Trash Party Dumpster #1

[trashmod]

(Will be continued in a Dumpster #2 post if by some unholy hell-miracle this post hits the 5000-comment limit.)

Filthy anon dumpster for sad hobos to fling moldy pizza crusts, raccoon eye makeup tips, and garbage about their sad trash kinks at each other.

AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. One hundred percent Hydra Party Favor Bucky Barnes, Is It Sexy Violence Or Violent Sex?, and Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves: Winter Soldier Edition. BLANKET NON-CON/DUB-CON WARNING, not safe for work, not safe for life, not safe for anyone, read at your own risk of becoming one of us.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, etc. are off-topic.

Organization: hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive maintained by greenkirtle. If you fill a prompt, drop a link at the fill post. Discussion threads now have a chatter post.

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GO TO TOWN, TRASHBABIES.

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Round 1 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 2.

Comments

Natasha/Winter Soldier, non-con and memory fuckery

[(Anonymous)]

Natasha and the Winter Soldier had an illicit affair going back in the Soviet days. When they're found out, one of the ways their superiors punish them is by erasing her memories of ever having known him and making him hold her down and fuck her against her will.

+1 if they both had the memory of that incident suppressed further down the line and it starts coming back when they get to know each other in the present day.

MCU, comics canon or fusion, take your pick.

Re: Natasha/Winter Soldier, non-con and memory fuckery

[(Anonymous)]

+1

i love bucky/nat but i've also secretly been aching for some darker stuff between them lately

D:

Bucky/Clint, conditioned triggers + forced pleasure

[(Anonymous)]

A variation on the prompt for conditioned sex triggers above (http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=19787):

Bucky has regained some/most of his memories and joined the Avengers, but his Winter Soldier conditioning remains largely intact. The others believe they have uncovered all of his combat trigger phrases, but they never suspected (and Bucky, ashamed, didn't tell them) that he's also been programmed to perform sexually on command.

Clint accidentally triggers the Winter Soldier's sexual conditioning when they're alone together. He didn't mean to, he doesn't swing that way, but now he's got 240 lbs. of brain-washed serum-enhanced super-soldier pinning him down, and he doesn't know the Winter Soldier's trigger-word for "stop." Trying to fight off the Winter Soldier only makes him work harder to pleasure Clint in all the ways he's been taught by HYDRA (the Winter Soldier interprets pain as a sign that he's not performing adequately and has to do better). In the end, Clint has no other choice than to let the Winter Soldier complete his "mission."

- Bonus points if Clint finds the situation more terrifying than arousing - the Winter Soldier is extremely dangerous, especially when he's following an unknown programming with nobody in control, and Clint is just a regular unaugmented person; the Winter Soldier could easily maim or kill him while sexing him up, and Clint is helpless to stop him.

- Double bonus points if Clint and Bucky have a really awkward conversation about it afterwards.

Re: Bucky/Clint, conditioned triggers + forced pleasure

[(Anonymous)]

Duuuuude, Clint and Bucky having really awkward post-dubcon conversations about mind control? INTO IT.

Pierce/Rumlow, puppy play

[(Anonymous)]

Pierce absolutely loves coercing Rumlow into acting like a good, obedient dog. The mixture of shame, self-loathing and fear in Rumlow's eyes only makes it so much better for Alex...

Winter Soldier/any, ordered to rape

[(Anonymous)]

We know adrenaline can cause/mimic physical arousal. So what if one day Rumlow or whoever notices that the Winter Soldier's little soldier is standing at attention after a mission and gives him permission to rape a prisoner.

Re: Winter Soldier/any, ordered to rape

[(Anonymous)]

Oooooooh I love this. Would you want a male-parts prisoner or female-parts prisoner?

Underwear

[(Anonymous)]

So, do you reckon they bother to give the Winter Soldier anything to wear underneath his armour? If no, he's always going commando, and if yes, someone has to go shopping and pick out underwear for their assassin.

Rumlow/Steve, false fluff

[(Anonymous)]

I have such a thing for deception and manipulation and hurting good guys turning unwittingly to the absolute worst people for comfort, and I want to see Steve looking for his comfort in Rumlow. Who uses his trust both to watch him in case he develops suspicions, and to get into his pants.

He also does some things in bed that Bucky used to do. (Still does, in fact, if no one tells him otherwise.)

Re: Rumlow/Steve, false fluff

[(Anonymous)]

I absolutely love this.

Rumlow/Bucky or Any/Bucky Humiliation and Forced Masturbation (?)

[(Anonymous)]

Somewhat inspired by a few prompts up.

Due to the adrenaline of a mission, the soldier is hard and isn't really sure what to do about it. Cue Rumlow or some other HYDRA agent (I have a soft spot for Jack Rollins?) talking him through jerking off.

