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.

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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

How does OP feel about this happening to pre-serum Steve?

not the OP but that sounds AMAZING. tiny!Steve already has so many masculinity issues...

So Strike team are bastards. But they are still human bastards with human interests and personalities. And Winter is something of a team pet/slave - not human, exactly but certainly liked and cared for.
I just want Hydra casual downtime, doing perfectly normal things, and dragging Winter into those activities - all the while casually, non-explicitly denying him agency

Hydra masquerading as STRIKE and manipulating Steve is hands down one of my favorite things. Not sure if this has been done before but I'd love if as part of returning to active duty, Steve has to go to regular therapy.

Except, of course, the "therapist" is a Hydra officer who spends the sessions verbally abusing/gaslighting Steve and assigns homework like facing his fears by taking ice baths and other unpleasant things.

+ Bonus points if the therapist has Steve keep a journal of his feelings/whatnot and sneaks access to it and uses it all against him.
+++++++++++ Bonus points if at some point Steve has to talk or write about his biggest fantasies (for the good of the country, Steve) but it's all stuff like holding hands and god forbid, cuddling.

Bucky gets repeatedly kneed in the balls by a sadistic bad guy with a specific ball busting fetish. I don’t care what kind of sick side effects this has. Think crying, pleading, vomiting, pain/fear boners, humiliating bodily reactions, you name it.

+ Bonus points for Bucky standing up or being suspended while it happens so there’s less crushing and more blunt force trauma going on
++ Bucky is still the asset and didn’t do anything to warrant punishment
+/- Hitting & other forms of torture could be a part of it, too, but I’d really like the knee being rammed upwards and into the groin area concept
+/- Doesn’t have to involve serious medical injuries. I’m good with intense pain alone but that’s entirely up to the filler
+++ possible aftermath: Bucky has a complicated relationship with his balls (body dysphoria, touch aversion, inflicting pain to get off or to keep himself under control, ruining his own orgasms by twisting them, getting them surgically removed...)

Prompt inspired by this fanart here: https://www.redbubble.com/de/people/randymeeks/works/25940630-the-end-of-the-line?SSAID=389818&asc=u&utm_campaign=banner&utm_medium=affiliates&utm_source=shareasale

Dear op the last bonus turned me into a train wreck.
I am considering giving it a try. This would be my first trash fanfic and I don't want to discourage anyone else from writing theirs.

I keep imagining it with my OFC. Steve would have been on a couple of dates with her and he hopes that it's going pretty well. They would both be kidnapped and rumlow and friends would have fun reading his therapy ordered journal out loud to the both of them. Also I like happy endings.

Let me know it that would be something you would be interested in

LOVE IT, this is such a unique one. also can't wait to read more!

So Steve and Sam are on their looking-for-Bucky tour when something goes wrong and Sam gets captured by a couple of HYDRA creeps. The HYDRA agents think Sam and Steve were getting too close to discovering their cel's headquarters (or some super weapon, Bucky, etc—author's choice), so to prevent that, they whisk Sam off on a trash road trip in the other direction, leaving Steve enough unfortunate clues to follow but not catch up.

+ Plenty of rape, humiliation, never letting Sam out of their sight/keeping him restrained—but it's also interspersed with them treating him "nicely"/like he's just their roadtrip bud, which keeps Sam in state of never knowing what's going to happen.

+ HYDRA agents have some additional coercive leverage on Sam so they can make him play along in more public settings.

+ Terrible motel room 'clues' left behind (and maybe Sam ends up trying to leave some of his own?), audio/video messages, whatever creative badness you can think of for the wild-goose-chase element.

(Could use Rumlow and Rollins for the HYDRA agents btw, but no pref from me over others/OCs and nooo need for canon compliance. Just more Sam trash 5ever, please <3.)

This... is everything I've ever wanted! Gonna give a try at filling this.

Quick question OP, when you say "bad guy", does that mean you only want the ballbuster to be a man? I have ideas for both man or woman, so no worries, just wanted to check!

(Also, thank you for the reference picture. The rest of that artist's work is A+++ as well!)

