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)]

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I am always so happy to read Westfahl screwing up. Haven’t seen enough of him lately.

Great minifill!

Rollins, what in the fuck is wrong with you?

Westfahl, what in the fuck is wrong with you?

Hilarious, I love it.

Inspired by the prompt where someone gets off on the Asset being dumb, what it says on the tin. Some ideas:

-Hurting the Asset so much he cries (either involuntary tears or they break him so much he is actually crying and begging to stop) and then fucking him, which obviously just adds more pain.
-Manipulating him: gaslighting or making him confused to the point of tears (conflicting orders, perhaps, or a well-played "But I knew him" situation).
-Making him cry happy grateful tears because omg this handler is so nice, it even pets his hair while he fucks him.

I'd rather the Asset not be childish, just under a lot of stress and/or pain that the right person can manipulate for their liking.

OP Here

I LOVE IT. Rollins getting off on the second-hand current and the way it makes the Asset clench up is A+ content, as is Rumlow being irritated about it because he just wants to be able to finish his blow job. He should have just quit when he was ahead.

Thank you anon, for this excellent trash!

Ungh... that is gold. Imagine like the soldier sitting in the chair, freshly wipe, minding his own business, when one Hydra girl sees that big fat unused superboner. Just climbs on top and rides the confused Asset... We need more Hydra girl!

A!A: You're welcome and thanks! Glad you liked it. :D

A!A: Same, lol. As soon as OP mentioned painful mishaps my brain went "I KNOW WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS." Thank you!

A!A: Seldom does any good come of Westfahl trying to reason something out for himself, lol. Thanks!

absolutely delicious *sets up camp*

I did! Here you go anon! It’s less a major element than I remembered but definitely an element Pierce is getting off on.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/9291761

Well, it's not fixed yet, is it?

Imagine the same but with Bucky idly/dumbly fondling the erection trying to figure out what’s going on....and then someone finds that...

OP of the “dumb” prompt here heart eyeing u tbh.

Poor Bucky! Aftermath could kill a man too...

Yeah, any internalized dehumanization Bucky has in this scenario is a coping mechanism. He definitely has an "I" in this fic, he just knows better than to show it.
As for the techs--bureaucratic evil, basically.

Hello, I'm glad you like it!

TBH While I love aftermath fics, I didn't have any ideas about it. Maybe Bucky starts crying in front of Steve and/or The Avengers and panics, because he associates crying with being raped...

Or someone else cries and Bucky panics?
Or he physically can’t cry?
Or something idk. It’s such a cruel prompt, I want to see someone reeling from it.

It’s such a cruel prompt.

Is it too bad I took it as a compliment? Anyway, I like all these ideas!

AYRT Omg thank you, that was extremely enjoyable!

