hydratrashmeme | Trash Party Dumpster #1

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 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.

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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.

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I choose to warn for ... I dunno, the sense that this should be a lot more trashy than it actually is. :|b I hope the OP likes it!

**

Steve said, “The future is confusing,” with a wry grin and a shake of his head at him, as if it was an inside joke. Steve probably didn’t realize that for him, everything is confusing.

Steve brought him to a tower in Manhattan (had he been in the city before? he couldn’t remember) and started giving him things. He got a room (“Tony said he can spare a floor if you want, Buck, but we can bunk together until then.”) and what seemed like an obscenely large amount of stuff - clothes, shoes, toiletries, books, electronics. Then Steve showed him to all the different rooms - a fully equipped gym big enough for a hundred super soldiers, a living area with couches and televisions and according to Steve, all the movies and shows that he can watch, and several kitchens with full pantries and iceboxes.

“Help yourself to anything you want.” Steve insisted.

He stared at Steve mutely, not sure what to say even if he wasn’t feeling overwhelmed. This was different. This was confusing. This was completely counter to what he knows.

(What he wanted never mattered. He was never given things, only had things taken away from him. His arm, his memories, his humanity - )

“Bucky?” Steve asked, worried.

“...Okay.” he replied, because ‘okay’ had proven to be a favorable response with Steve before.

Steve looked sad for a moment, but then made himself smile at Bucky and gestured to the room in general. “This is the kitchen for our floor, but you can use the one on the common floor too, if you’d rather.” He nodded to one of the kitchen stools. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You want some lunch?”

He sat, because that was a non-verbal order. (“Do as you’re told,” he remembers, but couldn’t really tell if it was from Hydra or maybe even before that) “Okay.” He said again, because he was supposed to be seen, not heard, but Steve had asked a direct question.

He sat and watched Steve prepare food. It looked like he was putting meat and other fixings between slices of bread. Sandwiches, he thought. Sandwiches were good. He wondered what he had done to earn sandwiches because he hadn’t done anything except fail his mission since the Insight Helicarrier crashes, so he switched to wondering what he’d have to do to earn them.

(He earned a lot of things on his knees. They don’t want him to talk but they really liked his mouth.)

Steve gave him two sandwiches and a tall glass of juice, sitting down next to him with his own plate of the same. He waited, for Steve to take the food away or to give him permission or to push him down, but Steve merely picked up his own sandwich and raised his eyebrows after taking a big bite.

“Needs more mustard,” Steve mused. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

He started eating because that was an indirect order. Steve smiled at him.

Everything’s confusing.

**

(Before, it was just a vague sense of unease, the Asset’s unformed notion that something was not right. After, even as he had to clamp his flesh hand down over his own mouth to stop - stop something, sound, bile, vomit - when he remembered, it made an odd sort of sense. He gave, they take. That’s what’s right. Being given things was all backwards.)

**

They made a racket, coming in post-mission, Steve and two members of his team - he had filed their names away like a mission briefing - as they came into the kitchen. Thor of Asgard and Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye. Thor was dressed pretty outlandishly (armor and a red cape…? really?) but Barton could’ve blended in with any of the STRIKE teams if it weren’t for the strategic placement of purple on his kevlar and his bow and quiver.

“That was weaksauce,” Barton was saying as he took out beers from the fridge. “If you’re gonna invade Manhattan, you gotta do better than imitation Iron Man ‘bots.”

“I’m just glad they weren’t that hard to fight,” Steve sighed, accepting his beer and shooting a smile at him in greeting while rolling his eyes at his two companions. “Hey, Bucky. We’re back.”

Steve had stood in front of him, practically trembling with nervous energy a few hours ago, awkwardly asking if he was going to be alright by himself. He had thought Steve was trying to politely order him to participate in the mission, but when he offered hesitantly, Steve almost bent over backwards saying that he didn’t have to come if he didn’t want to. It was really weird and he still wasn’t sure if he did the right thing, either making the offer or staying behind.

