do to you and your friends."

Wanda forced herself to lie quiet and still as the man by her feet stripped her pants the rest of the way off, prodding at her labia for a second before using his thumbs to spread her open.

"Damn. Look how nice he cleaned her up."

"Yeah. She almost doesn't smell anymore."

"Awww, I found a band-aid."

Wanda yelped as she felt the bandage ripped unceremoniously from her tender thigh, biting her tongue in frustration as the men laughed.

"Man, I knew she had a sweet ass, but it looks like he practically pampered her. He must really like this one," the man above her said, grinding his crotch down onto her face as she squirmed.

"The dude's a General, he knows a top-grade weapon when he sees one," the other one muttered, plunging his finger into Wanda without warning and tearing a startled yelp from her throat. "Man, she feels tighter than I remember. Are we sure he even fucked her at all?"

"I told you, I heard her screaming. All the way down the hall."

"Remember what Mooney said about Lang? Putting the ginger paste up his ass to make him tighter? Maybe that's what Ross did to her. Lang certainly screamed for long enough."

She glared at the crotch of the man above her, biting her tongue to keep herself silent as she felt the thick digit wriggling haphazardly inside of her.

She jerked in pain as he poked at torn flesh, and the heavyset man above her pressed his hand more firmly around her neck to keep her in place, turning her breath into little wheezes.

"Aww, does that hurt, little whore?" the man at her feet cackled. "That's what you get for jumping the dick of every man in the place."

Wanda let out a little breath in relief as she felt him finally withdraw his finger, but the relief was short-lived. A slap across her spread opening was enough to make her cry out, and the two pinned her down more firmly as she tried to struggle.

"Did you like taking the General's wrinkly old dick, little whore?" the man at her feet asked, giving her crotch another sharp slap.

"Bet she did, if only cause he was small enough that she didn't feel it go in," the other one laughed.

"Nah, this one likes it when you stretch her out. I've got half a mind to get a bunch of thumb tacks from the supply closet and see how many boxes worth of them we can fit inside of her before she pops."

"I don't think the warden would go for that. What if we lost some?"

"Dude, I would pay to see the General get a tack up his dick while fucking the little bitch. That would be gold."

"That scenario would also wind up with us dead, or worse."

"Yeah...maybe just a bunch of ice cubes. Lock them up inside her with a chastity belt and let 'em melt away on their own."

"Or a plug," the heavy one panted, grinding his half-chub into her face once more. "Make sure all that water stays stuffed up inside her. 'Clean her out' or whatever the Warden was saying."

"I'm game for that. Let me get the ice. You prep the bitch."

Wanda let out a cry as she felt the heavyset one rock his weight onto her more firmly, but before she could protest he had sat down on her face, crushing her painfully beneath him.

Wanda couldn't even hear the other man leave.

For a long moment the remaining guard plunged his fingers into her, two at a time and working up to three, as he ground his clothed equipment against her face, trying to rub off.

Now that the guard's crotch was pressed fully over her nose, she could pick up the sweaty, musty stink of his balls through the fabric, and it made her gag. The man must have felt her, however, because he leaned forward, grabbing up her knees, and hauled her legs back toward him.

"Who the hell said you got to comment, tramp?" his muffled voice snapped, irritated. A second later she felt him slap her between the legs the same way the other man had. "I'll teach you..."

Wanda was helpless to do anything as he smacked her clit over and over, sending jolts of pain up through her body.

Thankfully the torment didn't last too long, although her crotch was throbbing by the time he was satisfied.

She took a sharp gasp of breath as the heavyset guard finally got off her face, and blinked her vision clear in time to see the other guard return, a bucket in one hand and a large silicon plug with a harness attached to the bottom in the other.

Wanda didn't get a chance to react before she felt a sharp tug on her hair, and had her head yanked down to thump against the concrete once more, the heavier guard's hand fisted in her hair.

She could hear the returning man moving toward her, and she tried to clamp her knees shut only to have them pried open, pinned down by the guard's thighs as he hooked his legs over hers.

"Excited to see me, little bitch?" he asked, and Wanda had to bite back a scream as he flicked her clit. "Ooh, sensitive?"

"Had to give the little whore a spanking. She was acting up," the heavyset guard growled, twisting his hand a bit so her hair was pulling painfully, making her eyes water. She heard the shift of ice in the bucket, and gasped in shock as she felt something searingly cold against her.