The Emissary smiled to see the prisoner was already strung up naked and waiting for him when he entered the room. He was good at what he did, and Hydra knew it. They always accommodated him in whatever he asked. They might not like him, or his methods, but they couldn’t argue with his results.

This prisoner only had one intact arm. It was held aloft by a chain dangling from the ceiling secured to a cuff on his wrist. A contraption made from thick leather was fastened around his chest, slung beneath his armpits and secured by another chain from the ceiling that connected behind the stump of his left arm. The chains kept the prisoner’s body uncomfortably stretched out, forcing him up onto the balls of his feet. There were also heavy weights attached to both of his ankles, to keep his legs slightly spread and to prevent him from kicking. The Emissary let his attention rest where he most wanted; where the prisoner’s soft, vulnerable genitals dangled in a nest of dark hair. His penis was uncircumcised and nothing special in size, but his ample balls hung low in their sac between his thighs, encouraged by how warm the room was, per the Emissary’s specifications.

The Emissary licked his lips, feeling his cock stirring in his pants, but he didn’t dwell on the objects of his interest. His eyes moved up the prisoner’s muscular body, noting how hairy the man was all over. He did take a moment to linger on where the prisoner’s stump ended a few inches above where his elbow should be. It didn’t look as if it had been surgically removed, more like it had been torn off somehow. It was an ugly, twisted mess, but the Emissary didn’t let his curiosity remain. He had a job to do.

He smiled wider, his cock stirring more insistently when the prisoner’s eyes opened and registered his presence. The Emissary ordered the two guards who had accompanied him through the facility to leave. The prisoner failed to suppress his flinch when the door banged loudly closed behind them. The Emissary smiled even wider, slowly reaching down to adjust his erection behind his black fatigues.

He was good at what he did because he liked what he did.

The prisoner’s eyes widened slightly as he thought he understood what the Emissary wanted. Then, they narrowed into slits as his jaw set. The Emissary was pleased. There was nothing better than breaking down a fighter. He moved closer to his victim until he was standing directly in front of him looking up into his face. The prisoner would be a centimeter or two taller than the Emissary, even without being forced up on tiptoe.

“You’re American, yes?”

The Emissary spoke perfect English without a trace of any accent. He already knew the answers to his questions. He wanted the prisoner to think about his home. Nostalgia was its own special kind of pain. Nostalgia for a place he’d never see again and for the people he’d left there.

“From New York City?”

He studied the prisoner’s face. He had requested that the prisoner be cleaned, inside and out, before his arrival. The prisoner’s dark hair was shaggy and unkempt, but his face had been recently shaved. Only a shadow of stubble remained on his cheeks and chin.

“Brooklyn?”

He was haggard, but the Emissary couldn’t think of another word but pretty for the prisoner’s face. His erection pulsed, and the Emissary felt a rush of hatred for the prisoner. He hated his blue eyes, his round cheeks, and how full his lips were. He hated the effect the prisoner had on him, when he was the one who should be in control.

The Emissary knew how to change that.

“Don’t feel like talking,” He sneered up at the prisoner. “Or did you lose your tongue as well as your arm?”

The prisoner’s lips opened.

“James Barnes,” he croaked out his name. “Sergeant. 325- ”

The Emissary brought his knee up swiftly between the prisoner’s legs. His aim was long practiced and perfected. The first strike he made to land up and behind his victim’s balls, swinging them violently forward rather than crushing them against the body. The rest of the prisoner’s serial number was lost in a shuddering intake of breath. His eyes bulged comically and his lips made a little “o” of surprise.

“Aaagh, fuck!”

The prisoner bellowed, breath and voice returning as he tried to curl in on himself. His legs strained to close, and both his good arm and his stump twitched to cradle and protect his balls. The Emissary laughed once, pressing down on his insistent cock and shivering from the pleasure. The prisoner’s eyes found his. They were clouded with involuntary tears. He swore one more time in a trembling whimper before he forcefully clenched his lips together. He breathed heavily through his nose.

“You have no name,” the Emissary told him calmly. “You have no rank. You have no number. You are an asset of Hydra now, and we will tell you who and what you are.”

