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.
MINIFILL: filthy rags // impure with sin
(Anonymous) 2014-10-13 12:44 am (UTC)(link)“Christ, he’s the weight of a fucking car,” Brock says, almost buckling under Steve's’ weight, “Who the fuck thought it was a good idea again?” No one answers, but then again he wasn’t expecting one. Steve was supposed to be given enough of the sedative to keep him pliant, but whoever administered it must have got twitchy and overcompensated-- while he’s definitely awake, if the weak sounds he’s making are any indication, he’s not much beyond that.
They’ve been given free rein to do whatever the fuck they want to Steve beyond permanent damage, and they’d all jumped at the opportunity to fuck him when there’s no risk of him fighting back. They pull and drag him and manage to heft him onto the interrogation table, where he lays as they drop him, eyes (the only part of him he can currently control) watching them with pure hatred even as they begin to droop with the weight of the drugs. Brock grins down at him.
“Get me some rope, I wanna tie him up,” he says, gesturing at the nearest guy, who tilts his head questioningly.
“Rope isn’t going to hold him if he regains his strength, sir,” he says, and Brock shrugs.
“He’s not going to be able to move for a good long while actually. The rope is to stop him slipping off the table when we fuck him.” That gets them interested, laughing nervously and shifting on their feet. The same guy’s eyes go wide.
“Sir, are we really--”
“You can do whatever you fucking want to him,” Brock interrupts, ignoring the soft huff of indignation from Steve, “After you get me the rope.” And the guy quickly makes himself scarce, coming back a moment later with a good ten-foot roll of it over his shoulder. After that they make quick work of it under Brock’s direction; they use someone’s knife to cut off his shirt then saw off a short bit of rope to wrap around his wrists and tie to the handcuff attachment at one end of the table, then two of the guys yank his pants and underwear off, hefting his legs up to press against his chest, then wrapping the rope around him to keep them there, then a little more under and around the table to keep him still. It wouldn’t faze him in the slightest if he regained even a little of his strength, but that’s what the hypodermics tucked into their boots are for, and he sure as hell makes a pretty sight with his legs spread, asshole on show for anyone who cares to look.
Brock claps his hands together, turns to the nearest guy and claps him on the back.
“I guess we better get to it then. You can fuck his ass first, I’ll take his mouth.” he says, already climbing on the table straddle Steve's chest, ignoring the men behind him discuss logistics-- mostly whether they wanted to use lube or not. Brock looks down at Steve’s face while he unzips, taking in the slack jaw-- just a little spit gathered at the corner of his lips, the rising flush on his cheeks that is undoubtedly out of anger rather than any sort of embarrassment or fear. Brock presses a finger into Steve's mouth, pulling it open with no resistance whatsoever. His hips twitch forward.
“If you tell me to stop I will.” he says, runs his fingers over Roger’s lips, down his chin. “Speak, and we’ll stop. You’ll still get tortured and probably killed, sure. But you won’t have to suffer the humiliation of being fucked by half a dozen men you used to call teammates.” There are some laughs from behind him, and he feels Steve slide forward a little underneath him when someone pushes in. Brock unzips his own pants and pulls out his cock to stroke it a little, smirking at the fire in his eyes, the little noises he makes as he tries to force words through numb lips.
“Nnnnh,” he manages, eyes fluttering. Brock gets a hand in Steve’s hair, lifting his head enough that he can grind up against his face, precome catching in pretty eyelashes.
“Hm? You trying to say something? Or are you just making sounds ‘cause you’re desperate for it?” Brock says. He watches Steve struggle to try and make another sound, but apparently he’s exhausted himself because all that comes out is a low whine.
“Oh good,” he says, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He rolls his shoulders, lets Steve’s head drop back against the table with a thud-- doesn’t give him a chance to re-orientate himself before leaning down and pushing his cock between slack lips.
Later, after a lunch break, Brock comes back to the room to see that the two men left to watch Steve (new, young- he doesn’t know their names) had untied him from his previous position and are currently pushing and shoving to get him the way they want him. His head lolls against the table, arms hanging off the edge whilst two men try to get his legs underneath him. One of them wraps an awkward arm around Steve’s waist, holding him while the other yanks at him until he manages, finally, to get him sort-of on his knees. There’s no way he’s able to do anything other than slump forward against the table, but the new position definitely makes it easier to fuck him. The guy holding Steve’s waist throws his arms up in success while the other wheezes, hands on his thighs. Brock understands-- Rogers is a heavy son of a bitch, and shoving him about isn’t easy.
The wheezing guy finally looks up, noticing Brock standing in the doorway for the first time.
“Sir.” he says. “Did you want to fuck him first?”
Re: MINIFILL: filthy rags // impure with sin
(Anonymous) 2014-10-13 01:14 am (UTC)(link)*scrounges in nearby refuse to find a token worthy of this bespoke trash
*presents you with a pile of warped and moldy children's illustrated bibles left in the rain and a package of expired eclairs (maple flavored, no one wanted them..)
Re: MINIFILL: filthy rags // impure with sin
(Anonymous) 2014-10-13 07:55 am (UTC)(link)Cheers and thanks for filling this!
Re: MINIFILL: filthy rags // impure with sin
(Anonymous) 2014-10-14 06:33 pm (UTC)(link)Re: MINIFILL: filthy rags // impure with sin
(Anonymous) 2014-10-26 06:07 pm (UTC)(link)