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)]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Asset doesn’t mind wearing the bag, really. It’s dark and quiet underneath, and this way, it doesn’t have to worry about trying to avoid making disgusting, ugly faces that will distract its superiors while they’re trying to make use of it. Better to be hidden away, where it can’t disappoint or disgust anyone. There’s less chance of punishment that way and besides, whatever they may say, it really does try to be good.

A good asset would be pretty and silent and not covered in repulsive scars. It wouldn’t have a nasty useless cock that sometimes gets hard and drips fluid that lets everyone know what a pathetic slut it is. It can’t ever seem to be good, no matter how hard it tries. In fact, the harder it tries, the more they tell it how much of a failure it is. It disgusts them even more, it knows, with its efforts. Better to be under the bag, where no one can see it try and fail.

Usually, they cut a hole in the bag so they can still fuck its mouth, but once in a while, like today, the Asset is lucky. It heard its handler, who is in charge even of the people on the team, say that he doesn’t want to risk getting a glimpse of its ugliness, because it couldn’t stay hard through looking at that. Everyone will just have to wait for a turn with its cunt, because its mouth is staying under the bag for today.

That makes it a little hard to breathe, sure, but it also means that no one can fuck its mouth, which actually makes it a lot easier to breathe, since it’s not choking on anyone’s cock. It also doesn’t have to see the expressions of untempered disgust and animal want on their faces as they fuck it. Nothing they do to it—not what they say, not what they make it say, not the bag over its face—reminds it how revolting it is as much as the way they look at it, full of scorn that they don’t trouble to hide (and why would they?).

The way they look at it makes it impossible for the Asset to forget what’s happening when they fuck it. It is being used. Orgasm is a biological need, and fucking it provides some measure of physical pleasure. And that is all it is good for, when it’s not in the field. The only reason anyone would ever touch it is to get off. How they would mock it if they knew it was even imagining that there could be any other reason.

It feels wet trails on its face, and its nose is stuffed up. It often ends up crying while it’s being fucked, though it doesn’t understand why. It tries not to, since it knows the noises and the faces disturb its handlers. It’s safe to cry a little bit under the bag, though, where no one has to look at it.

They’ll probably fuck it for a long time. There were half a dozen men lined up, which is above the critical number—the first will be ready to go again by the time the last has gotten his turn. That means more than one round. It tries not to feel frightened or resentful or anything else. There is no point, as it has its orders. Be still, be silent, be good. Hide under the bag so no one has to look at it. Go away inside and be a nice hole for them to use.

Maybe it can at least do that right.

This breaks my heart. I love it.

Ever since Steve found him, he’s been telling Bucky again and again that everything can go back to normal between them. As if the fact that he’s been HYDRA’s killer and whore for the better part of a century doesn’t change a thing. It’s nice of him to pretend, though. Steve’s always been a swell guy like that.

All his sweet lies can’t change the big tell: he never lays a finger on Bucky. Won’t even let their hands touch by accident when he’s passing Bucky the paper in the morning—he lays it flat on the kitchen table and slides it over.

Bucky remembers everything now. He remembers how casually Steve used to touch him, grabbing his ass when he passed by or kissing his cheek before leaving the room. He remembers when Steve would make love to him, his voice going all high and desperate as he told Bucky how beautiful he was, how much he adored him.

They’ll never go back to that, of course. Steve doesn’t have to say it—Bucky understands, from the cautious way that Steve avoids even the most accidental of physical contact with him.

He is disgusting, obviously. They told him that, over and over again. He doesn’t know why some small, stupid part of him imagined that would be different. Sure, Steve doesn’t treat him the way HYDRA did. But the other stuff they did to him, the beatings and rapes and mindwipes, those were all to control him, to keep him in his place, to turn him into the perfect weapon.

The disgust, though, that was real. They’d laugh at him or call him names or put a bag over his head for their own benefit, so they didn’t have to see how ugly he was. It wasn’t part of the torture, it was real.

So obviously Steve wouldn’t want to touch him either. Oh, he’s nice about it, he doesn’t point out why he scrupulously avoids so much as an accidental chaste touch, but he wouldn’t want to be closer to Bucky than he has to. Honestly, it’s pretty terrible of Bucky to put Steve in this position where he has to look at his horrible face and deformed body all the time. If he were decent, he’d run away so Steve wouldn’t have to look at him any more.

He isn’t decent, obviously. Not enough to put a bullet through his head as a rightful apology for everything he’s done, and not enough to put himself out of Steve’s misery. Instead he remains, an omnipresent, hideous reminder of all that Steve has lost. It’s cruel to hang around like this, and he knows it, and he does it anyway. Poor Steve, forced to pretend it doesn’t disgust him.

Steve’s never been that good a liar, is the thing. His discomfort with the omnipresence of Bucky, or rather this ugly, unloveable thing that insists on walking around wearing Bucky’s name and looking too much like him and yet not enough, is palpable every time they’re in the same room.

Bucky won’t run, won’t hide. He should, but he can’t bear to. Nor will he inflict himself on Steve more than he has to. He stays in his room most of the time, listening to Steve putter around the kitchen. When Steve is in his own bedroom, Bucky can hear his breathing through the wall. Sometimes he hears Steve touch himself. He knows Steve is imagining handsome Bucky Barnes with him, his strong right hand wrapped around Steve, two boys fumbling toward pleasure together.