He saw the prisoner’s internal struggle in his face. There was fear in his eyes and his nostrils flared. Pain was still radiating from between his legs into his belly and his brain. He didn’t want any more of that pain.

“J-James Barnes- ”

The prisoner’s voice cracked and shook. He was at war with himself as much as with the Emissary or with Hydra, and this was the Emissary’s favorite part of the whole thing. How a man’s stubbornness and pride could betray his instincts for self-preservation. How his very manhood could jeopardize itself. The Emissary didn’t know why he found that so arousing, but he did.

The Emissary brought his knee up and struck his targets three times in quick succession, putting more power into the blows as they progressed. The final blow pushed the prisoner’s balls against his body, cutting off the man’s tortured scream as it forced the meager contents of his stomach to expel from his mouth. The Emissary had already stepped away so none of the vomit would splash on him.

“Aaagh, fuck, oh God!”

The prisoner screamed. The muscles of his arm and legs flexed and spasmed, trying desperately to stop the unacceptable pain. He was crying, the tears involuntarily wrenched from his eyes by the heaves of his body. Snot and vomit dribbled down, the mixture hanging languorously from his chin before it dropped to the stone floor between his feet. Not so pretty now. The Emissary smirked and moved back in front of the prisoner.

“I don’t know if you’ve been keeping track, but you’ve been our prisoner for almost a year now.”

The prisoner coughed and sputtered. He closed his eyes, squeezing more tears down his face.

“Look at me.”

The prisoner shuddered, but he didn’t comply. The Emissary laughed and brought his knee up, only once, but with as much force as he could. The prisoner’s eyes bulged open. He shrieked, a high-pitched wail of agony, and writhed helplessly in his bonds. The Emissary nearly came in his pants.

“They bring me in when they’ve tried and failed to break a man with everything else.”

The prisoner’s eyes refocused on the Emissary’s. There was pain there, and fear, but the Emissary could still see that undercurrent of defiance. It was both infuriating and arousing. He’d almost be sad when this one was finally broken.

“Do you know why?”

The prisoner spat at his feet.

“S-serge-geant,” he picked up his mantra where he’d left off before. “3-32- ”

He knew what to expect now, and he moaned with dread as he saw the Emissary’s leg lifting toward his aching balls. His body futilely tried to twist away. The Emissary struck the prisoner’s sac five times at the same velocity. Lighter blows than before, striking the abused organs up and forward. He didn’t want the prisoner passing out.

“I suspect you’re beginning to understand why,” the Emissary commented loudly over the man’s gasping screams. “As I suspect you know how to make this stop.”

A thin stream of piss splashed from the prisoner’s limp cock and joined the puddle of his other bodily fluids. The Emissary sneered.

“Disgusting.”

“Oh, oh god, wh-why?”

The prisoner was sobbing now, his eyes downcast. The Emissary didn’t know if he was talking to him or not.

“Why what?”

The prisoner bit his lip and shook his head, eyes remaining on the floor.

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself, you know.”

The Emissary kneed him again. The prisoner’s corresponding scream was raspier.

“I don’t know how much more your balls can take,” he commented. “It would be a shame if I were forced to break them completely.”

The prisoner sagged in his chains, wheezing for air. Fear flashed in his eyes at the Emissary’s warning.

“Y-you wouldn’t,” he croaked, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “You- you want me to- to be a soldier for you.”

The Emissary suppressed his satisfaction that he’d gotten the prisoner to converse with him.

“Yes, and?”

“You don’t want- you need- I need my balls to be a soldier!”

The prisoner’s face was a mess, but underneath the crust of snot and vomit the Emissary could see the scared little boy. Such a pretty little boy.

“Wrong,” the Emissary said. “You don’t need anything to be our soldier. We only need your mind. Your sex is inconsequential to us. A liability, even.”

He brought his leg suddenly up into the prisoner’s groin. The prisoner needed to know how inconsequential he was, and, besides, the Emissary loved the look of shocked agony the prisoner made when he wasn’t expecting the blow. The prisoner didn’t disappoint. The Emissary’s cock had been softening a little, but the blood roared back to it.

