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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Hi you sweet an moldy, just dropping in for a few quick warnings: besides the obvious there’s lots of internalized victim blaming on Bucky’s part here, a bit of vomiting, a tiny reference to off-screen violence against animals (but Stevie saves the day) and angst as subtle as a bionic fist to the nose. Enjoy. :D ]

___

Should have told him.

He should have – told – him.

Bucky braces himself against the wall, silver arm skidding sidewards with the force of the next heave, no fingernails to dig into the cheap tapestry. Next time, his fingertips break through the surface as a whole.

His legs couldn’t be trusted, and so he crouches in the corner of this godforsaken room, in this godforsaken vault, vomits his godforsaken guts out and curses all of Hydra plus himself seven times to hell.

What was he thinking, getting away with that?

God. He’d laugh – a sarcastic, bitter rasp that has become his second skin as of late – if his throat wasn’t so busy bidding its farewells to every last bit of breakfast he’s had today, or maybe ever.

There’s no one around, it’s been just Steve and him to begin with and as expected, whatever’s left of Hydra had fled in a hurry hours ago. Cold scent, if not –

– if not for the archive.

And now Steve is up there; up there with that dusty box they dragged up from behind piles of documents, dusty box full of pictures and tapes; explicit and unmistakable, them, him, and the way Steve’s eyes – "Bucky, what –?"

He should have learned long ago that there is no mercy for him.

(And even if he’d still deserved it after he’s killed all these people, he no longer does for what he’s done to Steve. Sins by omission.)

He chokes.

At first, of course, he hadn’t been in much of a state to talk. Right or not: Bucky’s homing beacon had always aimed right at Steve, and even if it knew nothing else; that wretched creature that had shed the skin of the Winter Soldier and found there was nothing left to hold it together – that one dragged itself near Steve time and time again, too.

And Steve, he. Well. In his heart of hearts, he was still the same kid from Brooklyn. And Bucky guesses in the end there’s not that much difference between rescuing a stray dog (whose broken bones didn’t keep it from snapping even at gentle hands), and a not-machine-not-person with a mind the sound of nails against blackboard.

And they probably smelled around the same, too.

Steve cleaned him and patched him up, fed him and warmed him and he sucked it up like a sponge, this, yesthismore, would have devoured Steve whole to fill the emptiness inside if he’d not been too afraid to destroy everything he touched.

Bucky knows he’s only got himself to blame – if he’d kept his feelings for Steve at a sane level before all that shit went down, what was left of the Winter Soldier might just have curled up in an alleyway and died.

The way it was though, he played perfectly into Hydra’s hands – a trojan horse if there ever was one, right into the home of the enemy. It was Bucky’s body wrapped in two blankets in Steve’s bed, yes, for sure – or at least what was left of it – but it came with an extra; something twisted, tainted, and worse: contagious.

And Steve gave and gave, and he’d never even mention it again, but Bucky remembers. He remembers resting against those impossibly broad shoulders, tucked in between Steve and Steve and Steve, and he remembers warm, and safe.

And what Steve got in return was never knowing if that wet lump of a man – clinging to him for dear life – was whimpering against his chest because it wept or because it feverishly tried to nibble through Steve’s shirt or some kind of shit, or if it jerkily humped Steve’s thigh with a burning erection.
More often than not, it was one or another weird combination.

Bucky’s mortified when he remembers that later, after the fever breaks.

In any case, it was all equally desperate. Steve reacted the same too, wrapped his arms around Bucky tighter, drew him even closer; I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’ve got you.

Bucky loves Steve so much it hurts.

(Would have been better if he’d loved Steve enough not to hurt him.)

And if he thought he knew how shame felt, well. Now that Steve’s going through those files, Bucky’s redefining the scale.

(Now there’s no chance anymore to smartly play things down, to lie through your teeth, now he knows exactly what they did to you, how they used you and dirtied you and threw you away and how you did not fight and let them and moaned and begged if they told you to and then you crawled into Steve’s bed and touched him and allowed him to think you were some kind of lost treasure and instead all you could give him were sloppy seconds and be honest for once you did not tell him so he would not have the choice to turn away you tricked him you let him kiss you all those places even when you knew who’d been there before and how and did you really think you could wash that away no buddy not even if you skinned yourself)

His chest hurts from retching and he’s empty; empty but for the ugly truth – that he’s no better than them, worse even, because he’s been their enemy and to hurt your enemies and to hurt your friends are two different things entirely.

Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Bucky straightens up. Okay Barnes, get it together, you gotta – you can’t be a coward, don’t prove them right, not any more than you already have.

He’s got to face Steve, give him the chance to – to whatever he needs. Encourage him even, push him, because it’s Steve and Bucky’s not sure there’s anything he could do to Steve that would make that stupid punk take revenge as severe as he’s got the right to. Bucky will help. It’s not pain he fears, not the physical one, but the look on Steve’s face; the betrayal, the disappointment, (hate, maybe hate), that turns his blood to rivulets of ice.

His eyes dart to the door, and Steve’s still upstairs… the pull is strong. Maybe if – no, he can’t lose his last bit –

The explosion almost sweeps him off his feet. His cough rattles in his lungs as he evaluates – oh no.

"Steve! Steve!"

A seemingly empty enemy base, a diversion he’d have to fall for and he immediately left Steve’s back unguarded, no, Steve, he has to –

He’s out in the corridor while the dust still blinds him, rifle in hand and taking three stairs at once.
And maybe this is his chance, maybe he can prove something to Steve if he dies for him. Only, if there is a God, please – this time for real.

no buddy not even if you skinned yourself

Not sure why but that line really got me. Can't wait to see what happens next!

Yesssss that one got to me too. It's such a visceral thought.

Thank you! Hah yeah, this is the dumpster, washing and scrubbing skin till it's red is for the shiny people upstairs. ;p

Jesus tittyfucking christ. Please take my collection of cracked CDs, o master of trash.

I really hope Jesus was a titty-fucker.

Ooh, cracked CDs! Mh, do I spot David Hasselhoff there?

I'm so happy this is getting a fill. And this one is so good. When I imagined writing it, I was thinking that Bucky would have forgotten the abuse and that he and Steve would not be in a sexual relationship but the way you've done it is sooo much better. Now, Bucky's reasons for feeling ashamed are almost understandable - he didn't tell Steve, maybe he let Steve think this is something he had never done before, something special and just for them. And I don't know where you're going with this, but I imagine Steve would feel guilty for taking advantage, and then Bucky will feel guilty for making Steve feel guilty, but really there's no reason for anyone to feel guilty, and omfg this is just going to be fabulous no matter what you do and okay I'll stop

OH HELLO THERE other potential author, thank you so much! And you can still totally write this – the more the merrier!
I've collected some CDs, a flower crown and some kind of Hippie who ogles my cleavage in a creepy way, so hey, I'm more than willing to share!

No, love. I think you've got got this TOTALLY HANDLED.

Lovely writer anon, please accept my deepest gratitude ... and maybe the flower crown made of fallen leaves and dead flowers & an apple cake - the special ingredient totes wouldn't be tears, no ma'am/sir - I'd present you with, were it possible to send gifts through the computer screens anonymously!

No but seriously, this is wonderfully, gutwrenchingly painful and thus so very lovely! (op)

Hi OP, thank you so much! I'm glad you suffer enough to get that apple pie-with-tears recipe exactly right. I'm not 100% sure which direction I want this to go, so I'll think about it while I have some of that.

God, this is perfect. I am right with Bucky when he says yesthismore.

And one more person who was punched in the gut by 'not even if you skinned yourself' I'm sorry this fill is already so good I don't even have words I just want to quote it back at you, it's SO GOOD.

Encourage him even, push him, because it’s Steve and Bucky’s not sure there’s anything he could do to Steve that would make that stupid punk take revenge as severe as he’s got the right to.

Oh, author!anon, the things you are doing to my heart! I offer you tribute of bloodied gauze, slimy cabbages and - especially for the comment about hurting your friends being worse than hurting your enemies - a whole apple pie that's getting furry on top.

[This took longer to continue than I expected, I was worried because that's such an angsty-misunderstanding-fic (aka everybody blames themselves for things nobody else would ever blame them for), and I thought it would be over pretty fast if people actually talked to each other. But hey, seems you can pack a lot of heartache even in that, sorry Buck. :) ]

-

He bursts into the hall without taking any safety precautions, and through the settling smoke he can make out Steve’s figure; upright, and relief floods him to the bone.