Shame (can the soldier feel shame? for the sake of the prompt let's say yes. maybe he's just embarrassed at his lack of knowledge in the area and he doesn't remember feeling pleasure like this??) and humiliation and awkwardness abounds.

FILL: Experienced Assistance - Rollins/Bucky forced masturbation 1/3

[(Anonymous)]

Hey there! I don't think I got everything you wanted but I hope this will tide you over if someone else wants to attempt :)

Skip part one if you're not interested in the backstory; it's relevant but not essential :P

Russia
November, 1996

Dot-dot-dot-dot dash-dot dot-dot dot-dash-dot-dot and Rollins doesn't bother giving the response before he opens the door.

The asset is inside with a blur of movement, the van door slams behind them and Rumlow gets moving – slowly. He knows better than to peel out with a squeal of tires and draw attention, but it's still enough as they hit the road to give them all the familiar rush of adrenalin. Ten more seconds and the asset would have missed his rendezvous, and they'd be on their way back to base without him.

It's necessary sometimes. The Winter Soldier knows how to get back by himself – providing a ride for him just means fewer bodies on the way back, but there are times they can't afford to stick around past a certain point.

This one was pretty close and, from the sound of the chatter on the scanner, the Winter Soldier just narrowly avoided a firefight. Again, it's not something he can't deal with but, in their unmarked van down their little back street, they're out of trouble.

“Next time you ignore giving the coded response, rookie,” says Rankin, “you get to stick around and teach it to the Russkies.”

Gunner Rankin is a man of about fifty, which not only means the parents of a baby born during World War II were actually willing to call it 'Gunner' voluntarily (showing that they must have either had really poor judgment or really incredible foresight, and Rollins would bet on the former), but also means that he's going to be looking for a replacement damned soon. Rumlow's his SIC, and Rollins hopes that, one day, Rumlow will look at and trust him the way Rankin looks at and trusts Rumlow.

“Cut him some slack, wouldja?” Rumlow says, quietly enough that Rollins knows he's not supposed to have heard.

Rumlow is thirty-three, has deep laughter lines, skin like a peach and a bite that's worse than his bark already. Rollins looks up to him something awful.

Rankin snorts and slumps down in his seat.

“Fuckin' rookies,” he mutters.

“Come on, man, I was a fuckin' rookie once,” Rumlow says, and Rollins can see the stretch of skin at the side of his mouth that belies his smile. “Remember?”

“Remember?” Rankin answers with a good-natured snort. “I still get fuckin' night terrors about that shit.”

Which puts Rollins out of the line of fire for now. Rankin's voice has softened enough with Rumlow's gentle ribbing that he'll be in a better mood if Rollins just remembers to keep his mouth shut.

Still, at twenty-one years old, Rollins has only been in the business for maybe two years, doesn't speak much Russian (he speaks enough to give the asset standard orders), but understands enough of what's hissing through their clapped out little scanner to recognize No! Where are the bastards? and Shit, shit, Dimitri - Petrov's going to kill us! and that's enough to tell him they're probably home free. Their van should still be within sight of the parking lot, and if Petrov's men don't already know it's them in the dirty, rusty, broken down little van now, then they won't figure it out.

The asset's breathing hard, hands clenched on the handles attached to the insides of the van – all their undercover vehicles are fitted with them – sometimes it's impossible to get away without putting your foot down, and they're prepared for all situations.

The asset lets go of one handle when it becomes apparent that the ride will be fairly leisurely, and tugs his gloves off his hands, wrenches the aviators from his eyes, snatches the scarf from where it rests over his nose and mouth like a muzzle. His hair's getting longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, dropping about his face in soft layers like Brad Pitt. He looks like a pussy, but Rollins' gelled back hair and Rumlow's crew cut wouldn't look right on him.

But the other thing he looks, always, is surprisingly young. He was born, so Rollins is told, in in the late nineteen-teens – nineteen-sixteen or seventeen or thereabouts – and they keep him in cryo most of the time so he's still only in his late twenties. Times like this, it shows. His skin is smooth and his eyes are clear and there's something about his mouth. He's not unattractive, but he's very definitely not the seasoned soldier Rollin's somehow always expects.

His eyes are wild, darting back and forth, and Rollins frowns at him, then looks over at Rumlow and Rankin. They're both dressed up for this. Rumlow's done up to the nines for this occasion – dressed in old coveralls and a woolen hat and a couple of other well-placed things that make him look like every other tired Russian van driver in the place. Vain bastard's even letting his stubble grow out over his baby face so that he looks like a genuine worker instead of the shining pinnacle of personal hygiene he usually is. Rollins kind of likes the stubble, not that he'll ever go mentioning shit like that to Rumlow. But Rumlow's facial hair is nothing to do with their situation.