"Feeling a bit hot down there?" the man with the stubble asked, rubbing an ice cube up and down over her lower lips, and Wanda tried to choke back a little whine. "Let's help you cool it off a bit, then."

The ice cube slid into her with surprising ease, and Wanda yelped at the sudden cold, her muscles spasming around it. After a second of adjustment, though, it wasn't too bad, and actually felt rather nice against the burn of the torn flesh inside her. She managed to bite her tongue as the man fished out another ice cube and slipped it into her, keeping quiet as he pressed three, four, five of them into her. When he pushed a sixth and seventh ice cube in without slowing his pace, however, Wanda started to squirm. She could feel the pressure of the ice cubes filling her, the cold moving from bearable toward something unpleasant as her inner muscles got chilled and began seizing up.

By the time he'd managed to push fifteen of them into her she was squirming in discomfort, her whole body shivering from the sudden temperature drop.

The ice was quick to completely numb her inside, a small mercy considering all of the pointed edges and oddly shaped lumps that were being stuffed into her, but it did nothing to the awful feeling of stretching. It ached and burned and made her want to shudder all at once, the feeling both incredibly uncomfortable and a little arousing, due to her brain trying to trigger some kind of pleasure sensor to cope with being so filled. There was barely a dent in the bucket of ice the man had brought, and Wanda tried to twist free of his grip as he shoved number twenty inside of her.

"What's wrong, little bitch? Feeling a bit full?" the man laughed, beginning to cram another chunk of ice inside of her. "You look like you're not having as much fun as I am."

"Wonder if the warden would still be pissed if we made her deep-throat some ice cubes?" the heavier guard commented.

"Good luck not getting your fingers bit off. She's just as wild as the others are once you get her riled up enough. And I'll bet she's feeling pretty uncomfortable right now..."

Wanda let out a sharp cry as the man rubbed her belly, causing all of the ice inside her to jostle and grind. He laughed at her reaction, stuffing another piece of ice into her as she felt liquid drip over her thighs and onto the ground.

"Here, let her head up. She seems eager to see what's going on," stubble said, and Wanda suddenly found her head hauled up by her hair.

The angle hurt her neck almost as badly as the sharp pressure on her scalp, but now she could clearly see what the other guard was doing.

Her belly was already starting to look a little rounded, her legs trembling where the other man had them pinned, and her skin was covered in goosebumps from the cold shock.

The place where they'd torn her the other day was completely numbed beyond feeling, however it must have opened back up again with the stretching, as she could see a little trickle of reddish water leaking from her onto the floor.

"You look good with your belly all distended like that," the heavy one snickered, giving her a poke.

Wanda bit a curse at them in Russian, and the heavier guard merely laughed while the man at her feet responded by fishing out another chunk of ice.

"Gonna stuff you till you look pregnant," he said through gritted teeth, forcing another ice cube to jostle in between the others, and Wanda let out a sob.

"You're not gonna have room for the plug," the chunky one muttered as the other guard began wedging another piece of ice into her.

"I'll make room."

"Warden doesn't want her messed up, remember?"

"Ah, fuck. Yeah, I guess we'll plug her after this one. Don't want to tear her up too bad. Yet."

Wanda couldn't help her whine of pain as he gave a final firm shove to the ice, lodging it inside of her. A second later, she felt him press something that could only be the plug - room-temperature and rounded, flaring out sharply from the tip - to her opening, the sharp movement of ice within her making her shudder.

Inch by inch the man stuffed the plug in, the movement pressing all of the ice up against her cervix, and Wanda let out a wail as he forced the widest part inside of her.

A second later he'd seated it to his satisfaction, leaving Wanda panting in agony as she was stretched unbearably wide from within. The motion of the man threading the harness around her legs and waist didn't even register until the two began to draw the straps taut.

Wanda cried out, thrashing weakly to get away, but the men just pinned her down and smacked at her crotch and belly until she was still.

"Latch it good and tight around her waist. I don't want her struggling her way out of this," the one with the stubble growled.

"Not a problem."

Wanda choked out a sob as the men hauled on the straps, crushing the breath from her, and didn't even have time to recover as the scruffy guard slipped a lock through the belt and snapped it shut.

Trapping her in the harness.

