hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Welcome to the latest, greatest, scummiest iteration of

hydratrashmeme. Come on in and please check your sense of shame at the door.

Rules in brief: Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because this is emphatically not a safe space. Link your fills on the fill post. Unprompted fills: make a prompt or a header comment and reply to it with the full text. Continuations of fills from earlier rounds: just make sure you link in both places.

What's on-topic: Filthy and perverted twists on all the quality whump served up by Cap: Winter Soldier. Noncon, aftermath, uncomfortably sexualized violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves.
What's off-topic: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, shippy/romanticized noncon, MCU heroes repurposed into OOC or edgydark delivery vehicles for your fave's suffering. If you've got a prompt for one of those burning a hole in your brain, head on over to

mcu_trash.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Round 4] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive] [Round 5 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

DA
Thank you for the link! I got really interested when people mentioned it, but I was kinda afraid to ask for the link in the middle of all the problem lol

OP here

I'm okay with a "reverse-order" 3+1! And by 'okay' I mean I'd be thrilled please do write this if you want to!

OP here,

I was not aware of that. However, like I said above, I'm also okay with comic book logic or porn logic or someone using the lower settings because they have an electrostim fetish and enjoy getting it through Bucky.

As they led him into a room off of the main corridor, all sorts of enhanced interrogation techniques that Sam had heard rumors of, or read about in leaked manuals, or seen cited in Facebook rants welled up in his mind. There was no bright light shining on his face, no stainless steel tray of surgical instruments. Just a bare room with smooth metal walls and a bolted-down table at which they pushed him into a chair.

Ross came in just as the two guards took up stations next to the door, and dropped into the chair across from Sam. “I don’t have a lot of time, so we’re going to cut right to the chase. Where is Rogers?”

The hardest part, Sam thought, would be keeping his smart mouth shut. That was the thing about interrogations—you start talking, even just to tell the bastards to shove it, and it’s hard to stop. Best to stick to name, rank, and serial number, or better yet, nothing at all. He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Think about something else. Like how hopefully Steve and Barnes were halfway to Siberia by now.

“I’ve been looking at your service record,” Ross said, as he opened a folder stuffed with paper. “I still have friends in the Pentagon. It wasn’t hard to get.”

Was this supposed to be impressive, how influential and connected Ross was? He was a former Army general. Of course penetrating military bureaucracy wasn’t a problem for him. Sam didn’t find it difficult to remain unimpressed.

“Six Letters of Reprimand,” Ross tapped the folder. “Looks like you’ve always had a problem with authority. Explains why you viciously attacked Colonel Rhodes.”

Sam looked down at the table and didn’t say a damn thing. Ross was trying to draw him out, push his buttons so he’d start running his mouth. He didn’t viciously attack anyone. And besides, he didn’t regret a single one of those LORs.

“Training in resistance to interrogation,” Ross read from the file. “That’s useful. Looks like you were never captured by the enemy, so you might not have anything to compare this to, but let me assure you, we’re much more efficient at this than the Taliban.” Ross looked across the table at Sam. “And as far as the US Government is concerned, Wilson, you are a terrorist, which means you’re an extrajudicial detainee.”

Sam supposed that was meant to scare him, but he’d figured by the lack of due process that this wasn’t anything so benign as an actual arrest, so it was nice to have his suspicions confirmed. It did make his stomach churn a bit to think he might have even fewer rights than he would if he’d been arrested.

Ross looked back down at the papers. “Pararescue, hm. Maybe you think you’ve seen the worst things that can happen to a human body. Maybe you think you know how to deal with pain.” Ross leaned in across the table, and Sam raised his head to look at him. “But I am in a hurry here, so let me assure you that I have no qualms about violating your body in every way it is possible to do so until you tell me what I need to know.” He settled back in his chair. “Now, where is Rogers going?”

Ross’s expression was cold and implacable, but Sam stared right back. No matter how absurdly phrased, a threat was still just a threat, and every moment Ross kept talking, Steve was getting further away.

“Fine.” Ross pushed to his feet. “Bennett, Hampton, he’s all yours. Call me as soon as he talks.” Ross strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

Bennett and Hampton stepped up between Sam and the door. They carried side arms and batons, but not rifles. Nothing easy for a prisoner to grab. Not that Sam was going to try to escape. His job was not to bust out; it was to stall, which he’d known when he suggested this plan in the first place. That didn’t mean it was easy to just sit quietly and wait for something to happen.

“Get up,” said the one on the right—probably Bennett.