“He's agitated,” Rollins says, and then he looks back to the Winter Soldier as he registers Rankin saying something like 'who gives a fuck'. “What's up with you?”

He keeps one hand on his gun, just in case. The asset deals with people who have their hands on their guns every time he's let out of his icebox – Rollins knows he wouldn't stand a chance. But it makes him feel safer.

The asset's gaze, eyes sharp and blue, flick towards Rollins and pin him with the kind of stare Rollins is glad he's never faced in the field – nobody wants to be on the wrong side of the asset – and he narrows his eyes slightly.

“Ob yasnyat,” he says.

Rumlow looks back over his shoulder as traffic begins to slow.

“English, buddy,” he says.

The asset looks momentarily confused but finds the word he's looking for a moment later.

“Explain,” he says, and the accent is thick.

He's been speaking Russian for the past four days, Rollins isn't surprised some of it's sticking, but he knows exactly what the Winter Soldier's talking about.

“Old friends of yours,” Rollins answers, pointing at the asset's shining silver hand. “Petrov and Goremykin know who you were and stole plans from us. We figured it was poetic-”

“Hey!” Rumlow says sharply, and Rollins looks at him. “This isn't storytime, Rollins, he doesn't need a fucking reason, Jesus. Shut your mouth about it, you want to get us both dragged up in front of Pierce?”

And Rollins shuts up. There isn't anybody who wants to get dragged up in front of Pierce.

The asset calms a little and Rollins tips his head back and shuts his eyes. The asset isn't going to do either of them any harm now – he was wiped prior to the mission and he'll be wiped again when they get back. For now, he's completed his only orders and has no other objective. They're all safe.

Safer, actually, because they've got the Winter Soldier on their side.

They move forward, maybe twenty feet, and there's a red or something that they're stuck at. Rumlow sighs heavily.

“We're never gonna get back like this,” Rankin says. “Should have authorised evasive maneuvers.”

Rollins snorts but the asset still looks...jittery is the wrong word. Worked up, maybe, hyperactive.

“Hey, relax,” Rollins says, “we should only-”

BANG BANG BANG and Rollins nearly jumps out of his skin.

Rumlow and Rankin look back between the seats to the van's back doors, and then Rumlow looks at his mirror, and then he sucks a breath in through his teeth.

“Shit,” he says, and then a little louder, a little harsher. “Shit!”

“What is it?” Rankin asks, and Rollins feels his panic rising.

“What?” Rollins says.

“Fucking Russians,” Rumlow says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “They set up a roadblock up ahead, I have papers, I'll-”

He ignores it anyway.

“Nyet,” the asset says, so softly that Rollins almost doesn't hear.

“Rumlow,” Rankin says, “are you sure that's a good-”

BANG BANG BANG

“Otkryt' etot furgon!” comes the muffled demand from outside.

“You have a better one!?” Rumlow said, turning around to look at the two of them instead, one hand on the back of his chair. “Speak any Russian, do ya!?”

“Otkryt' dveri,” the asset says, and Rollins gives him a look he hopes is incredulous.

“Are you crazy?” he says, and Rumlow yells at them for it.

“Speak in fucking English, both of you!”

“He says open the doors,” Rollins tells him, and Rankin snorts, digging around for ammo.

“Fuck that,” he answers. “We've got orders-”

There's a different bang, a noise like a cough or a car door slamming shut, and Rankin's head snaps back, his body flying back against the dashboard before it slumps.

“Shit!” Rumlow yells, rearing back, and there's one hole in the van door and a matching one in Rankin's forehead.

The asset turns his head and, before Rollins can even say anything, he's surging forward toward the back of the van – where one of the Russian Politsiya has, with incredible stupidity on his part, put an eye to the hole he's just made – and jabbing his metal index finger through.

The scream that comes from outside is almost as awful as the noise Rollins will never be able to un-hear, and it's nothing compared to the way his stomach rolls when the asset draws back to look at Rumlow, a mangled eyeball on the end of his index finger.

“Go!” Rollins says to Rumlow. “Jesus Christ, go!”

And the asset kicks the back doors of the van wide open with one loud BANG, sending at least one other militsiya flying backwards so hard he bounces into a nearby car and crumples to the worn asphalt. The half-blinded one is still writhing and screaming on the floor and Rollins doesn't look as the asset crushes his skull with one foot, raising his gun instead because there's another one heading straight for the asset.

“No!” Rumlow over his shoulder at the asset. “Fuck! Not you!”

There's another loud metal clang and pain tears up the side of Rollins' face as he falls backwards with a cry. He doesn't know what hit him, only that it hurt and he looks up to see a militsiya heading straight for him, getting two off in the guy's chest just as he hears the windscreen shatter. Rumlow curses, firing back as bullets whiz by over Rollins' head.

“What do I do!?” he yells, and Rumlow's voice answers back.