Wanda had a moment to lay on the floor in shock and agony, gasping for breath as the two men got to their feet and looked her over in satisfaction.

Then the one with the facial hair was grabbing her by the straps of her straitjacket, hauling her back across the floor. She could only manage a little whimper of pain as she was hefted upright, even the little extra push against the plug causing the ice to press against her in all the wrong ways. The guard parted her legs with a few sharp kicks to her thighs, and smacked her across the face when she tried to draw them back together again.

"Keep your legs open wide, and don't move," he ordered, pinning her back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her. "I wanna watch you suffer through this for the rest of my shift."

With that he gave her one final little shove, then he stood and left the cell without another word.

Wanda blinked her tears from her vision for just long enough to see the glass slide back into place across the front of her cell and the two men take up their posts on either side of it, the heavier one shamelessly jacking off as he looked in at her hungrily.

And as the men stood out in the holding area, leaving Wanda stuffed full and on display in her cell, all she could do was shiver and cry, praying that the ice would melt quickly.

[DISTRESSED, UNHAPPY WHALE NOISES]

Poor Wanda! At least she knows that help is on the way, however far off it might be at the moment. And her shock collar is deactivated for now.

That was a very inventive bit of torture on the part of the guards. I've played with ice before and one or two cubes is fun, but twenty plus a plug? Ouch!

Keep up the great work!

O.M.G.

1) Thanks to you, I have the BIGGEST SHAMEBONER ever
2) Wow, what a great twist! I thought Wanda was safe and then this happens!
3) You, sir, write evil HYDRA so well. All of those off-hand remarks about what's happening to the other guys, too! GAH

I can't believe I actually let myself think she might be safe. I am blown away by the inventive cruelty. I tried just a few cubes once several years ago and the idea is both really shockingly terrible and omg I don't know what to do with this. I really don't. The plug. Wow.

So, thanks for that. This is quality stuff.

I was rereading this and suddenly had the mental image of HYDRA trying to get chastity belts and anal plugs delivered to a secret underwater prison. What address do you put in the online order form? Do you invoice this or not?

Unf I love this

Clint would have spat at the man strapping him down if he wasn't afraid they'd blind him for the infraction.

They'd broken his fingers for calling out rather creative things about their mothers, after all, and that had just been angry words from a man in a cage. Although, Clint always had been rather cutting with his words when he was angered, so perhaps he'd brought the broken fingers upon himself.

Either way, he didn't like the way he was being so carefully and meticulously restrained. They were likely about to do something to him that would cause an incredible amount of pain, so much so that they didn't want to risk him thrashing around at all.

And he wasn't looking forward to that in the least.

His entire backside still ached from where one of the guards had rather enthusiastically fucked him the day before, the man's friend standing with the toes of his boots on Clint's broken fingers, waiting to rock his weight forward and crush them if Clint struggled at all.

A little shift in position brought the ache back up to the forefront, piercing deep inside of him like jagged fire, and Clint winced.

"Stop moving," the guard spat, hauling the last of the restraints tight with enough force to bruise. "I'm already pissed enough at you."

He was tall and wiry, with dark hair and a darker scowl, and Clint shot him a cool, dismissive look as he finished strapping him down. The guard, however, had already turned away.

"Stupid bitch..." he was muttering. "Not like I'm the only one with any medical experience here. Why couldn't she have gotten Harvill to do it?"

Clint raised an eyebrow as the guard crossed back to his side with a handful of what looked like finger splints. The man dropped them on the little tray beside Clint's chair, pulling up a seat for himself.

"I could be downstairs having fun with Maximoff, but nooooo, I have to patch up your sorry ass," the man complained, and Clint tried not to let himself go rigid at the mention of Wanda.

"Yeah, well, if you'd stop fucking us up, you'd have less work," Clint muttered, and the guard responded by grabbing one of his broken fingers and yanking it out straight. Clint howled in agony, straining up against the ties that held him, but there was no give.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I don't give a shit what happens to any of you," the guard said, carefully lining up Clint's finger in one of the splints and making sure the bones were seated properly before taping it into place. "If I had my way, I'd tear all of you apart, bit by bit, just to watch you suffer, and then leave you to die. But the General was mad that we broke all his toys," the man sneered, "so now we've got to fix them all."

