garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trashmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hydratrashmeme2014-05-30 05:23 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2014-05-30 05:23 pm
Trash Party Dumpster #1
(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 riskof 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 bygreenkirtle. If you fill a prompt, drop a link at the fill post. Discussion threads now have a chatter post.
If you want email notifications for new comments here, sign up for a Dreamwidth account and click the little bell icon at the top of this post. To read new comments chronologically rather than in threads, use flat view.
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.
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
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.If you want email notifications for new comments here, sign up for a Dreamwidth account and click the little bell icon at the top of this post. To read new comments chronologically rather than in threads, use flat view.
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.
FILL: Re: sounding
(Anonymous) 2014-06-07 03:36 am (UTC)(link)I didn't do the docking, I can't write it well, but I hope it's okay! I've never done this before.
Re: FILL: Re: sounding
(Anonymous) 2014-06-07 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Re: sounding
(Anonymous) 2014-06-07 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Re: sounding
(Anonymous) 2014-06-10 06:18 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Re: sounding
(Anonymous) 2014-06-23 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Re: sounding
i also can't stop thinking about what might happen next. how would you feel if i wanted to write some of that down and post it here?
Re: FILL: Re: sounding
(Anonymous) 2014-09-08 04:13 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Repost
(Anonymous) 2019-06-21 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)---
Pierce studies the faces of each new recruit surrounding the Soldier, their eyes filled with lust and mouths twisted into grins as the second shoves his cock down the asset’s throat without so much as a gag. His eyes prick up with tears on reflex, but he doesn’t make a sound; his throat relaxes and he takes each pounding thrust with a barest twitch in his remaining hand. He closes his eyes and tightens his lips around the hard flesh, sucks obediently as he was trained to do.
Another of the team yanks his hair hard enough to pull out strands but he doesn’t wince from that, either. Instead, he pulls back, lips slick and swollen from the fucking. Pierce sighs.
It’s mundane.
It was the same routine, every time. They used his mouth or his ass and despite a few leaked tears that were uncontrollable, the asset made no indication of his pain. No sounds to signal any distress. They’d done everything to him, and they had no surprises left. The Winter Soldier had become boring to watch.
Pierce taps his hand against his thigh and racks his brain, thinks of his first days with the Soldier, back when he was young and impulsive himself, when the Soldier still had fear in his eyes when Pierce used everything and anything to split his body apart. Oh, he missed his squeals when he spread his ass wide, around cocks, handguns, rifles, or fists. There didn’t seem to be anything he couldn’t take.
The idea flitters into his mind, unsuspected, and Pierce smiles. It’s the first time in the past hour he feels his cock twitch.
Pierce addresses the team as he stands to head out, “When you’re done, have him sent to my home. Eight sharp.”
“Yes, sir!” A chorus of the grunts calls back, and he hears one of them gasp as he comes.
He uses the short few hours to prepare, and when he enters his bedroom at a minute past eight, the Winter Soldier waits patiently at his bed, fully clothed, and watching him. He nods once to the director and stays as still as the dead.
Pierce has a box in his hand, small and inconspicuous, and he fights a chuckle when the asset glances over it before settling back on him.
“Strip,” Pierce tells him.
The Winter Soldier obeys, his flesh and metal hands working deftly over the clasps to remove the weapons, holsters, and finally, his clothes from his body. When he is fully naked his hands fall to his sides, exposed but no shame in his distant stare. Pierce steps forward and slowly walks around the weapon’s toned body, taking in every bruise, bite, and scratch across the planes of his skin. Finger-shaped mars fade on his hips, most of them yellowed and the scratches down his chest and his back are scabbed over. They’ll be gone by morning.
Pierce tilts his head, and asks, “Did you like what they did to you?”
The assassin’s shoulders tense up a fraction, but he stays silent.
“You make speak freely,” Pierce clarifies.
There’s another moment’s pause, and the asset says softly, his voice scratchy and rough from the earlier abuse, “Indifferent.”
Pierce smirks, and stops in front of him, “Elaborate.”
His jaw tenses around a clenching of his teeth, and he can hear the metal whir in his arm when he shifts.
“Eto moy dolg, chtoby sluzhit’ vashi lyudi. Ya nichego ne chuvstvuyu.” He slips back into a language more comfortable to speak in when he’s posed with these questions, even something as simple as telling him he is performing his duty. He always has, and Pierce can’t help but see the irony.