"Steve, what –"

Bucky only sees the other’s back, broad shoulders angled away from the entrance of the archive. He’s not sure if his presence has even been acknowledged, but as he closes in, Steve’s forearm comes up, signaling him to stop dead in his tracks. A second later another explosion rattles the walls, and more dust and paper chips blow out of the archive. Bucky wishes he had his mask on, and not only for the sake of breathing.

"I borrowed your grenades," Steve says.

Bucky nods, even though Steve still does not turn to look at him. He readies his rifle and takes position. "How many?" he asks.

"All of them," Steve growls. He digs up another, pulls the pin and throws it into the room, leaving the cover of the wall too far for Bucky’s taste. "No, I mean attackers – Jesus, Steve!"
He grips a rigid blue-coated bicep and pulls Steve back just in time for the next blast wave to hit.

As Steve lets himself be manhandled against the wall, Bucky meets his eyes for a moment, and he knew it’d be bad, but it’s worse. He lets go as if burned. Instinct had overwhelmed him, but he’s got no right to touch Steve anymore. (Oh, come on, you never had.) He’d hoped this fight might buy him some time, but –

"No attackers," Steve presses out through gritted teeth, "Just me. And I’m – cleaning – up."

He turns at the last words, and the next grenade explodes by the sheer force with which it hits the wall. Steve’s body shakes with barely suppressed rage, from hair to toe speckled with dust.

Oh.

Bucky briefly wonders about the other files in there, the 98% that had nothing to do with him and might contain intel, the ones they were supposed to bring in to SHIELD. He knows better than to mention that, though.

If Bucky’s counted right, they’re out of explosives at least, and he is not sure if that’s a relief or fucking bad news, because he’s blown his chance to run, and that means –

"Would you have ever told me?" Steve asks. He supports himself against the door frame, and he looks just about as done for as Bucky feels.

And Bucky’s as ready as he’ll ever be; which is not at all, and he hasn’t even decided on a strategy yet – try to fill the holes in Steve’s knowledge with the most convenient lies he can come up with, or go for a brutal honesty that leaves him raw and exposed, like he feels he owes Steve. But it also might hurt Steve even more.

"No," he says eventually, "Not if I could have helped it." Steve nods sharply, and the door frame creaks under the pressure of his grip.

Bucky searches for that pull inside, tries to stir the autopilot that makes him wade yet another mile through knee-deep mud, makes his eyes empty and his body pliant because pain is inevitable, but if he hangs on it will pass.

It’s just when it comes to Steve fucking Rogers, blocking out reality never really worked, did it? As the dust settles and Bucky is able to see more of Steve’s face, he thinks that now would be a damn great time for that to change. Steve wears his heart on his sleeve, and that’s swell when he beams at Bucky with that million-watt smile that makes Bucky pinch him in the arm because What the hell Stevie, people are gonna talk, but its paralyzing when his face is distorted in disgust.

Steve’s facing the other wall, or making out things in the smoke, but thank god he’s not attempting to lock eyes with Bucky, because that expression is worse than he’s ever seen on Steve and yes, he expected him to be all kinds of mad and hurt and disappointed… but disgust, that’s tough. It’s alright of course, what was Bucky thinking – Steve has performed enough miracles for two lifetimes already, high time Bucky gave him a break.

Awwwww, Bucky. "No." My heart.

Thanks! ;)

You shall be my trash deity forevermore, writer nonny! Bucky's shame and conviction that Steve's emotions are aimed at him rather than the people who abused him - it's so relatable, understandable and yet ...augh. And Steve burning it all down would the greatest thing, except of course for him to find out about this at all - the pain and heartache is just exquisite all around. (op)

Aw, hi OP, I'm glad you like it! The middle part wasn't really meant to stand on its own, the chapter just got too long to easily post/read as one, so now part 3 is up and the story's done. Phew. Thanks for your prompt! As always, that was much more fun to write than it maybe strictly should have been.

"What made you think–"

Bucky squares his shoulders at the acid in Steve’s words as he finally speaks again. (Don’t try to soften the blows, this is for Steve, you owe him that much.)

Steve has trouble swallowing and starts again.