“Get the asset back in the fucking van! Strike to Nest, we're under fire – Red road block, I repeat, we're under fire!”

The pain in Rollins' face is bad, he's go no idea what the hell is happening but he remembers the words he needs.

“Soldat!” he croaks, blood running down the side of his neck. “Vozvrashchat'sya!”

The asset is busy picking off Russian police officers as they come at him, but more are streaming down from the roadblock ahead and it won't be long before they're overrun.

The asset will get out of this. There's a slim chance he might die trying if he doesn't quiet manage it, but Rollins knows that he and Rumlow have one chance – and that chance doesn't even remember its own name. The asset, in a display of defiance unlike any Rollins has ever seen from him, looks Rollins straight in the eye and turns back to the fight, snapping another two necks and closing his metal hand around the muzzle of the nearest AK that comes up by his face, redirecting it into the chest of the next unfortunate militsiya before jamming it backwards into the face of the first.

He'd be stabbed in the next two seconds were it not for the fact that the blade skitters off his metal arm, and he turns the movement into something Rollins doesn't get the chance to see – Rollins registers a gun and ducks instead, two rounds hitting the inside of the van where his head was two seconds before and, when he fires back and checks on the asset, there's a militsiya on the ground grasping weakly at the knife in his throat, and another with a hole in his chest about the size of a fist who dies in the few seconds Rollins spares him.

The radio is burbling something but it must be inconsequential because Rumlow doesn't respond, and he yells at Rollins a second later.

“Hold on!” he screams.

Rollins does because obeying his SO's orders are instinctive, grabbing at the nearest safety handle as Rumlow steps on the gas. There's a crunch, and Rollins is almost thrown to the floor of the van. They back up and do it again and Rollins holds on for dear life – Rumlow's shunting other cars out of the way and, if the sound is anything to go by, running over anyone stupid enough to get in the way.

Twice more and each jolt wrenches Rollins' arm in its socket, slams like a hammer on the inside of his head and his headache is worse, he looks down and finds himself covered in blood. His face has been hit and he doesn't know how but all that matters now is the squeal and grind of metal as the van lurches forward again – further this time, then further.

“Seychas!” Rollins screams, and the asset turns, starts running as Rumlow floors it, and jumps into the back of the van when they're going what must be fifty down an alley.

He wrenches the doors closed behind himself and twists the metal of the lock – and one of the handles – to keep it closed enough that, once they get onto the highway, Rollins can collapse to the floor and just stare up at the ceiling.

“I think we lost 'em,” Rumlow says, and he sounds tired, strung out. “You hit?”

“My face,” Rollins answers. “You?”

“Shoulder,” Rumlow answers. “Took one from the guys in front, what about the asset?”

Rollins winces as he turns his head, looks up at the startlingly blue eyes and strangely young face. The asset shakes his head.

“Nah, he's fine.”

“Figures,” Rumlow says.

He's fumbling around with Rankin's body, doing something to it and then Rollins ducks again when there are three shots in quick succession.

“Hold on,” Rumlow says, through gritted teeth, and Rollins manages to sit up just as Rumlow steers hard to the right so he ends up thrown against the seat.

The asset watching impassively as Rumlow opens the passenger door and throws Rankin's body out, way out. They're on an overpass and Rankin's body goes down into the ravine. Rumlow made a mess of his face, they won't get dental records, and Rankin had his fingerprints burned away years ago – that much Rollins knows. Rumlow throws his tags back into the back section of the van, and the asset picks them up, hands them to Rollins.

Rollins nods his thanks, wiping away blood from his chin with the back of his hand before slinging the tags over his own neck. It's necessary – if he gets hit and goes down and Rumlow's forced to dump him, too, having both sets around his neck will save Rumlow the trouble of rifling through his pockets. Rankin knew the risks.

“That puts you in charge,” Rollins says, closing his eyes against the lancing pain in his jaw – whatever it was that hit him, he's lucky his jaw didn't break. “What's the plan?”

Rumlow grunts as he shifts properly back into the driver's seat and puts his foot down a little more.

“Safehouse,” he says. “Wait for extraction tomorrow, same as before – nobody's on our tail and we kicked up enough of a fuss in town that they'll be busy for a while.”

Rollins nods, hauls himself up to the seat and wavers. The asset reaches out and shoves him into his seat and buckles the belt for him, and Rollins doesn't care enough to do anything except shut his eyes and hope the pain stops soon.

~

Bucky/Hydra, you won't be needing that

[(Anonymous)]

I'm going to hell for this prompt. TW body horror

To ensure an optimal functioning asset, Hydra removes any part of Bucky's body they feel may cause a distraction: his cock and balls, his digestive organs (they feed him through the vein), parts of his brain that controls desire and needs, etc etc.