When Sam didn’t move fast enough, Bennett grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt and hauled him to his feet, then stepped back and glared.

“Get your clothes off.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, but the man stared back, expressionless. Sam had known guys like this in the Air Force. No one in his unit, thankfully, but he’d run into guys whose main personality trait seemed to be their sense of their own importance. They generally displayed a bit too much enthusiasm for following orders, and a righteous hatred of anyone who didn’t. Sam had never gotten along with that type.

“Now,” Bennett growled.

Sam didn’t particularly want this guy to do it for him, so he pulled his shirt off, folded it, and laid it on the table. Slowly, telegraphing his motions, Sam bent down to slip off his shoes. He’d already been naked in front of guards—these or some others, he wasn’t sure—earlier, so rather than give them the satisfaction of ordering him to do it, he pushed down his pants and briefs and stepped out of them. Those he folded and added to the pile, with the shoes on top. Then he looked back at the guards.

He wasn’t going to cower in front of them, naked or not. He figured if this was their first move, he was in for some Abu Ghraib-style bullshit, maybe some photo ops before they started up with the more painful enhanced interrogation techniques. Sam could deal with that. He’d prefer humiliating photos to waterboarding, personally.

Bennett and Hampton were looking him up and down. “I thought black guys were supposed to be bigger,” Hampton said, making a crude gesture.

“I knew those wings were compensating for something.”

They both chuckled. Sam focused on the wall ahead of him, and felt his hands form into fists. He couldn’t afford to get mad. They were going to say horrible shit, of course they were. Didn’t mean anything. Time was passing, and that was the point.

“Take all that to the cabinet over there,” Bennett said, and pointed. Sam turned and shuffled over to a recessed storage unit, taking the opportunity to examine the room: the table and chairs, all bolted down; one exit, the one Bennett and Hampton were blocking; riveted metal walls, ceiling and floor, which was fucking cold on his bare feet; an air vent in the center of the ceiling, ten feet up, less than a foot wide. Sam opened the door to put his clothes in. There was nothing else there, not even dust.

“Hey Wilson, you ever fuck any of the other Avengers?” Bennett asked.

“Yeah, like Black Widow,” Hampton put it. “You get a taste of that pussy?”

Sam turned back just in time to see Hampton waggling his tongue obscenely.

“No, man. She’s tough as hell,” Bennett laughed. “She’d probably snap his little dick right off.”

“Maybe he’s butt buddies with Captain America,” Hampton said with a grin. “That sparkly outfit is gay as hell.”

“I’m telling you, the dude’s, like, a hundred years old. They didn’t even have gay people back then.” Bennett glanced back at Wilson. “Stand there.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of the room. “Don’t move.”

“If you could fuck any one of the Avengers, who would you fuck?” Hampton asked.

“That Scarlet Witch girl.”

“She’s not too skinny for you?”

“Maybe a little, but think about it. Right now she’s drugged halfway out of her mind. Totally doesn’t even know where she is. I could fuck her like that, and she’d be all sweet and plaint, like, oh, oh, oh!” Bennett made his voice high-pitched and did a terrible imitation of Wanda’s Sokovian accent.

Hampton laughed. “I bet she likes a nice fat cock. Bet she’d like to suck it.” He mimed pushing a head into his crotch and grunted. “Ungh, ungh, ungh—“

Sam didn’t realize he’d stepped forward until both the guards moved at once. Bennett landed a solid punch in Sam’s gut, right up under the ribs, and knocked the air out of him. Hampton darted behind Sam and wrenched his arms up behind his back.

“No goddamn manners,” Bennett said. “We were in the middle of a goddamn conversation.” He produced a thick pair of cuffs and settled them onto Sam’s wrists, locking his forearms together behind his back, then stepped away. When Sam tested them, he thought they were probably strong enough to hold Steve, let alone a regular, non-super-powered human. He needed to calm down, try not to listen. They were just getting started—he shouldn’t be making rookie mistakes and letting them get under his skin.

“Where were we?” Bennett asked.

“Ungh, ungh, ungh—“ Hampton grunted, pumping his hips.

“No, with him.” Bennett inclined his head toward Sam, standing alone in the middle of the room and shaking a bit with the remnants of his adrenaline rush.

“Oh. Strip search,” Hampton said. “Making sure intake didn’t miss anything.”

Yay OP! I hope this lives up to your expectations! I am having fun playing with Sam's emotions-- wait, I mean grinding his heart into powder-- wait, I mean... uh...

Ha, I'm glad you clarified!I was like O.o Some people find strange things funny!