"What did I do that made you think you had to do that with me?"

The question makes no sense and Bucky had not expected to be out of his depth quite so soon.

He ponders the right answer, the one Steve will want to hear. He even ponders the truth.

Does Steve think Bucky sleeps with him because – because what? Because he’s used to spreading his legs? Surely whatever pictures or clips he has seen (and Bucky itches to know which ones, but asking is the most unthinkable thing he can imagine), made it clear to Steve that there’s absolutely no similarity between those horrors and what they’re having.

Or does he mean why Bucky had to cross the line from friendship-but-I-wish to friendship-and-also? Because Bucky could adduce a thousand reasons for that, from the summer Steve was ten and his impossible lopsided smile showed off his tooth gaps, to the whole rotten war with death being an almost physical presence, making him reckless, drunk on survival – to hell with the consequences, why not seize any chance of happiness you get while you still can?

And then. And then when he emerged from seventy years of worse than death, everything had changed and everyone was gone – everyone except Steve, and wasn’t that a miracle, more than a sign? And Steve held him and touched him gently and told him he was finally home, and they were skin on skin and Bucky wanted –

How could he tell Steve any of this without making it sound like he tried to shuffle off part of the blame on him? He wouldn’t ever, and outrage at the mere thought of Steve blaming himself makes him blurt out: "Steve, nothing of this is your fault! I knew what I was doing, and I deliberately tricked you."

"Oh god, Bucky, if I’d known, I’d never –"

There are some blows you can’t prepare yourself for, no matter how much you expect them. Bucky nods because he does not trust his voice but he’s unwilling to show any weakness, so Steve won't start to hold back. Steve’s like that, would never kick anybody who’s on the ground, and Bucky has manipulated him enough.

"I didn’t notice!" Steve suddenly cries out, "What kind of friend gets so close and does not notice?"

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "I guess between me rocking back and forth in the corner at the sound of the neighbor trimming the hedges and trying to crush your windpipe when remains of my orders kicked in, it kinda got lost," he says dryly.

There’s nothing to fill the silence but Steve’s heavy breathing, and Bucky can see him trembling.

"Look," Bucky says, "I’m not asking for forgiveness, just give me the chance to tell you how sorry I am for deceiving you." He chews his lip. "For lying, ’n making you believe I hadn’t – before. I did it because you gave me so much and I wanted to have something to give you in return. Something, I mean, like." He makes a deliberately exaggerated gesture with his hands. "Shiny."

Even as he says it, Bucky realizes how fucking lame and pitiful his excuse sounds, so he falls silent and doesn’t even try telling Steve how there really – cross-his-heart-really – had been so many firsts with him still, because it’s not like they ever undressed much or rubbed his back or moaned his name when they –

He hears Steve wheel around more than he sees him, fingers suddenly gripping his shoulders, face wild. "You’re a person, Bucky, a human being! And people aren’t new or not new or shiny and not shiny, they are not things that start off intact and wear out over time, this is not how it works!"

Bucky smiles sadly because Steve is kind, but he’s also biased. (It’s sentiment, or maybe he’s lacking comparisons.) But Bucky knows the truth from people who had no reason to sugarcoat it. Not that he’d really understood then, but he remembered later.

He remembered disgusted faces and For heaven’s sake, clean up that mess and get him out of here. He remembered those agents that voluntarily used condoms and kept their gloves on. He remembered No thank you, I can’t unsee [name varied] shooting off all over him, I still have nightmares. (And that’s what he took from Steve, didn’t he? His chance to say No thanks, I know the history of this and I’d rather not.)

He also remembered men who looked at him and couldn’t get it up at all. He remembered What the fuck, you guys can’t really think I’m sticking my fingers in there, and the unyielding objects that were usually forced inside him afterwards. Between that and their rotten parties, no wonder he got all loose and used up, unable to satisfy them without being caused extra pain to make his muscles contract, or being taken two at once. And while some turned to that or lamented and used his mouth instead, others still enjoyed pounding into him, groaning into his ear how they were gonna destroy whatever’s left of him as well.

(And he did nothing, he just took it. Why on earth didn’t he do anything? He hates them, he hates them, and he’s gonna burn them down to nothing but the fucking grime they are.)