Take this wherever the trash stains lead you. Bonus if we see a post CA:TWS Bucky coming to terms with his mutilated body.

Re: Bucky/Hydra, you won't be needing that

[(Anonymous)]

you are not alone. i was gonna prompt his genitals getting lopped off

Bucky is on the trash meme

[(Anonymous)]

Bucky writes terrible fills for meme and then has his memory of doing so erased.

Pierce/Rumlow, humiliation, masochism

[(Anonymous)]

Rumlow may be cocky, but he has a masochistic streak a mile wide. Pierce enjoys humiliating and using him. Anything with Rumlow liking being abused.

Re: Pierce/Rumlow, humiliation, masochism

[(Anonymous)]

Uhm, I guess I can offer you 1.9k of me rambling about Rumlow liking it up his pretty little arse. I hope this is worth a few moldy pears.

---------------------------------------------------------

There was so much the light could not see. There was so much the world could never know about Alexander Pierce. S.H.I.E.L.D, HYDRA, that was but one miserable little detail among all the secrets kept by the Boss. No one actually truly knew Alexander Pierce except for Alexander Pierce himself.

When night takes over is when many go to sleep, but others will wake up.

Pierce met his rookie agent where one would least expect to find one. Yet, it didn’t strike neither of them with full surprise. Events like these, evenings forbidden to ever be put into daylight like these, often attracted a kind of people that chose to live in the light of night just as much.

Alexander Pierce owns a company and a terrorist organisation by day, and invests in sex slaves at night.

He’d met this pretty boy one night, when he was quite bored and carrying a nice sum of money to spend. They had a little chat together, about this and that (even the weather). Pierce found something in the lad someone else might’ve never found, or not liked.

There was that cockiness that fit his name, the name he was not really meant to speak out loud when collared -- when naked and exposed, when for sale and for hire. These were two different worlds, meant to be kept apart in all means possible. If daylight knows you by Alexander Pierce, nightlife may know you as Armitage Price.

------

The second time they met, Crossbones was displayed on a large, white standard carrying a silver pole to which he was chained. The leather cuffs contrasted with his pale skin.

However, Armitage Price had not exactly met with Crossbones in his current situation. Much rather, he was the reason behind things as they were tonight.

Mr. Price had put a reasonable sum on the lad for the night, requesting for him to be put up for display, for everyone else to witness the pale skin, the roundness of his ass, the muscular chest and that cock, crafted by a divine force. Armitage Price had found a liking in it, the first time he had been presented with this option shortly after Crossbones had been picked up and introduced in the business. It was among the many things they could not do, to tell someone how they had ended up here, but Armitage Price had caught as much as financial trouble when he had tried to pry the answer from Crossbones. Large sums of money went into the business, but Price could be an idiot and still he’d know that most of it didn’t even make it to the one it was spent on, but rather on those who sell and rent. However, he had not yet asked Crossbones about how much this all earns him in the end…

------

It remained unaddressed when Alexander Pierce met Brock Rumlow at the Triskelion for the very first time. They had recognized each other at first glance, but remained neutral on the matter, not even revealing the slightest hint of shock or surprise. For Pierce, it didn’t really wake anything in peculiar. He was used to this life, and truth be told: Rumlow wasn’t the first one he’s found in odd places…

Rumlow on his turn hoped that all Pierce knew about him would remain with him, separating their job from their private lives, which they safely kept separated from the dark world as well. One could never be safe enough.

------

Rumlow’s enlistment with S.H.I.E.L.D. caused a shift in his nightlife all along, even when he was supposed to be a different person beyond the hours of day. Alexander Pierce just couldn’t help it, but he wished to secure the safety of those working for him. He wanted to be certain that Armitage Price is the only one who can lay a hand on Crossbones.

Unless someone chooses to put down a reasonable price for him.

Yet safety was to be taken with a grain of salt. Pierce just knows that he has the right tools, and the people to fix Rumlow, should the need arise. Other than that, there wasn’t quite the set of rules on how to treat Crossbones, compared to others, who liked to keep things tidy and clean, even in the underworld. For Armitage Price, all was allowed, as long as Crossbones doesn’t die nor lose a limb.

Perhaps another rule Armitage Price had when closing deals concerning Crossbones was that he must be allowed to watch, upon Rumlow’s request as well as a personal desire.

Otherwise, nothing was off limits.

------

Rumlow’s eye caught the camera in a flash of the moment, yet he did not mind. It brought a little more excitement to it all. He did not let it shine through that he knew what was going on. He did not want for Armitage Price to be aware of his knowledge of the camera being there, but should the opportunity occur, he would still have the gut to ask about it later.

