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.
Re: FILL 9/? to burn your kingdom down
(Anonymous) 2015-05-29 02:17 am (UTC)(link)There are other things he could focus on. The sick, burning pain in his injured shoulder, the rough hand tangled in his hair, the ache of his jaw, the way his lips are cracking at the corners, stretched tight--
--and this is new, isn’t it, they didn’t do this last time, at least not while he was awake--
--Sam, kneeling just inside the range of his periphery vision. Better not to think about that. It was bad enough having Bucky know, last time. Bucky--
His thoughts are coming in fractured bursts, and he feels like he’s only tenuously connected to his body. That’s not--he can’t--
Focus.
His knees are on the cold floor. The man--the leader--he has a second holster at his left hip, which is pretty much at a level with Steve’s eyes. There are two men holding guns on Sam, and another fifteen men in the room, not counting the bastard who’s currently trying to shove his cock down Steve’s throat.
It feels like--
No. Focus.
Sam is moving, just slightly. Steve lets his eyes droop--he doesn’t have to feign the way they’re watering, and can only partly attribute it to the fact that his hair is being yanked out by the root--and glances over. Not at Sam’s face, he can’t bear to see that right now, but at the flicker of movement.
His hand, moving slowly, almost casually, toward his left boot.
Or, more accurately, his boot knife. He’s always kept one there, as long as Steve has known him. Wears it with civvies, half the time. And none of these dumb Nazi bastards thought to check for it. It’s liable to get them both killed, of course, but he can’t help the fierce surge of satisfaction.
The head of the man’s cock hits the back of his throat and he gags--or tries to--his whole mouth full of thick, pulsating flesh and the urge to bite down is so strong that he almost can’t resist it, and never mind that it’ll just mean a bullet in the head for him and Sam both--
And God, the taste of it on his tongue, thick and salty, the fingers yanking his hair so hard he half-expects his scalp to come loose--
--and suddenly, there’s an echoing, distant boom.
The man pulls back, releasing Steve’s hair, and Steve turns his face away and spits, scrapes his tongue against his teeth and spits again. There’s no laughter, not like last time. The gunmen are as silent as statues; the man in the suit is turning away, tucking himself back into his trousers, barking orders. It’s all bizarrely mechanical, actually, like out of all of them the man in the suit is the only one who’s actually alive.
“Go find out what that was. Now, you idiots--”
Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Sam’s hand move with sudden speed, and he reaches up on pure instinct to catch the blade that comes spinning toward him.
There’s a moment in which none of the other men have noticed--he can see Sam’s fierce, wide-eyed face like the afterimage of an explosion--and then Steve flips the blade neatly in his hand and drives it up into the man’s gut.
Blood gushes, and the man lets out a cracked scream, and Steve is still moving--he’s on his feet, yanking the knife free, reaching with his other hand for the still-holstered gun. The grip feels slick in his hand, but that doesn’t matter; he shoots one of the men standing next to Sam, and Sam takes care of the other before he can aim. One quick, practiced strike to the throat and he’s twisting the assault rifle out of the guard’s hand, and now it’s them, one knife, and two guns against a room full of armed men.
“You crazy son of a bitch,” he breathes out, admiring, in the frozen instant before the guards start shooting.
The first bullet whistles past his face close enough that he swears he can feel the burn of it on his cheek as dives for his shield. Another three bullets ricochet off just as he gets it up--they’re focusing mostly on him, thank God, even though Sam’s the one with the gun--and it’s awkward to have to hold it like this, naked, without the magnetic grips on his sleeves and with his injured shoulder taking the full weight.
A three-shot burst from his left, a pause, and then another: Sam always shoots like something straight out of an Army training manual, and he’s a good shot but this is a goddamn kill box. They’re not getting out of here alive unless they get out now.
There’s too much space to throw the shield and he’s not even sure he could, the way his shoulder feels right now, but he still has the knife and he remembers Bucky’s relentless drilling with a blade very like this one. He flips it in his hand and throws it at the closest guy who’s just turning his gun on Sam like he only just now realized who the real threat here is.
“We gotta get out of here,” he pants, close enough now that his shoulder’s brushing Sam’s, bringing the shield up to cover both of them.
“Ya think?” Sam retorts.
Steve’s opening his mouth to answer when there’s the echoing boom of a gun much bigger than the guards’ M-16’s, and the world comes crashing down in grit and dust around them.
Re: FILL 9/? to burn your kingdom down
(Anonymous) 2015-05-29 02:18 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL 9/? to burn your kingdom down
(Anonymous) 2015-05-29 02:37 am (UTC)(link)AAAAAAAAAAH. SO GREAT. Steve! And Sam! And Steeeeve, still tactical and observant even when his mind is threatening to nope out on him entirely. And BOTH OF THEM grabbing their first chance to fight back against impossible odds. This whole fic is such a wonderful combination of whump and badassery--the characters get backed into some deliciously nasty corners, but god help anyone who assumes they're helpless while they're there. ♥
Re: FILL 9/? to burn your kingdom down
(Anonymous) 2015-05-29 08:44 pm (UTC)(link)