“Aaagh, no, please! Please no more!”

The Emissary loved the way this prisoner begged.

“There will be no more when I’ve decided you’ve had enough,” the Emissary told him. “And you’re the one who has to convince me of that.”

“No, no I can’t- ” the prisoner shook his head wildly. “I can’t- ”

“We can start simply. Hail, Hydra.”

The prisoner looked at him as he made the salute. Rage and anguish flickered in his eyes.

“32557038,” the numbers rushed from his lips so he could finish them before he needed to take another gasping breath. “James Barnes. Serge- ”

The Emissary sighed dramatically. He kneed the prisoner ten times at full strength. The prisoner’s voice went so high that it cracked on the third strike. He screamed silently until the seventh strike, when he heaved bile from his throat. It struck the Emissary in the chest. He was too libidinous to care.

“They’re really swelling up. They might already be goners.”

“Oh, fuck! H-hail- Hail, Hydra! Fuck, fuck stop!”

The Emissary kneed him once. The prisoner’s body seized, then hung slack.

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

The prisoner opened his mouth but only babbled a string of incomprehensible noises before he closed it again. He hung from his chains, drooling as his body was wracked with little spasms of pain. There was a spot of precome soaking the front of the Emissary’s fatigues.

“Good, though. The first hail is always the hardest for men like you.”

The Emissary reached out and took the prisoner’s swollen sac into his hand. A gentle caress, but painful to the prisoner. He groaned piteously and began to sob again.

“N-no- please, no- ”

The Emissary rolled the prisoner’s balls in his hand. He could feel them pulsing, trying to retract from his touch, which meant they were still alive. He grinned.

“They’ve tortured you in all manner of ways, haven’t they? But not like this. No, most men don’t have the stomach for this. It was like that in the Middle Ages. All manner of horrific devices, and they would easily shove them down a woman’s throat or up her cunt, but they wouldn’t touch a man’s manhood.”

He pressed down on his cock, relishing the pleasure that sparked through him. So close, but not yet. Not yet.

“I’m not like most men.”

The Emissary released the prisoner’s sac.

“Who do you belong to? Who do you serve?”

“No,” the prisoner moaned. “No, I can’t. Please don’t.”

A little boy, begging to keep his favorite toy.

“Hail,” the Emissary said, drawing the word out for two syllables to give the prisoner a chance to join. “Come on, you’ve already done it. Hail- ”

“Please,” the prisoner whispered. “Please don’t.”

The Emissary did, crushing the prisoner’s balls against his pelvis. The prisoner retched, but he had nothing left to vomit. He whined like a dog, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked like he was going into shock.

“Say it.”

“Hail- ” the prisoner choked on his sob. “Hail, Hydra.”

His voice was detached and defeated.

“Good.”

The Emissary was so close. He reached up to brush the hair away from the prisoner’s sweating forehead. The prisoner didn’t respond.

“One more time for me.”

“Hail, Hydra.”

The prisoner didn’t hesitate. The Emissary was proud of himself. Proud, but sad, too. This one had been particularly fun. The Emissary took the prisoner’s balls in his hand again, wanting to verify what he already suspected. The sac was cooler. He could tell that the organs inside were dead. Another exemplary specimen of manhood brought down by his own stubborn pride.

The Emissary allowed the wave of pleasure to take him over the edge. He shuddered through his orgasm, loving how good it felt without needing to be touched. Loving the dead testicles he was squeezing, and even loving their former owner. He couldn’t hate the prisoner anymore. The prisoner was pathetic. Pitiable. Broken.

“You should have said it sooner,” he told the prisoner once he’d regained his faculties. “Your balls are dead.”

“No,” the prisoner shook his drooping head. “No, you’re lying.”

The Emissary dropped the prisoner’s balls. He brought his knee up, but stopped before he made contact with the engorged sac. The prisoner let out a broken scream reflexively, and the Emissary laughed at him.

“I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll do whatever you want! Oh god, please- Hail, Hydra. Hail, Hydra!”

The Emissary laughed harder and turned his back on the prisoner.