K traded the remote for M's coat-hanger. "It'd be easier to just sew it shut."
"Tac team would notice," M countered.
"And they won't notice when their dicks bang into this giant fucking staple?"
"Not if you put it deep enough. It's gotta be you, you have smaller hands."
"My hands are average," K growled.
They stared at the Asset slumped in the chair. A bulge of angry red tissue had begun to creep back out, slightly lifting its hairless testicles.
"Fine," said K. "Where's some gloves?"
M got her a pair of disposable black nitrile gloves for working with harsh chemicals.
"Lube?"
M shrugged.
K knelt between the Asset's knees and pushed the prolapse back in. The Asset's chest heaved. "Stop straining," she ordered, and the Asset made a rising-and-falling hum which was the nearest thing to "I can't" that it was allowed to say. She pinched the points of the wire between three fingers, narrowed her hand into a wedge, and began to work her way into him. The Asset shut its eyes and gnawed on its bite guard, breathing slowly.
When she got to the base of her thumb, she turned to look at M over her shoulder. "This feels really wrong."
"It's Strike," M said. "Buncha animals."
"I mean it feels rough and stiff. It's not healthy."
"How do you know?" M asked impatiently.
"I've stuck a finger up a dude's ass before," K said. "It did not feel like this."
"If you've done it before, then why were you making such a big deal over it?" M gestured expansively with the remote.
"Maybe I don't want to be thinking about the Asset's anal prolapse next time I slip a couple fingers to my boyfriend, ever think about that?" K snapped. She twisted her wrist and shoved, and the Asset made a cut-off yelp, then began to hyperventilate. "Oh, fuck, it's over my glove. Oh, gross."
"OK, good, good," M said, striding forward to hover over her shoulder. "Now push the wire through." He pointed low on the Asset's abdomen where an appendectomy scar might go. "Try to make it come out right there."
The Asset's body heaved continually with its rapid breaths.
"I don't want to staple through something important," K protested. She torqued her hand back and forth. "Maybe if I move everything out of the way. Hey, push down on him. Right here."
M reluctantly bent down and pressed down just to the inside of the Asset's hip gone, as K wriggled and forced in more and more of her wrist from inside. He felt her hand bump against his through the Asset's body.
"Stay right there," K said, and with her free hand, she pushed up on the base of the wire.
The Asset stopped breathing, the only sound the soft clicks of its throat and the creak of its teeth clenched in the bite block. M felt something sliding and popping under his hand, one point, two points, then two hard bulges under the skin. K, watching, gave a last hard shove against the wire, and they shoved out, bloody and slightly bent. One of the wires scratched M's palm.
"Fuck," he snarled, gripping his hand and squeezing blood out of the cut. "Probably covered in Strike jizz, I'm gonna need prophylaxis. Fuck."
K pulled the ends of the wires out snug and bent them flat. While M soaped his hand in the sink, she got a pair of needlenose pliers and twisted them together, then snipped the ends short. M's other toolbox furnished a box-cutter. She broke the tip off the extendable blade to freshen it, then cut through the Asset's skin between the places the wires emerged, so the whole mess sank into the wound. A little steel still showed, so she pinched the skin up and duck-taped over it.
"We're done," K announced.
"Thank god," M said. "Start another IV, he's probably burned through all his antifreeze by now."
Placing IVs and administering sedatives and cryoprotectants were supposed to be the only real medical tasks K and M were responsible for. K washed the blood and mucus off her wrist, then strapped the Asset up with a tourniquet and got started. It took ten minutes to safely deliver the antifreeze, during which they cleaned up and figured out how to file a reasonable incident report that would result in M getting STD prophylaxis without having to explain why or alerting his wife.
At the end of it, the room stank of garlic, from the antifreeze on the Asset's breath, and it looked marginally calmer. Its eyes were open and tracking. It appeared to have burst a couple blood vessels.
"Asset, when you are released from the chair, you will stand, dress, and await further instruction," M ordered. K had the remote back. M flipped open the restraints as fast as he could, then jogged backwards several steps.
The Asset let the mouthguard drop, foamy, to the floor. It braced itself on its arms and pushed up cautiously, got its feet on the ground, and shuffled, stiffly, tenderly, like an old man. It stopped by the folding chair and leaned down, bracing one arm on the seat as it maneuvered its bare leg back into its trousers. Sat down to replace and lace up its boot. Knelt to retrieve its mask and belt.
"I'll call Strike. Have 'em get him into the vest, but give 'em a time limit this time," M said.
"It."
"What?"
"You said "him.""
"Sorry. Long day."
The Asset threaded on the belt, buckled on the mask. Then it shuffled on its knees to the cryo vest. In slow, halting movements, it swung it on and buckled it shut. Then it stood, letting out a soft moan, and stood placidly, facing the cryo pod.
"Or that," K said, lowering the remote a fraction.
"You know, I think it does know we were trying to help it." M opened the cryo pod door. "Asset, get in. Night-night."
The Asset shuffled inside as fast as it appeared to be able, and stood, ready to have its cryo vest plugged in.
"Thassaboy," M said, and patted it proudly on the shoulder. It stood quietly and let him work.

-fin

Yay! I'm SO glad this is hitting your fancy. I'm like, "Wait. I can do this!" but then, "Wait. Should I do this?" And the answer is "I do what I want," of course. Thanks for the appalling prompt!

Budget explains everything!

Yes! Cringe! It's horrible! \o/

Not OP but thank you so much for the fill!!

OH NO

I love it

Steve was grateful that over the course of a few weeks, the scientists had managed to adjust the formula of the ejaculate volumizer so that he was producing semen at a steadier rate. It did mean that collection had to take place on a strict schedule, at least once an hour outside of his regular daily sessions. He never found himself in the desperate situation he’d been in that first night they tried the injection, but he did find that his balls were uncomfortably tender and swollen as each hourly session approached, and the only relief came when he submitted to the scientist’s machines and allowed himself to be made to come.

The procedure was lodged in his mind, wherever he was in his day: running doggedly around the base’s small exercise track, ignoring the ache in his ass; shoveling in a plate of scrambled eggs that never quite seemed to be enough to satisfy his new, larger appetite; shaking hands with a senator or general the SSR had brought in to show the progress of their super soldier project; or kneeling by his bed to say his prayers, and an extra rosary for Bucky. Steve knew he was never more than an hour away from being hooked up to the machines again, having his balls drained for the good of his country. He slept fitfully, even when he was exhausted after a day of coming and coming and coming until he was dry. It was hard to sleep soundly when he knew a uniformed private would come to shake him awake at five to the hour, and walk with him down to the lab.