The man’s hands felt firm and warm on his hips, their tone giving an interesting match with the boring, pale skin of the man he was fucking. Crossbones laid on his back, with a soft black duvet on the bed underneath him. His hips were lifted in the air, ankles resting over the male’s shoulder while he looked at his deep brown eyes. That eternal cocky grin tugged at his lips, and Crossbones voluntarily kept his hands above his head while he took in as much of the other as was possible. His guest was quite blessed, well built and gifted with the cock of a god.

Crossbones allowed it when a hand reached for his throat, teasing him by taking control over the air supply in his lungs. It made his cock twitch each time he was at the verge of going without air, finding sheer pleasure and excitement in the other’s grasp.

But it wasn’t quite pleasuring enough…

------

Rumlow could count himself lucky to live on his own at daylight. No one would ask him anything about the odd amount of USB drives lying around his living room, one always still plugged into his laptop because he couldn’t help but being curious about it all once Pierce had them ready.

And not once had he been disappointed with himself and that which he manages to create, from the countless blowjobs he gives a night, to the dozens of cocks he took in a week; some ugly, some more pretty than his own face. A high standard, even if Rumlow had to say so himself. If a cock looks good, he could only admit that it deserves to be said (or at least acknowledged).

That morning, Rumlow had left for work with his arse still quite sore from the night before. He still had some tapes to catch up on from earlier nights, but he had a burning curiosity searing through every aching nerve and muscle. He was only so utterly curious about the night before. He wanted to relive the moment, even if it won’t be quite the same. Some tissues and beer would suffice. Somehow, it always did, even if it wasn’t that which truly gets him going. For that, he has the tapes. Bless the Boss, for those tapes.

The standard protocol had been respected when Rumlow found an USB drive in his locker that evening. He tucked it in the pocket of his jeans when no one else was looking, and left.

------

He remembered it quite clearly when the recording started. And he felt it again in his jaw and his gut when he witnessed the masked trio taking him on with brute force. It had been something new both he and Armitage Price had wanted to try.

The pain had felt so good, so ecstatic, that night. The thrill of the excitement had been exactly that which Crossbones had aimed to find when he and Armitage had thought up the concept moments prior when for once, there was not much of an interest in Price’s pretty little face to fuck for hire.

The idea was for Crossbones to be taken on by a team of thugs. The idea was for Rumlow to feel what it was to be on the receiving end when faced with trained forces like himself. The aim was to feel the searing pain of a stun gun, the thwack of heavy duty boots cracking your ribs, the dizzy feeling of your head spinning after taking a hard left. Rumlow wanted it all, but Pierce could only give so little. After all, the protocol wanted it that Rumlow couldn’t get his arse kicked into near death while on active duty for S.H.I.E.L.D.

Oh how much he craved a vacation, a moment off duty, solely to get a proper ass-kicking; a proper, decent torture-fuck…

Rumlow let himself sink back on the couch, a six pack of beer on one side, and the tissue box on the other. He had plugged his laptop into the flat screen TV across the room, for a better effect.

The thrill of being robbed of all air reaching his lungs by the large cock he had to endure brought back the funny feeling in his throat, and how he had needed to swallow and swallow once the bloke was finished fucking his mouth, only for another to take his place. And Crossbones took them all, sometimes two of them at once.

He stroked himself with a gentle pinch of his cock when a second man joined them. His pink lips were busy working around the mediocre cock of some guy who had found great interest in Crossbones’ hair. He had his hands clawed in the short black curls while he fucked Crossbones’ mouth. There was the exchange of a glance with the copper blonde who had already worked his own prick prior to having his round with Price’s little toy.

Rumlow could feel the touch of his big, warm paws on his hips again when he witnessed the act happening on the TV screen. It was so different to be the spectator rather than the actor, but it didn’t take away much of the thrill. Actually, it brought Rumlow a whole new kind of excitement. It wasn’t even the same as when he would watch any of the other tapes he owned of himself getting fucked in the ass or the mouth, covered in piss, semen or blood -- bleeding teeth, or bleeding nose, bruised thighs, or cut skin. Every tape had its own dirty little secret…

Rumlow loved all the secrets, and all the orgasms. Rumlow loved all the cocks he’s tasted and all the pricks he’s taken. He loves all the kicks and the slaps, and the punches and the twitches. He adored the pain and the sores, the aches during the night and the aches that came after. He lived in the moment as much as he lived for it. He craved the moment as much as he could crave the air in his lungs, or a nice, thick steak with brown sauces and fries and a good big pint of beer on a Sunday afternoon to drown his hangover from the night before. He desired the torment and the pain -- the sweet abuse, and the borderline rape, as much as he desired his loan at the end of each month.