“Goodbye, my pretty little eunuch. The doctor will be in soon to remove the dead flesh from between your legs.”

“No! No, it’s not dead- they’re not- I need them to- Hail, Hydra! Hail, Hydra!”

He cried out his new mantra like a prayer. Like Hydra would hear and deliver him from the fate they had orchestrated for him. The Emissary headed for the door as the prisoner’s hails began to break into gasping sobs. He could feel the room’s cloying heat for the first time, and he wanted to be out of it.

“Well?”

One of the guards asked him in German once he was in the welcome chill of the corridor.

“Tell the commander his asset is ready for him,” the Emissary spoke perfect German without a trace of any accent. “And make sure a doctor attends to it soon. Its testicles are dead and need to be removed as quickly as possible.”

“Ugh,” the guard shuddered with horror and his lip curled in disgust. “Alright, I will do as you say.”

“Hail, Hydra.”

The guards returned the Emissary’s salute with far less passion than the newly broken prisoner. That thought made the Emissary smile.

OP here: Oh my god!!! That fill is so perfect! Making it a part of Bucky’s breaking in was even better than I expected! I loved every second of reading this! Especially digged the Hail Hydra request though! Thank you so much for filling the prompt! What a blast... Or bust you know? ;)
If you ever feel like writing an aftermath with post Catws Bucky, too, I’ll gift you my first born. Anyways, thank you for this glorious fic and let me know if you’re gonna post it to ao3.

(AA) I'm so happy you liked it OP! I felt like this prompt included everything I love and I couldn't not write it. I feel like there's not enough fics where Bucky is forced to say Hail, Hydra, or the Asset says it casually, and I'm glad you liked that addition.

I'm always a slut for some aftermath. Anything in particular you'd want to see from that? Or not see, content or ship-wise? (I ask because Steve/Bucky is my go-to ship, but I'm open to trying others if that's not your thing).

Seriously though, this prompt was so good, blew my writer's block out of the water, so thank you!

Also, oops, totally forgot to add the ao3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179821

OP here again: It’s a mutually beneficial fic experience then. :D Great! I love Steve/Bucky most of all the ships so I‘d be 100% on board with them dealing with the aftermath. Anywhere you wanna take this is fine! I loved the aspect you brought in of Bucky thinking a soldier needs his balls so I’ve had the idea that he feels really ashamed about his body without them. Maybe he views this as one of the worst things Hydra did to him (even worse than the brainwashing). Although Steve doesn’t mind (or he wouldn’t if Bucky told him how he felt) Bucky feels like he’s lacking something. I’m gonna write you a message on ao3. ;) I have lots of ideas if you feel like brainstorming.

Yes, please do! :DDD

“Bucky.”

Steve whispered his lover’s name after Bucky had finished. He stared up at Bucky through his tears. Bucky’s face was lean with the shadow of stubble on his chin and cheeks. The greasepaint made the whites of his eyes shine.

“How are you here?”

Steve had his own theories, but the question slipped before he could stop himself.

“I received my orders from Director Pierce last night,” Bucky intoned, back straightening. “My team and I rendezvoused here. While we awaited information on the location of the targets, Commander Rumlow deemed it appropriate to engage in recreation with- ”

“No,” Steve interjected forcefully, not wanting to hear the rest. “I meant how- how are you alive?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand the question.”

His voice was still so flat. There was no trace of the Brooklyn accent that Steve remembered. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

“That’s okay, nevermind.”

Steve rose to his feet.

“Will you come with me?”

The nightmare of what would come next was dawning on Steve. The explanations to Nat and Sam. Keeping Bucky safe and hidden while they made a stand against Pierce and Hydra.

“Where?”

The creases in Bucky’s brow deepened and he squinted with confusion.

“Home.”

The word escaped before he had a chance to reflect on it. It was a ridiculous word to use here. Steve had no home, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of the contrary. He hadn’t had a real home since 1942 when Bucky had shipped out for basic training and left Steve alone in their apartment.

He had no home, but for the first time since he woke up in this strange century, he thought that he could have one again.