M placed himself hesitantly between the Asset's legs. There was no safe zone anywhere near the Asset. A heel could snap up and crush his testicles when he stood behind it, just like a finger could whip out and crush his larynx from in front of it. It didn't happen often anymore. But M's life depended on how well the Asset respected K.
The prolapse slumped down between the Asset's legs, fragile and oozing and beginning to dry in an unhealthy crust near the end. Almost like a second dick, except it looked nothing like a dick--twice as wide, red and irregular and puffy. Turning yellow in patches, where it was driest. It smelled faintly of fecal matter, the nasty yellow stuff that strained out after a bowel-clearing expulsion. He'd hoped it would have sucked back in with the Asset in a face-down position for an hour, but no such luck. M scooped the prolapse up in the damp towel and smushed the salt over it.
The Asset tensed.
"What are you doing?" K asked, finger hovering nervously over the remote's trigger. Any shock to the Asset would probably give M a heart attack.
"Taking the swelling down," M explained, dredging up memory. "Osmosis. You're supposed to use sugar, but I couldn't find any without leaving the building."
"And you just thought this up while panicking in a bathroom stall?" K demanded.
That was technically true, but M wasn't about to admit it. "It's how Doc Simon fixed up one of my dad's cows," M said. "Well, it was a vagina, not a rectum, but the principle oughtta be the same. And the Asset's tougher than a cow."
The Asset wheezed and banged its head against its left arm. M squeezed on the prolapse through the towel, and it froze again, digging its toes against the concrete.
"Switch with me, I need to make something," M said after ten minutes of unproductive massage. The towel was red with blood.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do, Farmer Dan?" K demanded.
"Just, try to squeeze it back in! I don't know, the vet did that part!"
"That doesn't help," K growled.
"Come on. Don't you have, you know, more sensitive hands?"
"No."
The Asset's arm whirred and rattled against the chair leg. Under M's hands, the fleshy cylinder trembled. "Never mind, I think I'm getting somewhere." He dumped more salt in the towel.
The idea, he knew, was not to push the prolapse in at the bottom, where it left the anus. That would only lead to a triple-fold of elastic tube entering the body, even tighter than the double-fold of elastic tube leaving the body. The idea was to push the prolapse back starting at the tip. Where, coincidentally, the swelling was worst and the bloody tube was closest to tearing. The salt helped, theoretically, by pulling out water and shrinking everything. He remembered Doc Simon using a pound of sugar making M join in as they massaged and shoved the old cow's shit-smeared vagina back in place with the help of a clean bath towel; the sugar actually made the vagina a little slick as it dissolved. The salt appeared to be physically cutting and eroding into the Asset's rectum; it looked less shiny and whole even in the parts that had been healthy when he'd started. Too late now.
The prolapse creaked again, a vibration under his fingers. His hands were bloody and stinking; he should have worn gloves. In his excitement at solving this problem, he'd forgotten that the Asset was basically human. Cowshit on his hands had been one thing, but human shit was quite another.
He wrapped his hand loosely around the base of the prolapse, drawing out gently, as he pushed in at the end with his fingers and thumb. This time, it definitely moved. Backed in half an inch. "Hah!" M bellowed, delighted with himself. He repeated the motion. The Asset made a soft whimpering sigh of misery. Must be like setting a broken bone. Well. Progress.
After that first inch, the prolapse seemed to un-stick. M drew out and poked in, drew out and poked in, and then it was four inches, two inches, an apple instead of a worm, and then with a satisfying squish it popped back inside, revealing the raw and gaping rim that had started this whole nightmare.
The Asset hissed through its teeth and drew its thighs together defensively, stopping just before it pinned M by the leg. M caught it looking at him, under and around the seat of the chair, hiding its eye behind its hair.
M stepped away. He glanced at K. They weren't about to shock it now, and it knew that.
"Asset, maintain position," M ordered. He looked down at his bloody hands, and turned away to scrub them in the sink.
He opened his electrical toolbox and pulled out a heavy-duty pair of wire cutters, then unbent the wire coathanger he'd retrieved. Straightened it into a long, squared-off U. Nipped each end of the U at a sharp angle, leaving crude points. For the coup de grace, he pulled an ID patch out of his pocket. He showed it to K.
ROLLINS J, it read.
K nodded her approval. M poked the ends of the steel U through the ID patch and slid it to the base of the bent wire, like a button.
"Now we really need to switch," M said.
"Why?" K asked, suspicious. She eyed the wire, and the Asset.
"My hands won't fit."
The Asset's hands and legs tensed sharply, digging in for purchase. K squeezed the trigger. It flailed, all limbs tense, the left arm limp, right arm curling out at a strange angle, back bowed. It actually popped off the folding chair, sending it flying, flipped in mid-air, and landed on its head with a crack.
K let off the charge and stomped over to it. "Are you done?" she barked.
The Asset stared vaguely up at the ceiling, its face grimacing in residual tremors. With its left hand, it gestured, acknowledged.
K righted the folding chair. "Resume position, Asset."
The Asset struggled to all fours, and bear-walked sideways to slump face-down over the seat of the chair again.
"Check it," K said.
M sidled over to the Asset's head, and probed through its hair from as far away as reasonably possible. No dents. "We're good."
The prolapse was back. Apple-sized, not diseased-cock sized. M grabbed the towel off the floor and shoved it roughly back in.
"I think we're gonna want it in the chair for this," M said. "The big chair."
"Asset, chair." K trailed the Asset as it pushed itself to its feet and staggered, dazed, toward the ECT chair with its restraints and recalibration paddles. The moment it came to rest on the seat, M got to work securing its limbs. His hands were shaking. Getting the Asset in the chair was usually a five-person job. It didn't always respect the shock collar enough. Maybe, M thought crazily, it knew they were trying to help it. Asset secured, M offered it the bite guard, and as usual, it leaned forward and took it, with an expression like it would rather be biting into M's fingers.
K lowered the remote. "What, exactly, do you need me to do with my dainty girl hands?"
M pulled the coathanger with the ID patch strung on it out of his pocket. "I need you to put this in there and then stab it through to the outside. Like a button, so it can't pop out again."
The Asset squeezed its eyes shut and sagged against the headrest.
"The vet did this?" K asked dubiously.
"Sort of," M said. "I mean. He had this plastic thing--the principle is the same."
"You know a vagina is cleaner than a rectum," K continued.
"Not in that cow," M muttered. "It's the Asset. It'll be fine. If anyone investigates and takes it out, bam!" He pointed to the ID patch. "Jack Rollins marking his territory. This all gets swept under the rug."