“I must agree with the great Hawk, honorable Captain!” Thor boomed, “for the ‘weaksauce’ metal constructs have merely whetted my appetite for battle!”

Barton snorted with laughter as Steve rolled his eyes. Sometimes he didn’t have much grasp of English, much less slang, but he was pretty sure Thor using the word ‘weaksauce’ in any sentence was grounds for hilarity in normal people.

Then he thought about Thor’s words. Sometimes the handlers had no interest in using his mouth or his body, but were okay with letting the members of their team do it. Said it was good for team bonding and stress relief. Maybe that was what Steve wanted…?

“The Captain had spoken at length about your great prowess in battle, Soldier!” Thor boomed. “I was greatly disappointed that you were not able to attend our melee today, mayhaps I might interest you in a test of skill in the 94th floor arena?”

The 94th floor housed the Avengers’ gym. Steve was starting to say that he didn’t have to but he was used to responding to orders framed as questions, and...and this would make sense, if he could do what Thor wanted - whether it’s a real spar or something else. Barton was making interested noises and he thought it wouldn’t be too bad even if it was both of them. He’s had worse.

“Okay.”

**

Steve was quiet with Thor as they got ready but his hearing was good enough to pick out, “Don’t you dare hurt him,” and he was slightly confused, because no matter which way he looked at it, whatever they end up doing was supposed to hurt.

“Here,” Barton handed him some tape for his hands. “Normal sparring rules apply, which means no hammer for Thor and no weapons for you. The match is stopped once someone taps out or is down for a ten-count. Keep it clean - no hits below the belt, no strikes against the eyes or throat, minimal blood and no hair pulling.”

He gave the Avenger a long stare. The list seemed oddly specific.

Barton grinned. “Natasha’s reminded us repeatedly that dirty fighting’s always allowed unless explicitly stated. Even then she can take down Thor clean most of the time.” His expression turned more serious. “Is it going to be a problem?”

He looked at Thor and fixed the parameters in his mind, mentally excluding the moves that Hawkeye would deem as ‘dirty’ from his repertoire and also handing over the three knives he had on his person. Immediately he felt naked, but answered, “No.”

Steve came over and stared at him intently. He stilled and waited to see if Steve had anything to add. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Bucky,” Steve finally said, “and I mean it, I know sometimes you say okay to things because you think we want to hear it.”

“It’s fine.” he said, because maybe ‘okay’ wasn’t as a favorable response as he thought it was. Steve smiled exasperatedly.

“Have fun and don’t hurt each other.”

He added that to the mission parameters too, even though he wasn’t sure if he knew how to have fun.

--

It ended both the way he expected and not - he expected to end up on his back, covered in sweat and gasping for breath and hurting absolutely all over. But his throat didn’t hurt from choking and there was no pain between his thighs. As promised, his hair was left un-yanked.

Thor was slowly getting to his feet, and he felt a little satisfied that the juggernaut was at least breathing as hard as he was.

“Aaand I’m gonna call that a wrap,” Barton hollered, then added, “Goddamn aliens and super soldiers. I’m sore just looking at you two.”

“A fine bout! My thirst for battle has been slaked, you are truly a worthy opponent, Soldier of Winter!” Thor came into his view upside-down, with a wide grin and an outstretched hand. There was a bit of red leaking out of the blond’s nose, from his run-in with a metal fist. Thor had a very hard face.

He accepted the hand up.

“Okay, new rule,” Barton grimaced. “You are not allowed to do Natasha’s thigh thing. How are you so freakishly bendy?”

Steve gave him water, which felt really good and cool going down. Everyone was smiling and clapping him on the shoulder (firm but not hard, not like they want it to hurt but not like they’re afraid either) and he wondered if this was him, having fun.