-------

It should have been a simple mission. The Asset was leading a STRIKE team to remove four enemies of Hydra before they could compromise the Director’s Insight. Director Pierce had given the Asset permission to use any means necessary, attack in broad daylight as the Asset had when Director Fury was the target. Civilian casualties were of no matter.

The Asset had rendezvoused with the four elite STRIKE personnel at a SHIELD base. It had recognized some of them from the Fury mission. Commander Rumlow stood out in particular. The Asset remembered how he had looked at the Asset, a hungry gleam in his eye as he followed the Asset’s orders. The Asset rarely felt anything, but Rumlow made it feel uncomfortable. No matter. After Insight’s launch, the Asset knew it would be permitted a wipe. It could maintain until then.

“Five fuckin’ hours,” Agent Rollins complained, sitting slumped against a wall with the other men while the Asset stood apart from them. “Why we gotta wait five fuckin’ hours?”

The Asset didn’t know. It wasn’t its place to question. It knew Rollins should be reprimanded, but that wasn’t its place, either.

“Quit your bitchin’,” Rumlow admonished his subordinate. “You know what they say. Only boring people are bored.”

Rollins shut his mouth, scowling.

“What is this room, anyway?”

Agent Hunter asked, looking around the barren room with curiosity. Rumlow shrugged.

“Medical storage I think. Look, they’ve got stirrups. Hey Rollins, aren’t you overdue for a pap smear?”

Rollins sarcastically pretended to laugh, with a glare at Agents Hunter and Stewart who were chuckling lightly at his expense. The Asset didn’t understand the humor. It didn’t need to. Out of the corner of its eye it saw Rumlow leering up at him. It was unsettled.

“You know,” Rumlow looked between the Asset and the gurney with the stirrups. “I have an idea how we could pass the time.”

“No way,” Rollins caught on first to what Rumlow was implying. “You know that’s only for the higher ups.”

The Asset understood then. Directors and handlers were permitted to use the Asset sexually. At times it had been gifted to world leaders, diplomats, and politicians that Hydra was wooing. It didn’t remember the encounters, but it had been informed of them. Director Pierce had reminded it last night as he used the Asset over his kitchen table.

“I’m the fuckin’ STRIKE Commander,” Rumlow snapped with wounded pride as he stood. “That should be fuckin’ high enough. Besides, I got a trick up my sleeve- ”

“Only one way to find out.”

Stewart said as he stood, a similar gleam in his eyes. He palmed at his crotch, adjusting his visible erection. The Asset stood its ground, though its instincts screamed that it was in some kind of danger.

“I guess so,” Rollins conceded from the floor. “Commander, give it an order.”

“Wait,” Hunter stood up. “I’m not here for that. I’m not a queer.”

“Neither am I,” Rumlow glared imperiously. “Neither is the Director. That thing’s not a man. They cut its balls off years ago.”

He gestured at the Asset’s groin. Hunter blanched.

“What? No, really?”

“Yeah,” Rumlow smirked. “I heard its dick can’t even get hard.”

“Shit,” Hunter said, ogling the Asset with morbid curiosity. “I never heard any of that before. I wanna see.”

The three standing men converged on the Asset, Rumlow in the lead. The Asset stood its ground. It didn’t think Rumlow had the clearance to use it like this. If he tried, the Asset could stop him. Of all its current handlers, Director Pierce was the most possessive of the Asset. It knew he would want the Asset to stop Rumlow.

“Ne trogay menya,” it warned the men, looking directly at Rumlow. “YA ostanovlyu tebya.”

It raised its arms slowly into a defensive posture. It didn’t like the way its heart was pounding. Too fast for the circumstances.

“What did it say?”

Rollins stood and joined the others where they ringed the Asset. They were giving it plenty of space, but the Asset felt trapped. Its back hit the wall as Rumlow took one step forward. He grinned toothily.

“Zhelaniye,” Rumlow said, and the Asset knew that he had the authority after all. “Rzhavyy. Semnadtsat’. Rassvet- ”

The Asset’s muscles seized and it felt a fog seep into its brain. It hadn’t needed the Words since it had been defrosted here in Washington D.C. Director Pierce said he didn’t like to use the Words when the Chair worked just as well, and would even let the Asset make better tactical decisions in the field.