He’d been with Steve for a while when all that gradually came back, and he panicked, always worrying if he was too selfish; allowing himself too much lube or preparation at Steve’s cost. Whenever they had sex, Bucky constantly bit back the question if it felt right for Steve, if he was getting enough out of it – and when he did ask, Steve’s breath hitched against Bucky’s neck and without the slightest trace of sarcasm he whispered that he’d never felt anything more exquisite in his whole life. Bucky almost choked at that and came very close to confessing everything, the guilt of cheating Steve an unbearably painful lump in his throat.

"Oh, come on," Bucky says, "you wouldn’t wanna inherit Rumlow’s old toothbrush either."

"Not – a – thing!" Steve repeats desperately, in tact with shaking Bucky’s shoulders. “You are not less than before! Against all odds, you are alive, you fought your way back to reality, back to me – tooth and nail, don’t you think I know how hard that is? Of course there are rough patches, what did you expect? I admire your strength, I’m in awe at how much love there’s still inside you beneath your anger – no, don’t deny it, I see the way you look at me sometimes and it could keep me warm through a dozen Brooklyn winters."

He smiles softly. "Listen, the little kid I was needed the kid you were, but I, now, I need you, and I’d never trade, okay? Hey, Buck, look at m-"

Bucky shakes off the hand that reaches for his face. "Yeah sure, you love me, you want me. So there’s no difference to you if we’re having this between us or between us and oh – wait; seventy years worth of over hundred perverted Hydra goons?“

Steve blanches, such figures nothing to him but an unmeasurable amount of pain too huge to grasp, and he hisses against Bucky’s skin. "Hell," he says, "sure. The difference being hundred more souls downstairs writhing in fire and me up here being a million times more careful!"

(Jesus, Stevie. Priorities always upside down, always everyone else first, Bucky thinks and his lungs hurt with the thick air and a burst of tenderness towards the other man so intense it scares him, because it cracks him open from the inside, makes him all raw and vulnerable.)

"Steve!" Bucky says, "Any more careful and we’re landing us in a sex ed picture book. You know, When daddy and daddy love each other very much, …"

Steve covers Bucky’s mouth with his hand but can’t stifle a desperate laugh. Then he slumps against Bucky’s shoulder and tips their heads together. He’s warm and solid and smells of sweat and smoke and explosives.

"Oh god, Bucky, " he whispers, "I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I –"

"Don’t," Bucky says sharply, "I can’t – don’t." He feels Steve nod against him and becomes aware of his own body’s persistent trembling. Carefully, he raises his arms to rest on Steve’s back and the touch shakes something free in Steve, makes him squeeze Bucky even tighter with a muffled sound.

It does not feel like goodbye.

"Oh, come on," Bucky says, "you wouldn’t wanna inherit Rumlow’s old toothbrush either." - christ this hurt so much oh my god. dehumanisation is fucked-up enough when it's someone doing it to another person, but this - the result of it, seeing the damage done, the way bucky has come nnot only to view himself as an object, but to accept himself as one, to the point where it becomes his baseline and it never even occurs to him that it might be wrong, that he might (does) deserve better - that is what chills me to the bone.

and ummmm i'm really not sure if that sentence made any senes at all since i'm a lil drowsy from my medication rn but i hope it wasn't too much of a jumble :S well done on this whole story!

Oh nonnie, thanks so much for commenting even though you felt all drowsy, it's much appreciated! Here, I found some long expired apple juice right behind the dumpster, I think that one goes well with any kind of medication.

And yeah, dehumanization is my uber kink, don't even ask. =)

This made me want to cry and give Bucky whatever (non self-destructive) thing he wants. I love fics with misunderstandings that get cleared up. Kudos to you, author!anon.

aaaaah, oh, oh dear anon, please accept this offering of one(1) broken minidisc player containing my finest Evanescence playlist; a tea-stained, mold-infested spiral notebook of Trigonometry problems and tragic love poems dedicated to straight girls; and the tattered remains of a Mercedes Lackey novel kept in a backpack for two straight years.

GRADE A++ SUPER-FANCY ANGST INNER 16-YEAR-OLD ADORES YOU YESSSSSS

Trash Party Dumpster #1

Re: Steve/Bucky, stumbling across files neither of them ever wanted to see [Fill 1/?]

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