hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

Okay, kids, you know the drill. Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because

hydratrashmeme is about as far from a safe space as you can get. Garbage we like: noncon, whump, aftermath, violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves. Garbage you should find a different trashcan for: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, OOC evil!good guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves, rotting leftovers dressed up as a romantic gourmet meal. Nothing wrong with 'em, but this isn't the crowd you should be pitching to if you're trying to sell Brock Rumlow as anything but a human dumpster fire.

Link your fills on the fill post, post unprompted fills as replies to a header comment so the wall o' text is collapsible, and let me know if you're interested in helping out with the Pinboard archive.

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All prompts or fills that contain Infinity War spoilers must go on the Infinity War spoiler post until May 26th. Spoilers in the main dumpsters will be deleted.

Round 4 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 5.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And I don't mean Hydra operatives, I mean the organization itself.

Rumlow considers himself married to Hydra. He decides to consummate his marriage by fucking a Hydra logo. I don't care if it's painted on the wall or on the Soldier's back, or wherever, I just want Rumlow to rub himself all over it until he comes.

Bonus points:
+ the words "Hail Hydra" turn Rumlow on
+ Rollins paints the Hydra logo somewhere on his body so Rumlow would fuck him, too

“Murphy, how’s the encryption coming?”

Silence. Usually, Murphy would talk your ear off without being asked—while being told to shut up, even—so the lack of response was enough to make Mercer raise her head. “Murphy?”

He’d walked back into the conference room a few minutes ago after going to refill his coffee. The cup in his hands was trembling, and he made no move to lift it to his mouth. He looked pale, almost ashen.

“Murphy!” Mercer repeated. She grabbed an ink pen from the table and tossed at him, nailing him right in the center of his face. He barely blinked. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“He probably saw someone eating chicken,” Rollins said, rolling his eyes. “Murphy. Just pretend it was tofurkey and get back to work.”

Slowly, Murphy shook his head. His eyes were wide, his lips going white from how tightly they were pursed. “Commander Rumlow…”

“What about him?” Mercer prompted when Murphy lapsed back into himself. He couldn’t have emptied a whole can of AXE into the break room again; Murphy didn’t reek of the stuff.

“He shoved bacon down your throat?” Westfahl guessed. “Cool.”

Murphy shuddered violently. “No! He—his pants were off and—”

“So he forgot to lock the bathroom stall again,” Rollins said. “It happens. Calm the hell down and get drunk once you go home.”

“No!” Murphy was shaking hard now, but no coffee sloshed out of his mug. Had he even refilled it? “I went for coffee and—and he—”

Murphy nudged open the door to the break room with his shoulder, hoping there would still be a little pumpkin spice dairy-free creamer in the communal fridge. He’d labeled it as his and even sent out a mass email requesting that people at least ask before they take it, but he should have known the allure of pumpkin spice was too powerful. He made a mental note to look into getting a mini-fridge for his cubicle—

“Hail HYDRA…uhh…fuck yes—”

Murphy turned toward the voice.

He’d never thought to pray to be blind before, but he’d never come into the break room to see his commanding officer fucking the wall either.

That’s what he saw now. The room was dark—Rumlow must have shut off the lights—but that was the commander, pants around his knees and hips rubbing against cinderblock.

No, not cinderblock. That was the expanse of wall where all the safety posters about how to do the Heimlich maneuver were taped up. But there was a new poster now, bigger, keeping Rumlow from chafing himself against the blocks.

Over Rumlow’s shoulder, Murphy could see a red tentacle.

“Nnnh…” Rumlow was gasping. “Order through—ah—order—”

And, praying to be deaf too, Murphy backed away, making sure the door didn’t slam after him.

“Just right there!” Murphy said. He’d put the coffee cup down on the table now, hands twisting through his hair. “Where anyone could see! Any non-HYDRA people! Doesn’t he know that lock is broken?”

“I’d have figured he’d be fucking his body spray, if anything.” Mercer couldn’t stop the giggles bubbling up. Incredible. She had to get a picture on her phone before Rumlow blew his load. Or maybe while he did. His o-face was probably hilarious.

“He considers himself married to HYDRA,” Rollins said. “I was hoping he didn’t mean that so literally.”

“You don’t sound surprised,” Mercer noted, digging her phone out of her bag.

“We share an apartment. You can only see suspicious stains on so many logos before you start to notice the pattern.”

“He doesn’t clean up after?” Westfahl asked. “Gross!”

“Dammit, Westfahl, keep your voice down.” Mercer pushed her chair back, standing up. “I’ve got to get a picture. The Intranet’s gonna love me for this.”

“Wait,” Rollins said. “Anyone got a Sharpie? I want try drawing the old skull and tentacles on my skin.”

“Thought you weren’t into sex.” Mercer was already halfway to the door.

“I’m into blackmail,” Rollins answered, and Mercer bit down a laugh.

“You can do that at home. I’ve only got one shot at this.”

[OP] OMG, I got a fill!!!

You totally made my day, anon, this fic is a pure gem from the first word to the very last. I was grinning all the time as I read it, and at this point:

“Nnnh…” Rumlow was gasping. “Order through—ah—order—”

I just couldn't take it anymore and cracked up laughing. Traumatized Murphy was priceless. I also love this part:

“Thought you weren’t into sex.” Mercer was already halfway to the door.
“I’m into blackmail,” Rollins answered, and Mercer bit down a laugh.

Ace Rollins is my favorite Rollins <3

Murphy may never recover.

Ace Rollins is my favorite too!

I love this! Rumlow is the kind of asshole who would fuck a Hydra poster in the office.

Poor Murphy. There are some things even Hydra's electric brain bleach can't erase.

Rollins not being into sex but being into blackmail was comedic genius!

Hahahahaha this is fantastic. Rollins you old bastard...

“Nnnh…” Rumlow was gasping. “Order through—ah—order—”
Hahaha this is hilarious! Loved evil Rollins and poor hapless Murphy too. <3

Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

Rumlow/Hydra

[Mini-Fill] "Married to His Work" Rumlow/Hydra [1/1]

Re: [Mini-Fill] "Married to His Work" Rumlow/Hydra [1/1]

Re: [Mini-Fill] "Married to His Work" Rumlow/Hydra [1/1]

Re: [Mini-Fill] "Married to His Work" Rumlow/Hydra [1/1]

Re: [Mini-Fill] "Married to His Work" Rumlow/Hydra [1/1]

Re: [Mini-Fill] "Married to His Work" Rumlow/Hydra [1/1]