**

Sometimes, he wondered if he should just ...just do it. Get it over with. He could remember that sometimes it hurt less, didn’t last as long, if he didn’t resist. Some days it was fine, confusing but fine, that Steve gave and gave and gave and never seemed to want anything back. Or, rather, what Steve wanted back never made sense - when he tried returning a smile, Steve’s grin practically glowed; when he shared a few of the memories that came without pain, Steve hugged him; when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch, Steve stayed still to be his pillow.

Some days it was not fine because it was like a giant axe over his head, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He hasn’t earned any of this, he failed his last mission and he hadn’t completed any new ones. He’s not sure why Steve’s not realized that this equation wasn’t balanced, that he was owed. The Asset killed and the Asset served, that was the way of things.

(But he didn’t dare do it. There was a handler once that wanted him to snap to for everything, but the one time he tried to anticipate the man, tried to drop to his knees before the command came, getting hit in the face was the least of it. He was thoroughly educated on just what they thought about the Asset taking unsolicited initiative. The pain lasted a very long time, from a lot of hands and cocks and jeering mouths, and they let him remember it too.)

So when Stark (Tony, not Howard) breezed in one day, mid-conversation with Barton and Banner, and declared loudly, “yeah, yeah, why don’t you blow me,” he thought, finally.

Immediately after, Steve and Natasha, who were trying to make him decide what movie to watch, chorused, “Don’t listen to anything Tony says.”

Steve sighed and waved his hand at the landlord, “Tony, why do you have to be so...you?”

“You just gestured to, like, all of me,” Tony replied sassily. The cadences of it was familiar, like they were mimicking some sort of pre-set exchange.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but only said, “Great idea, let’s watch How to Train Your Dragon.”

They made him sit, hold the popcorn, eat the popcorn (he thought he was just supposed to hold it), and watch the movie.

He was starting to think that Steve wasn’t the only one that had things backwards. Either that, or the crazy was contagious.

**

It all came to a head a few weeks later, when he was nodding off against Steve’s shoulder again, watching another movie.

Steve pushed down gently on his head, and he thought ‘Finally’ again, but Steve also twisted and grabbed one of the decorative cushions and deposited it in his own lap, effectively blocking access to the front of his pants. He was confused, was this a test?

“It’ll be more comfortable,” Steve explained (it explained nothing), “This way you won’t get a crick in your neck.”

Steve seemed happy when he gingerly laid his head down on the pillow, on Steve’s lap. He was just starting to relax a little when he felt a weight on his head - a hand in his hair, fingers scratching lightly through the strands, carding. Moving gently from crown to nape and back again.

He couldn’t help but tense up. There was a pillow in the way, but the sense-memory of hands in his hair led seamlessly to yanking and pain in his scalp followed by hot, hard lengths forced into his mouth, making it hard to breathe, making him want to gag.

It was like bracing for a blow, he was tense and ready and the blow never came, no matter how long he waited. But he couldn’t brace forever.

“Bucky, what’s wrong…?”

Every part of him was screaming to stop it, that he would be punished (like last time), but he was so tired of the dread. He kept his eyes down as he tugged Steve’s hand away from his hair, sliding off the couch and on his knees facing Steve in the same move. He determinedly pushed the cushion aside and took Steve’s wrist (using his flesh hand, they didn’t like it when he used the metal one), putting his hand back in his hair.

He couldn’t make himself do more than that, he tried but his hands dropped to his thighs and shook. Steve’s fingers had clenched and this - this was more familiar. If only Steve would tug, then he would know what Steve wanted him to do.

The hands loosened, slid down and cupped the back of his head, then moved to his shoulder, the touch weightless. “Bucky,” Steve said, sounding like he was trying to be very, very careful. “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He was so frustrated, but he didn’t dare to be angry - Steve was different but he wasn’t allowed to be angry. Words were hard normally but now they seemed even more impossible to reach. “...I don’t understand,” he finally said. Because that’s the crux of it - he was just so confused.

“That makes two of us, buddy,” Steve muttered back. “Why don’t you start by explaining why you’re down there?”