Winter Soldier/Rumlow, Stunt Baton

[(Anonymous)]

WELP

Rumlow uses it to fuck the Winter Soldier and commands him to come and the Soldier knows what’s coming but he’s obeying but he’s also terrified but also doesn’t beg and Rumlow turns the baton on the moment he starts to come and somehow the Soldier takes it and doesn’t pass out and doesn’t lash at Rumlow but he screams that it makes everyones stomach turn

+ if Pierce makes Rumlow do it because I have a bit of a soft spot for Rumlow and think he worships the Winter Soldier and also somewhat likes him but Pierce won’t allow Rumlow this weakness
++ if Rumlow tries/is ordered to fuck the Soldier afterwards but can’t get one up
+++ PIERCE WATCHING IN PERSON OR OVER CAMERA I DON’T CARE

Gggggod I hope this is not to specific already just give me Stunt Baton/Winter Soldier horribleness and I’m happy *makes nest in trashcan*

Re: Winter Soldier/Rumlow, Stunt Baton

[(Anonymous)]

YES. Seconded, so hard.

Post-deprogramming memories

[(Anonymous)]

The worst thing isn't what Bucky remembers. It's how hot those memories get him.

Basically I want all the shame and humiliation, knowing what was done to him was wrong but also feeling wrong for the way those memories inevitably and undeniably turn him on.

Bonus suggestion: If he has a partner, he hides this from them/lies about how he feels about it. (If I was looking for something emotionally-healthy I wouldn't be in this dumpster, now would I?)

Re: Post-deprogramming memories

[(Anonymous)]

Yes yes yes yes yes

The Winter Soldier wants to serve

[(Anonymous)]

A Hydra trash party scenario where, rather than being a disengaged sex object, the Winter Soldier has been programmed to serve enthusiastically. His own gratification is incidental. Hydra get their metaphorical jollies by making him beg for it in detail before getting their non-metaphorical jollies by, well... you know the drill.

Bucky/anyone, revenge fantasies

[(Anonymous)]

Shamelessly inspired by the "post-deprogramming Bucky gets guiltily turned on by memories of sexual abuse" prompt above. Post-deprogramming Bucky formulates elaborate sexual revenge/control fantasies about the people who took advantage of him as the Winter Soldier. And possibly acts some of the less lethal ones out with a consenting but very freaked-out partner.

They can be simple "I want to make you suffer through everything you did to me" fantasies, with a tasty side serving of guilt about becoming what he hates. Or more complex, like "On some level I still want to fuck you, but it's going to be about MY pleasure and if you do something I don't like you get punished the same way I did--now get on your knees and earn your redemption, asshole."

Re: Bucky/anyone, revenge fantasies

[(Anonymous)]

oh god

(ps this prompt made me think of Carmarthen's "The Fine Line" which is an Eagle of the Ninth fanfic with a broadly similar premise)

Rumlow/Winter Soldier, topping from the bottom

[(Anonymous)]

Rumlow doesn't let just anybody fuck him in the arse - it has to be somebody worthy of the honor, somebody who's mind gets wiped and who won't remember it anyway.

Rumlow/Bucky, trying to bring the Winter Soldier back

[(Anonymous)]

From this Tumblr post: http://onnastik.tumblr.com/post/87765594306/mazarinedrake-shinelikethunder-every-time-i

"every time i see a post/fic claiming that “brock rumlow totally has a heart!!!1” or legit romantically shipping him with bucky, i now get this urge to write fic where rumlow develops a soft spot for the winter soldier, runs into bucky barnes post-memory-recovery, and embarks on a systematic campaign of torture and dehumanization to turn this pathetic loser back into the beautiful killing machine he knows and loves"

Re: Rumlow/Bucky, trying to bring the Winter Soldier back

[(Anonymous)]

Oh God so I have no idea whether it's a massive case of RTYI or if the prompt is a conscious riff, but THIS IS CANON. Sort of. The character being tortured back into their homicidal self isn't Bucky, it's the Red Skull's daughter Synthia Schmidt, but this is canonically how Human Trash Heap Brock Rumlow expresses affection.

So, RTYI: "Red is the Darkest Color" http://www.mediafire.com/download/mdmzil8immdduhg/Captain+America+v5+15+Red+Is+the+Darkest+Colour.zip

Winter Soldier/any, rough sex, possible dub-con

[(Anonymous)]

Post-movie the Winter Soldier is slowly learning to be a person again but he hasn't gotten his memories back. Someone initiates sex with him but is unprepared for how rough and dominant he is.

Re: Winter Soldier/any, rough sex, possible dub-con

[(Anonymous)]

Yes! Oh wow, it's like this prompt was written for me. I hope you're up for some Winter Soldier/Steve, anon? Just give me a day or two, I have to hand in an exam paper tonight, then I'll get right onto it!

