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] Title What Title (2/7)
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 03:43 am (UTC)(link)1
Natasha was playing with Bucky’s hair. She was sprawled out on the couch with her feet on Sam’s lap, one arm over the back of the couch while the other hung down to play with the Soldier’s locks. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, watching-but-not-really the Dodgers game.
Steve walked in, then, glanced at the score before dropping a file on the floor in front of Bucky. “Latest psych evals.”
Barnes looked at them. “It’s significantly slimmer than the first one.”
“Don’t worry.” Steve sat next to him and flipped the file open. “It’s basically an addendum.”
“So what?” Sam asked from the couch. He was trailing a finger along the arch of one of Natasha’s feet absently. “No progress?”
“A little. There are some changes in here, but mostly the reassessments have the same conclusion.” He flipped a few pages. “There are some recommendations, treatments and stuff.”
“I’m not taking drugs, Steve. I’ve had enough of those to last a dozen lifetimes.”
“I know, I know.” He showed him one of the pages. “They recommend a masseuse, for the stress.”
“I’m not exposing myself to civilians like that, either.”
“Well, they’ve already picked one out.” Bucky didn’t understand why Steve was smirking at him.
He yelped in surprise when a hand touched his shoulder, and Natasha said directly in his ear, “I’m a spy, James. I have many skills.” She took her feet back from Sam, straightening up so that the Soldier sat between her legs, and put her other hand on his metal shoulder, her thumb running in circles around the clear flesh of his nape. She trailed her fingers down between his shoulder blades.
Bucky had her lying on her back in front of the couch a moment later, and he was standing across the room with his arms up and breathing hard.
---
The Asset was still out three days later. Something had come up that they needed him for, a quick in-and-out mission. He wasn’t surprised when they led him to a room and Rumlow came in again, with his belt and his baton.
He was surprised, however, when the Director followed him. The Director walked right up to him, and the Asset focused his gaze on the shiny black shoes, as always. “This agent needs more training. I’ll be observing him. You remember that session a few days ago, right?” He gave one short, jerky nod. “It will be more of the same.”
Rumlow had that smirk on his face again. He didn’t go for the arm this time, though. Instead, he circled around behind the Asset and put his hands on his shoulders. The Asset waited for him to choke him, maybe use the baton on the pale flesh of his neck, or scrape a knife along his cheek. Instead, Rumlow started kneading his fingers in, pressing against the tension in the Asset’s shoulders. He was massaging him, the Asset realized. (He wondered if this what he felt was shock.) Rumlow did that for several minutes, a few stray fingers trailing down and up his back, pushing the tension away, rubbing out the knots. They were painful, but it was to be expected with such things. All par for course.
The Asset looked up at the Director, fleetingly, but the man had made no move, was watching with those cold, intelligent eyes, completely unresponsive. The Asset was still looking at him when he felt the explosion of pain, right between his sensitive shoulder blades. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and his jaw clenched. He didn’t black out, of course not, but the pain was unlike anything he’d been expecting, and he grimaced without meaning to. When he looked again, he saw that the Director was smiling.
---
Barnes trembled. Natalia was across the room, pulling herself to her feet slower than usual, possibly from shock. Sam Wilson was helping her. Captain Rogers was standing next to them, his eyes locked on Barnes.
“Bucky?” he asked softly. He raised his empty palms as he took a careful step forward. “Bucky, it’s just me. It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe here, you know that right?” He continued his approach, and soon—too soon—he was standing right in front of him. “No one’s going to hurt you, Buck. It was just a bad memory.”
“Bad memory,” he repeated. “Bad memory.”
“It’s just me, Steve. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said again. His words
were soft, but there was an underlying firmness to them, a strength. “You’re Bucky Barnes, and I’m your friend.”
“My friend,” he said again. “I’m Bucky Barnes.” He lowered his arms, fists uncurling. “I’m Bucky Barnes.” When he said it the second time, it was less of a question, more of a statement. He wasn’t trying the statement on for size, he knew it to be true. “I’m Bucky.” He almost smiled. “And you’re Steve.” His friend smiled at that, and he was able to, too.
Steve held out his hand for Bucky to take. He stared at it for a few minutes and then, rubbing his metal palm against the back of his neck, he slipped his flesh fingers through Steve’s, his friend’s, and let himself be led back across the room.
Re: [FILL] Title What Title (2/7)
(Anonymous) 2014-07-21 11:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Title What Title (2/7)
(Anonymous) 2014-08-12 09:21 pm (UTC)(link)