--

Steve cajoles, teases, encourages the words out, until he managed to string together a few sentences, explaining. And then he could finally see understanding dawning on Steve’s face for a split second but he daren’t think ‘finally’ again because that’s never gone right for him.

He was right, because Steve’s expression went from comprehension to horror and then to terrible, terrible anger. He had never seen Steve look so angry. Whenever his handlers looked that angry, he usually ended up begging for cryo, or the chair, anything to make it end.

“Bucky, I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Steve finally said, after he got his breathing under control, lips white and thin. He expected Steve’s hands to be firm, but his touch was still light as a feather. They didn’t hurt at all. “You will never have to do that again, for anyone, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”

“But…” he tried to find more words. “...I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Steve replied. “You saved me.”

He remembered the Potomac, pulling Steve out of the water. Did Steve think that counted? “I hurt you before, so we’re even on that.”

“No, not that. From before,” Steve leaned in and touched their foreheads together. It was warm and their noses bumped briefly. “You saved me, so many times. You don’t owe me, Bucky, if anything, I owe you. If I feed and clothe and protect you for the rest of my life, I’d still owe you.”

It felt right and not-right at the same time. “I saved you,” he repeated, because that part sounded right. “But...you don’t owe me and - I don’t...owe you?” He offered. That also sounded right, some part of him remembered never keeping count.

Steve laughed, and it loosens a hard knot that was in his stomach. “You drive a hard bargain, Buck, always did.” Steve pulled back and nodded, smiling. “Fine. We don’t owe each other anything, then. So you don’t have to worry about doing ...that, for me, for any of us. Just your company is enough.” He went when Steve tugged, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Steve wrapped his arms around him and whispered, “please, just stay.”

He raised his hands and tried hugging back. “Okay.” he replied.

Everything was still confusing, and everything was still crazy. But he thought that staying with Steve - that didn’t sound too hard.

**end

AAAAAAAAH, my heart! This was perfect, just perfect, I can't even with all these emotions! I'm not the OP, but I absolutely love this, thank you so much for sharing it!

OP here - oh anon! This could not have been more perfect! Just what ?I wanted! :D :D

So relieved that you liked it, OP! When I was reading it over I kept thinking to myself: 'this is more like...trash-lite, or something'. But the WS feelings would not quit, so I posted it despite some misgivings.

I'm gonna go sit in a corner and resist filling out the follow-up prompt now. But Bucky in a Starbucks trying to decode their menu would be classic gold. :Db

Trash-lite!Anon

Ooh the follow up prompt is gold! Give in to temptation trash-lite anon!

OP, may I post this on the main avengers kink meme? I just noticed the other day that the prompt was there too...

I'm not sure of the netiquette of this stuff, but I figured I'd ask before I do anything else. :P

trash-lite!Anon

OP - absolutely! The more people who get to read this beautiful piece of trash the better! Besides,it's your work, up to you where you put it :)

This was *wonderful*. *___________*

Ohhh, this is amazing. I could just see Steve asking "...Bucky, what are you doing?" very very carefully and my heart clenched a little bit. It's just this perfect, quiet horror, and his response is so very Steve.

This made me cry in the best ways. Poor Bucky, poor poror Bucky.

Dear Author! It is very-very cool, so I have two things to say:
1. I adore this fic and your Steve, your Steve is great and sweet and sunshine.
2. Be so kind, give me permission to make a translation of it! With all the links and credits, be sure, to this place or whatever you'll choose (because maybe you have it on AO3, dunno). So. Please?

Sumiregava

Oh, wow, I'm super flattered that you want to make a translation of this thing, of course the answer is yes. If you want to use the slightly cleaner version, it's in the hydrameme anon collection on ao3, link below.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2351879

If you'll let me know where you're posting the translation, I can update the notes to include the link. :)

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Trash Party Dumpster #1

Re: Party favour Bucky - aftereffects

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Re: Party favour Bucky - aftereffects - OP

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Re: Party favour Bucky - aftereffects - OP

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