Regardless, he doesn’t care much for the answer; he merely likes hearing him bark on command.
“Get on the bed.”
The Winter Soldier immediately crawls onto the meticulously pressed comforter, back against the headboard with his legs spread. Completely routine.
Pierce reaches into the side drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube, “Grab the headboard, and keep your hands there.”
The Soldier holds the metal board and, on instinct, spreads his legs wider and draws his knees up closer to his chest to expose his hole. He is still red and swollen there, likely cleaned unless the agents were too stupid to remember to. Pierce chuckles and climbs between his legs, the box still in hand. He sets it aside for now.
He pushes two fingers in dry, little resistance other than natural friction from his earlier use. He doesn’t even flinch; his eyes close for a moment, a sharp breath held in his lungs that is released slowly when they open again, irises glassy and absent. Pierce wonders what fills that empty skull when he’s used like this. There can’t be much.
His fingers crook upward to massage his prostate, that pulls out a tremor in the Soldier’s taut stomach and a twitch in his brow from confusion, but nothing else. Pierce lifts his other hand to trace his fingers over the sensitive head of his flaccid cock. The asset trembles in surprise.
“That’s it, enjoy it,” Pierce soothes him, “I want you hard.”
His eyes are still hazy as he nods, and he closes them to focus on the task given. In minutes he’s erect, pre-come leaking from the slit that Pierce smears around the swollen head. The weapon’s mouth slackens, silent, but clearly enjoying the sensation.
“Good boy,” Pierce coos, and slides his fingers out. He takes up the box and opens it, revealing several thin instruments, each one slightly thicker than the last. The first is hardly a few millimeters in width, so he picks up the second, thicker and more likely to bring him the satisfaction he wants. The Soldier can’t hide his confusion, subtle as it is, and Pierce smiles.
“Don’t move,” he instructs as he pops the lid of the lubricant and generously coats the rod with the slick substance. The asset keeps still, his hands firmly in place but there’s a ghost of wariness behind vacant eyes Pierce hasn’t seen in a long time. Heat gathers in his belly in anticipation.
He takes a holds of the asset’s hard cock and angles it up, and presses the tip of the rounded instrument to the slit. He keeps his eyes on the Soldier, and that distant glaze starts to shatter when he realizes what Pierce is about to do. It’s new, different, against what he’s been trained to endure. Pierce starts to push the sounding rod inside and the Soldier’s mouth drops open, eyes wide as his entire body jolts. His hips buck down, away from the rod and Pierce squeezes his hand around his cock hard enough to draw out a pained gasp.
“Stay still,” he commands, and after a few seconds, the asset settles back on the bed, entire body tense while Pierce lines the tip back up and pushes the unrelenting rod inside his cock. The weapon doesn’t watch Pierce anymore, eyes zeroed in on the head of his erect cock while tears prick up in shining blue eyes. His hands clench into the headboard until the metal creaks, and a hitching sound catches in the back of the weapon’s throat.
Pierce’s cock swells hard in his slacks, and he twists the rod with a smooth jerk. The broken squeal he tears out of his throat is divine so he does it again, the motion making an agonized moan fall from his parted lips, the metal grinding loudly under his hands. Pierce starts to pull it out slowly, the edges catching on the leaking tip and his cock pulses in his hand, a spasm of pain or pleasure, he can’t tell.
“Please—” the asset gasps suddenly, delicious tears tracking down his face and Pierce fights the desire to lick them from his heated cheeks.
He stops though, eyebrows arched up, “Excuse me?”
The asset hasn’t talked back in years. He hasn’t forgotten protocol since the first time Pierce bent him over his desk. His cock aches when the Soldier’s lip trembles, but he closes his mouth and shakes his head, a dismissal and a plea wrapped into one. He sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut, and after three long seconds, he spreads his trembling legs wider.
“That’s what I thought.”
Pierce fucks him steadily with the sounding rod, twisting his wrist with each pull out until he’s leaking come around every thrust, until he’s shaking and biting back cries into his arm. His entire body is an open nerve from the pain, his skin hot under his hands when Pierce lets go of his cock and slides a hand up one sweat-slick thigh. He opens his eyes to look at Pierce, and they’re wide and wet and begging with words he knows he can’t voice. Pierce pulls out the rod, and grabs the next biggest one.
A whimper bubbles in the back of the Winter Soldier’s throat, and when he pushes in the next without preparation, the asset screams.