Clint yelled in agony as the man yanked another of his broken fingers straight, seemingly taking pleasure in putting pressure on the digit, shifting it around to check that it was "properly aligned" before he began to bind it tight into a second splint.

"General Ross comes in here with his fuckin' bleeding heart, decides that Maximoff is gonna be his bitch, wants us to patch the rest of you useless fucks up..."

"And I'm sure you lot just love being told 'no'," Clint panted, trying to coax more info about Wanda, but the guard simply yanked another finger straight in a fiery burst of agony.

By the time the pain had ebbed enough for Clint to think clearly, the man was moving on to his other hand, scooting his chair across the floor with an unpleasant screech that rattled in his teeth and made him wince. The fingers of his first hand had been bound in a little pointed bundle, wrapped up tight and useless.

Another sharp yank shattered his thoughts into splintering agony, and Clint was left gasping desperately for breath as a yell lay low and heavy in his chest, waiting to erupt.

By the time the guard grabbed for the bandages, Clint's chest was heaving with breath as he tried to manage the pain without screaming.

He'd been trained to withstand torture, of course. All high-level SHIELD agents were.

But this wasn't like that.

With torture, there was a goal. Information that Clint could hold like bait, and protect with his pride even if his pain tolerance failed.

Here, there was no incentive. This was nothing more than a bunch of sadistic bastards having fun at the expense of their prisoners.

The guard made quick work of bundling all his fingers up in the bandages, broken or not, so that he no longer had use of his hands. Clint tried to keep a scowl from his face - he didn't need to give this man any more incentive to hurt him.

Once that had been done, Clint expected to be released and hauled back off to his cell, but apparently the man wasn't finished with him just yet. Clint watch warily as the guard checked his restraints a final time before he moved over to the counter, fiddling with something out of sight.

"I figure while I've got you here, we'll take a few...medical measures, to ensure your future health. Keep the General from having to worry about you."

Clint's blood ran cold when the man snapped on a pair of gloves.

The guard turned back around, crossing back to the chair to hang a bag of fluid off a hook by him, and Clint swallowed hard as he watched the guard thread the tube up from the bottom of it.

"Here we are," the man grinned, holding up the end of the tube, water dripping from a needle at the tip. "Bit of saline, to make sure you don't get dehydrated."

But to Clint's horror, the man didn't move to grab his arm.

Clint could do nothing as the man hauled his pants down and scooped his balls out into the air, settling them on the fabric with false care.

"I think this little sac of yours should hold half a liter or so, don't you?"

Clint spat a curse at him, and the man just laughed, pinching up a little fold of the loose skin on his balls and lining the leaking needle up before slowly pushing it in. Clint jerked in pain at the sting, but the restraints held him still.

Once the needle was in place, the man shifted the saline bag to a higher hook, forcing the water to flow more quickly into his balls. He hadn't pierced either of his testicles - thank God for small miracles - but the water was quickly pooling in the loose skin, and Clint shifted in discomfort as the sac began to swell.

While the water drained down into him, the HYDRA agent cleaned up the room, putting away all the bandages and medical supplies.

Clint looked down, taking deep, slow breaths to keep himself calm. It rather felt like someone was grabbing his balls and squeezing them - just enough pressure to be uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back against the chair, trying to focus on the sound of the guard moving about behind him to distract himself from the feeling of the cold water forcing its way into his sac.

For a few minutes, it worked.

And then the pressure got to the point where it was a constant, dull throb, pulsing in time to his heartbeat and overpowering all other thought, and he simply couldn't ignore it any longer.

With a groan, Clint raised his head once more to see what was going on.

His balls were about twice their normal size.

He could see the skin starting to get taut, filling out with the fluid. But it wasn't just inside the loose skin...he could feel it seeping in. The actual tissues in his sac had begun to absorb the saline, swelling with the fluid, and it was starting to feel a little numb as a consequence of that. Clint grit his teeth, tipping his head back once more as his breathing got heavier.

A glance up at the bag of fluid showed that it had barely dropped at all, and Clint let out a carefully controlled breath.

Christ, the psychopath was going to pop his balls...

On the plus side, he and Laura already had all the kids that they wanted, he reminded himself in bitter humor, trying to shift into a slightly more comfortable position as his thighs pressed painfully against his swelling sac.

He couldn't help but tense as the guard crossed back over to his side, leaning over him with a wicked grin.