Oh god. This is so good and I am filled with so much dread.

I love the two guards’ personalities. You’ve captured the exact sort of asshole who would do something like this.

Not OP, but please don't apologize. OMG, this is delicious.

OP here, wasn't expecting a part 2? You spoil me, anon. This is wonderful.

Oh my god. This is so good. This is horrifying and cringeworthy and so good. I'm not OP but thank you!

pleasePLEASEplease please yes wound fucking is my one guiltiest bestest kink, please. also, stomas.

Please fisting. Please. (not op)

Have you read this fic? I assume you have but since it doesn’t have the HTP tag you might have missed it!

https://archiveofourown.org/bookmarks/247324082

AYART: lol! That's precisely why we're warned to use a towel or broom to break loose someone who's being electrocuted. If you grab them, it's your ass too.

At a low enough amperage, though, it can be a LOT of fun.

OP here, yes I have read that one, thank u for the suggestion tho! It's a fun little read but tbh it just doesn't cut it for me in terms of gore/grossness ? The fine detail of psychological horror in this is just lovely but I am a creature of simple tastes and I just want more guts and blood and filth lol

(Personal experience anon here...not to detract from the 3+1 we've got coming but inspiration hit thanks to one of OP's comments and I just had to try my hand at this one!)

"Hit 'im again," Rollins growled.

Rumlow had just enough time to yank his dick out of the Asset's mouth before Westfahl slapped the small of its back with his shiny new stun baton. His glans caught on its front teeth and he hissed, but better that than share the jolt. Rollins, on the other hand... Rumlow had to hand it to him, he'd always seemed kinda vanilla aside from the getting-off-on-violence thing most of STRIKE had going on, but bring out the shock sticks and that guy was a freak.

The Asset yelped as electricity coursed through its body. Still plowing into it from behind, Rollins tensed up too and groaned in what sounded like bliss. Fucked if Rumlow had any idea how that was supposed to feel good, but to each his own, he guessed.

As soon as it was safe to do so he grabbed two fistfuls of long, sweaty hair and plunged back into the Asset's mouth while it was still gasping for air. It choked on his cock and god but those convulsions were nice.

"I'unno what you get out of that but it's interfering with my BJ," Rumlow groused.

As was typical, Rollins was keeping his eyes closed. Didn't like watching anyone on the other end. Whatever. "Clenches up real good when we stick 'im," he grunted. "It's got a nice little pop too. Makes everything tight."