Bucky/Anyone, forced genital modification

[(Anonymous)]

What if because some hydra dude has a gay panic about wanting to use the Winter Soldier like a fuck toy like the rest of his peers, but thinks that's so gay
So he makes the lab techs give the Soldier a vagina
Bonus points for Bucky being humiliated and being made to display his pussy in public
Bonus bonus if he still has a cock and is capable of multiple orgasms because of his vagina but it makes his dick sore and tender
Bonus bonus bonus if despite having a decent sized cock someone fucking him calls it his clit to humiliate him
I would give my first born if the winter soldier is all =_______= and completely indifferent to all these attempts to humiliate him because first of all he follows orders and second of all his mind isn't even his own what the fuck does he care about his body
:) I'm going to hell

Bucky/anyone HYDRA, the first time around

[(Anonymous)]

Just what it says on the box, basically- trashy things they did to Bucky back in the forties.

Re: Bucky/anyone HYDRA, the first time around

[(Anonymous)]

Helpless Bucky, strapped to this table, repeating his name and surname helplessly over and over again while some goons prepare him to take their cocks one by one while Zola in the background prepares more ingredients to turn this little American into his little puppet...
Just a thought.

Disciplining Winter Soldier/HYDRA Agents

[(Anonymous)]

So what if Pierce DOESN'T like people fucking the asset before missions, since if they get too rough and tear he'll have a lower performance rate and Pierce wants him 100% functional, so he tells them no touching, no fondling, and no fucking until he's done. But a couple of young agents (maybe even Rumlow when he's still a new agent) decide to have fun while they're prepping him, because what Pierce doesn't know won't hurt him. But he finds out (he walks in or, better yet, inspects the asset for wear and sees blood and semen tracking down his thighs) and he punishes the agents by order the Winter Soldier to do to them what the agents did to him. And the Winter Soldier bends each one of them over, one by one as he fucks them raw while the others stay on their knees and watch, waiting for their turn.

Re: Disciplining Winter Soldier/HYDRA Agents

[(Anonymous)]

This prompt is delicious.

bucky/any, post-movie, working out some stuff, supe

[(Anonymous)]

After the events of the movie, as Bucky is still working out who he is and how many of his thoughts are HYDRA programming, he realizes he kind of misses taking orders.
He takes

Re: bucky/any, post-movie, working out some stuff, supe

[(Anonymous)]

Sorry;
He takes a few menial hospitality jobs just to stay balanced, and those help. He doesn't really make friends, but he does talk more then he has in decades, and that makes him feel a bit more stable. Maybe he sees a therapist.
But he can't shake the fact that he misses being HYDRA's toy, and he can't tell if it's real or not. Cue Bucky going out to BDSM clubs to get his rocks off.
TL;DR, Bucky is trying to shake off 50 years of mental conditioning and can't.
All the baggagge you can think of would be great.
Steve and Sam finding him in a club would be awesome.

Role Reversal

[(Anonymous)]

So I've seen many fics and prompts in which the Soldier is ordered to rape Steve.

I want to see the opposite made to occur, that is, Steve forced to take advantage of the Soldier. I have no idea why this would happen, like, maybe he's infiltrating HYDRA and has to make them think he's a true believer? I don't know. I just wan to see it. Because I am trash.

Re: Role Reversal

[(Anonymous)]

Yes pls

Handling the Asset

[(Anonymous)]

Pierce makes sure that if any HYDRA agents ever want to fuck the asset, they do it nicely . The asset is an indispensable tool, Pierce isn't gonna just let any old schmuck have their way with him.

So, give me something where whenever someone fucks him, they do it with proper stretching and care, and they make sure that the Winter Soldier always comes too.

Post-tws leaves Bucky frustratingly confused about whether it was actually rape or not, because they were gentle with him, and made sure he enjoyed it whenever they fucked him.

[(Anonymous)]

The Winter Soldier was always catheterized - they had to make sure his bladder was empty before cryo, it made things simpler for medical procedures, and it prevented distractions on missions. After years of that he's lost voluntary control of his urinary sphincter. So as part of his recovery, Bucky has to be re-potty-trained from the start. Bonus if whoever is helping him struggles with finding it hot, double bonus if he also got used to enemas+plugs instead of controlling his own bowels.

[(Anonymous)]

SECONDED SO HARD
WOULD GIVE FIRSTBORN FOR FILL

HYDRA van restraints

[(Anonymous)]

So the overkill restraints in this post combined with the "super-soldier car seat" comment got me thinking: http://kimbus-thewhitelion.tumblr.com/post/88472194187/hydras-absolutely-ridiculous-shackles-for-steve

What if it actually was a kind of car seat for the Soldier, to make sure if he became erratic in the journey to or from missions, that he couldn't hurt anything or cause them to crash? And once he's in it, he really couldn't prevent anyone from doing anything, right?

This could go literally anywhere your mind desires. Bonus points if whatever happens to him in it happens right before they let him out to go jump onto Sam's car and throw Sitwell into traffic.