"Comfy?"

He gave a little grunt in reply, not trusting himself to actually comment, and the man straightened up.

"Wait right here, Barton," the guard ordered, bundling the little medical kit up in his arms before leaving the room. "I'll be right back."

Clint let his eyes close, and began to count the seconds to try and distract himself from the dull throb and the tight strain of skin from between his legs.

It was nearly seven minutes before the man returned.

"You didn't faint, did you?"

Clint glanced up as the man crossed to his side, glancing up to see how much water was left and blanching in horror when he realized that he had barely taken half the bag's worth.

His sac was already swollen to an enormous size, no longer two distinct balls so much as one big round one. The skin was stretched out with the liquid, shiny with how taut it was, and his veins were spider-webbing clearly just beneath the surface.

There was no way he was going to be able to take the whole thing without bursting.

Thankfully, the guard had apparently run out of patience, and stepped close to yank the needle from Clint's sac and slap a little piece of medical tape on the puncture.

The archer could do nothing but moan in helpless agony as the other man prodded at his balls, testing them for firmness and size.

"Well lookie there, Barton, I can actually see them now."

"If you double the fluid, you might be able to see your own," Clint shrugged breathlessly through gritted teeth, unable to resist a little jab in retaliation. He was rather promptly rewarded for daring to speak - the guard's icy hands cinching around his sac and crushing down until Clint screamed - and the man began to unfasten Clint's restraints while he gasped in shocked agony.

He didn't even get a chance to consider running.

The man had hauled Clint to his feet and marched him across the room, over to a wide wooden table that was covered in various dark stains.

Clint let out a holler of protest as he was bent over the table, his hands useless in their splints. The guard was quick to thread a belt over his middle, pinning him in place before hauling it tight.

The guard's hand plunging between his thighs and closing around his swollen balls choked a gasp from the archer's throat, and Clint didn't get a second to so much as catch his breath before the guard was pulling his balls out behind him, cinching a strap tight around his thighs and pinning them together so that the sac poked out behind him, round and straining.

"What's wrong, Barton? Feeling a little exposed?" the man questioned, prodding at his testicles, and Clint grit his teeth together at the feeling of strain on his over-stretched skin.

He bit his tongue to keep himself from making a smart comment - he was in no position to be riling up the guard right now - and listened as the other man moved around for a moment behind him, opening and closing drawers. After a moment he let out a curse and left the room with a command to Clint to "stay right there" as if he was able to simply get up and walk off.

The second the door swung closed, Clint started thrashing against the restraints. He couldn't get his hands at the proper angle to his mouth to pull the bandages away, however, and the belt around his middle was too sturdy to even consider breaking.

He had nothing to do but wait for his tormentor to get back.

When the man finally returned a few long minutes later, he was holding a little strip of wood in his hands, and as he stepped up close Clint realized it was a disposable coffee stir.

The guard held the stick down on the table, pressed flat where Clint could see it.

As he watched, the man drew the tip of the little coffee stir back, letting it snap firmly down on the wood, and Clint's stomach dropped in sinking horror as he realized what the man planned to do.

"No...no, no, please, oh fuck-” he begged as the guard moved around behind him and he felt him line the little stick up across his over-swollen balls and draw it back.

The agonizing smack of the stick connecting was enough to make Clint see stars, tearing a scream out of his throat as his body tried to curl into the fetal position out of instinct but was prevented from doing so by the strap around his middle and the cold table beneath him.

It took a long few minutes before he had his breathing under control once again, the pain throbbing at a low burn as he blinked tears from his eyes and trembled against his restraints.

The guard had moved to stand in front of him during that time, and was looking down at him hungrily as he tried to cope with the pain. Clint shot a watery glare up at the man as soon as he could scrape his composure back together, but the dark-haired man just smirked.

"You know," the man started, leaning over to wipe a tear off of Clint's cheek before licking it from his finger with a sick smile. "You might be just as fun as Maximoff after all."

Clint could only sob out a helpless curse as the guard picked up the coffee stir and circled around behind him once more.

Holy shit, this part was amazing! Such twisted ball torture, I love it.

Clint trying to hold his reactions in, being a smartass and fighting back, using dark humor to try and get through it...

And then he's broken. By a disposable coffee stir.

Thanks for sharing!

Re: Fill: There Is A Line (8/?)

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

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