Bucky won’t make Steve talk about it, since he obviously doesn’t want to, but he just wishes he could find some way to tell Steve how sorry he is that he can’t ever be good or clean or worthy of Steve’s touch again.

this is my favourite flavour of trash, and one that is sadly thin on the the ground these days. thanks for writing!

So sad in its hopelessness. Poor Bucky!

augh I love your Bucky voice so much <3

“Whatever you need to feel safe, Buck,” Steve had promised, his voice all honey-soft and gentle. So Bucky tells him.

Just keeping the lights off isn’t enough. There’s too much of a chance that the light from the window, or Steve’s enhanced eyesight, mean that he could still see Bucky.

He’d suggested Steve fuck him from behind, with Bucky on his knees so that he can hide his face in the pillow, but it turns out that position won’t work for him for reasons he prefers not to dwell on. He might have tried to hide the terror, but apparently he’s not quick enough—right away, Steve notices how tense this position makes him, the way he flinches when Steve touches him, and vetoes it indefinitely.

Which all adds up to him having very little choice other than to bring up the thing he specifically was trying to avoid asking for. He knows how weird it is, knows it will probably make Steve get all tense and quiet the way he always does when Bucky mentions anything that makes it impossible for him to avoid thinking about the more horrible aspects of his time with HYDRA. He tries not to bring up anything that will make Steve do that.

But there’s no way to do it other than to be straightforward, so he tells Steve he’s gonna need a bag over his head or something to hide his face.

Steve doesn’t ask any questions. Maybe it’s obvious why he needs it. Maybe he secretly appreciates Bucky asking for it so he doesn’t have to.

Of course, being Steve, he won’t just grab a pillowcase from the closet or a paper bag from the kitchen and shove it over Bucky’s head, even though Bucky would honestly be fine with that (at least it’s not a trash bag, or dirty underwear, or any of the other things he’s had his face ground into by HYDRA). Instead, Steve goes off and does a bunch of research and finds some company that custom-makes sex masks. Bucky doesn’t want to ask exactly what it costs, since the process involves taking about two million minute measurements of Bucky’s face and he figures that’s probably a sign that the whole thing is gonna be fairly pricey. He knows that wouldn’t change Steve’s mind, anyway.

The thing, when it arrives, reminds Bucky of nothing so much as the muzzle he used to wear when he was out on missions. It’s black leather, delicately curved and sturdily made. There is a comfortably molded piece that sits over his nose, with holes so he can breathe easily, and two zippers over the mouth and the eyes.

“This way… I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what you’re comfortable with, if this is about being restrained for you, not being able to see or speak, but if you want, you can have the mask on and still we’ll be able to talk, or you can see me, or we can kiss, if you’re okay with that…” Steve trails off, like he’s kind of embarrassed, which Bucky finds enchanting because Steve isn’t the one about to try on his custom-ordered sex mask and thus should probably not feel that he’s the one with anything to be embarrassed about.

“We can try with them open,” Bucky concedes. You never know, that might end up being okay, and he knows Steve would be happy about it. And obviously he wants Steve to be happy, that’s the whole point of the exercise.

It’s put a lot of strain on Steve, this whole thing where Bucky is convinced that he’s disgusting. Steve wants to try to fix it with words and gentle touches and sweet kisses, wants to tell Bucky a thousand times how gorgeous he is and how much Steve wants him, and Bucky wants to let him do that but it makes his stomach churn bilious and red-hot and his jaw clench like a fist and he just can’t even stand to hear it.

He’d sort of thought Steve would give up around the first time that Bucky told him to get lost, that he wasn’t worth it, that if Steve didn’t have the balls to call it off and admit that Bucky was too far gone to be worth saving and no one would ever want him like that again, Bucky would do it for him.

Instead, Steve had shrugged (shrugged!) and said that sex didn’t matter that much to him, as long as Bucky was back and safe, but any time Bucky wanted to give it a shot, he just had to let Steve know what would work for him.

And so, through a long series of trials (Steve’s) and errors (Bucky’s), they’d arrived at the mask.

Bucky lets Steve strip him first, since this part doesn’t usually freak him out too badly, though touching has to be kept to a minimum. Only then does Steve fix the mask over Bucky’s face.

Bucky relaxes almost immediately, because he’s safe under here. He can make whatever faces he wants and Steve won’t see how fucked up and ugly he is, won’t be disgusted and have the fun ruined for him. And Bucky can relax, and imagine.

As Steve starts to kiss his way down Bucky’s body, as he carefully rims him open, Bucky closes his eyes under the mask and remembers cruel, cold hands tearing him open, and the laughs of disgust, and the spit and piss splashing on him.

It’s over, he reminds himself. He’s with Steve now. He’s safe and hidden and Steve wants this, wants Bucky like this, disgusting as he is.

Bucky has to give it to him. He forces himself to relax, his face invisible, his body ready to serve its purpose.

“And so, through a long series of trials (Steve’s) and errors (Bucky’s), they’d arrived at the mask.”

This is beautifully written! It hurts and soothes my heart at the same time! Glad the mask works.

That ending is so bittersweet. Things come bleeding through, don't they.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

fill 2/4

Re: fill 2/4

fill 3/4

Re: fill 3/4

Re: fill 3/4

Re: fill 3/4

fill 4/4

Re: fill 4/4

Re: fill 4/4