Since they’d fine-tuned the ejaculate volumizer they used on him, they were seldom able to exhaust his ability to produce in any given session. Gone were the days of coming dry before a session was complete. However, that also meant there was more interest in keeping the collection procedure going. Steve found that his schedule contained less and less time doing anything but being hooked up to the machines. That was good, he told himself. He was providing the scientists with more of what they needed, and that helped the war effort. He should be glad to help, even if it was sometimes painful. At least they hadn’t needed to resort to the electric probe since that first time. But now, when Steve was led into the lab, a hard lump of fear settled in his throat. He had to force himself to lie still while the nurses strapped him in. There should be no reason for the desire to fight them off, to rip through the bonds and run out of the lab.

Almost every day the scientists tried out some new idea to streamline the process. Instead of the bar gag or the strap, they tried out a strange gag that was shaped like a phallus. It was meant to increase Steve’s pleasure, Dr. Keller had explained, leading to a faster orgasm. Steve just found it hard to breathe around the thing. It didn’t feel anything like having a real, living human in his mouth, like Bucky taking his pleasure. Steve didn’t complain, though. It was nice, in a way, to have something else to focus on during his lengthy collection sessions. After a few days of no results, they went back to the other gag.

They also began inserting a plug after each session, when his ass was wet and gaping. This saved time, Dr. Schroder explained, keeping his muscles stretched and ready to accommodate the machine. It did save time in preparation, though Steve found after a week or so that the plug tended to slide out after particularly vigorous sessions. They gave him a larger one to replace it, and Steve heard Dr. Mayer muttering about telling to the fabrication team they’d need to make larger sizes.

Some of their innovations were more successful than others, but Steve tried not to worry too much about which alterations would become permanent, even if they were strange or uncomfortable. His duty was to keep himself fit so he could produce as much genetic material as possible. That’s what Erskine would have wanted him to do, and now that his new body was so strong, he could stand it, no matter what they needed from him.

One day, stumbling back to his little room between sessions and the mess hall, uncertain of the time of day, Steve saw a single sheet of V-Mail set out on his bed. It was from Peggy, with a return address in Italy. The text filled less than half the page, with only a few words blocked out by the censors. He snatched it up to read.

Dear Steve,

I hope you are well, and the scientists’ experiments are not too onerous. I have heard, unofficially of course, that there may be a shift in your duties sometime in the coming weeks, I believe something to do with selling war bonds. I checked into the friend you mentioned, and I’m sorry to inform you that Sergeant Barnes’ unit met the forces of --------------- in a battle a few days ago near --------------- and the entire outfit is missing, presumed dead. I offer my heartfelt condolences. I will write again if I hear of a concrete decision regarding your assignment.

Kindly yours,
Peggy Carter

Steve sank onto his bunk, and the letter fluttered from his hand onto the floor. He stared at the blank wall across from him, and thought this would be a good time to to cry. Was he not crying because he was dehydrated? He’d have to tell the nurses he needed more water. Dehydration impeded efficient collection. He’d been affectionately scolded by Nurse Gilbert before. When he was sick, Buck was always trying to get him to drink something. He’d give Steve hell if he heard Steve wasn’t taking care of himself. Or, he would have.

“Knock knock!” Nurse Rathjen tapped a cursory knock on Steve’s open door, then stepped inside. “Aren’t you coming to the session? You’re late.”

“Right.” Steve rose to his feet and stood still, fighting off a dizzy, sick feeling.

“You don’t want to keep everyone waiting. There’s lots of very busy people who are nice enough to arrange their schedules around your needs. Come on, then.” Rathjen reached out to grab Steve’s wrist, and tugged him gently toward the hallway. She stepped on the letter on her way out, and Steve could do nothing but follow.

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Page 18 of 68

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Re: MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Re: MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Someone gets off on making the Asset cry

Re: MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Re: Getting off the Asset being “dumb”

Re: MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Re: MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Re: MINIFILL: Highest Setting [1/1]

Re: Someone gets off on making the Asset cry

Re: forced intoxication

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people part 2

Re: Getting off the Asset being “dumb”

Re: Someone gets off on making the Asset cry

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people

Re: Someone gets off on making the Asset cry

Re: Someone gets off on making the Asset cry

Re: Someone gets off on making the Asset cry

Re: forced intoxication

Fill: Medical equipment is for people part 3/3

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people

Re: Fill: Medical equipment is for people part 3/3

Re: the asset has a resting bitchface

Fill: Good to the Last Drop (7/?)