Rumlow was going to say something but the Asset's tongue curled up to swirl across his frenulum and he lost the words. Groaning, he thrust faster, impatient to blow a load down that throat. He let his attention wander.

Dangerous time to do so.

By the time he heard Rollins it was just about too late, but he was saying, "Close...one more time, make it good," and there was Westfahl with the baton again.

Fuck, fuck, he was seven inches deep in this brainwashed floozy's face and he wasn't gonna get back out in time. He had just enough time to shout before the entire world went fucking white and it felt like a goddamn grenade went off in the room.

Every single muscle seized up, from his jaw snapping shut so hard his teeth creaked to his spine bowing back and sideways to his damn asshole right down to his toes. Every single nerve checked in with his brain to report that yes, it could feel pain, and lots of it! His dick especially hurt and someone was screaming. Two someones. Then just as fast as this shitstorm started, the world went dark and he collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

When he came back to the Asset was moaning like a wounded animal, Rollins was only upright because of his grip on its hips, and Rumlow had bite marks on his cock. The air smelt faintly of ozone and bacon.

Rollins choked out, "What the FUCK WAS THAT?!"

Westfahl had already backed himself up against the wall and had his hands up, baton still loosely held in the right. "You said make it good so I went up to the next setting!"

It took Rumlow a few tries to get enough air in his lungs to bellow, "God DAMN it, Westfahl."

Have you read the Rumlow/Bucky torture fic in #4? There’s some wound fucking in the latest part of that one - and I have it on good authority that the next part is on its way soon! Link here: https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2271.html?thread=4999391

when rumlow & the bois fuck the asset, it really doesn't do anything for it and it kind of doesn't rly understand whats going on. so it lies there and takes it with a completely emotionless, blank face.

unfortunately for the asset, it happens to have a resting bitch face. which more often than not STRIKE mistake for annoyance or a 'get on with it' kinda thing.

once, after a particularly stressful mission, when the team is letting off steam with the asset, something in rumlow snaps. he decides to knock that (completely imagined) smug smile off the asset's face once and for all. with his own bare hands. in a way that might or might not leave the asset in need of urgent facial reconstruction surgery.

Love it!
Another method they could try would be electrodes on the head, as orgasm happens in the brain! OP of the prompt was correct that this is a real thing scientists can do (and have done). It wouldn't hurt at all or be an 'electric shock' as most people understand it - it would be more of a small electric pulse which would stimulate the part of the brain that feels and controls orgasm.

It wouldn't feel artificial, or like your brain is controlling it, it's just like a normal orgasm. It feels amazing apparently, as you can get orgasms of much greater strength than simply from manual stimulation, seeing as you can control the voltage of the electric pulse. It also means you can have as many, and make them last as long, as you want!

Which would mean if they perfect this ejaculate volumiser so that Steve is producing more at the rate that he is releasing it, with electro stimulation to the brain they could have him literally non stop orgasming for as long as they want, which... hnnnggghhh

Love this

OP here, ohhh I think I kind of remember reading bits of this one wayy back? Mustve lost track of it before the latest update cuz, ya know, real life (gross). While it's a much broader focus than I was looking for, this is exquisite. Wonderful. Ticks so many boxes. Very very very excited for possible continuation.

God this is so terrifying and so SAM, the letters of reprimand and trying to keep all this control over himself in such insane circumstances... I freaking love every word

(OP) Ooh yes please, if you can find it!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 17 of 68

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Re: creating an adjacent kink meme?

Re: Trash Party Stunbatons

Re: Trash Party Stunbatons

Fill: Untitled Sam trashing (2/?)

Re: Fill: untitled Sam trashing (1/?)

Re: Fill: untitled Sam trashing (1/?)

Fill: Medical equipment is for people part 2

Re: Fill: Untitled Sam trashing (2/?)

Re: Fill: Untitled Sam trashing (2/?)

Re: FILL 3/? Steve/Bucky, Steve ‘claiming’ Bucky post-gangbang

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people part 2

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people

Re: Wound fucking

Re: STRIKE/Steve, forced cavity search, humiliation

Re: Wound fucking

Re: Trash Party Stunbatons

Re: Wound fucking

MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Re: Wound fucking

the asset has a resting bitchface

Re: Good to the Last Drop (6/?)

Re: Getting off the Asset being “dumb”

Re: Wound fucking

Re: Fill: Untitled Sam trashing (2/?)

Re: forced intoxication