Rumlow finished the Words. The Asset let him know it was ready to comply.

“What the hell did you do to him?”

Stewart sounded impressed.

“Knowledge is power, gentlemen,” Rumlow’s voice was vicious, condescending. “Asset.”

The Asset already had all of its focus on Rumlow.

“Take off your clothes.”

The Asset complied. It reached for its mask last.

“Leave the mask. I don’t wanna look at your face.”

The Asset left the mask on.

“Get on the gurney. Face up.”

The Asset did. The men surrounded the gurney.

“Put your feet in the stirrups.”

The Asset did.

“Ugh, you were right.”

Hunter was transfixed by the Asset’s groin. He lifted the Asset’s small cock and ran his finger down the scar beneath it. He shivered with horror.

“Asset,” Rumlow said. “You’re gonna show me and my friends here a good time.”

The Asset nodded, its feet over its head and legs spread uncomfortably wide.

“Should we tie him- it- down?”

There was a note of trepidation in Rollins’ question.

“Shouldn’t have to.”

Rumlow tried to sound confident, but there was audible doubt in his voice.

“I’d feel safer.”

Stewart said. He had already pulled his cock out through his fly and was stroking it eagerly. Rumlow rolled his eyes, but didn’t put up any more of a fight.

“Fine. Pussies.”

Rumlow secured the Asset’s legs in the stirrups while Hunter strapped down its right arm and Rollins strapped down its metal arm.

“Not like those restraints are gonna do much good,” Rumlow felt compelled to add when they were done. “I mean, if it really wanted to hurt us.”

Something passed between the men that the Asset didn’t understand. Some thrill of danger.

“You first,” Rollins said to Rumlow, pulling his own cock out into the air. “Sir.”

Rumlow ignored Rollins’ insubordination. He released his straining cock from his fly, then spat on his right hand and coated himself with the saliva. The Asset knew that it wouldn’t be enough. It braced itself for the pain, relaxing its sphincter as much as it could. Rumlow moved between the Asset’s legs, prodding his cock around the entrance to its hole.

“One more thing, Asset,” Rumlow paused, a sadistic grin twisting his face. “Scream for me.”

He pushed his way inside. The Asset complied.

YESSS

I love the asset POV and I love Rumlow in this

O M G
this is all kinds of perfect!!!

I'm slack-jawed, stunned, I want this so much and am appalled it never occurred to me as a scenario. It's... perfect. OP is a shining beacon of light atop this trash heap, maybe some kind of luminescent fungus.

(AA) I'd been having trouble writing more of this story, and then I realized that the trouble with a Steve POV in this situation is that once the trash party is discovered, Steve is going to end said trash party. Time for a flashback and narrator switch. :)))

And Rumlow. I love writing creepy, awful Rumlow <3

Thank you for the feedback, I really appreciate it!

(AA) Thank you! I was trying to figure out what this story needed, and it was obviously an extended trash party scenario! ;DDD

this was fucking amazing!!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 45 of 68

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Re: Cut Steve's balls off

Re: Cut Steve's balls off

Casual Strike Team trash

Steve's fake therapy/actual torture

Prompt: What a bust

Re: Steve's fake therapy/actual torture

Re: The House Wins (3/?)

Sam kidnap/road trip trash

Re: Prompt: What a bust

Fill: Busted

Fill: Busted (2)

Fill: Busted (3/3)

Re: Fill: Busted (3/3)

Re: Fill: Busted (3/3)

Re: Fill: Busted (3/3)

Re: Fill: Busted (3/3)

Re: Fill: Busted (3/3)

Fill: The Victim, Pt. 2.5/?

Fill: The Victim, Pt. 3/?

Re: Fill: The Victim, Pt. 3/?

Re: Fill: The Victim, Pt. 3/?

Re: Sam kidnap/road trip trash

Re: Fill: The Victim, Pt. 3/?

Re: Fill: The Victim, Pt. 3/?

Re: Fill: Busted (3/3)