#quillofchoice

@quillingyousoftly​ 💙💙💙

86 - HH

Prompt: “I’ll walk you home.”

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Jack hated walking through the downtown area on a Friday night, it was always crowded, nor was it a good environment for his anxiety. But he pushed forward, kept his head down and simultaneously checked his phone to make sure that he was going in the right direction. He didn’t often venture out alone, not without Brock at least, yet Brock was part of that problem right now. Brock should’ve been getting wined and dined by now, perhaps taken to a movie, or something so utterly cliche for a date. Only, he’d been stood up, now Jack was on his way to find him, that was after several texts were sent to his phone from Brock. None of them sounded positive at all, something along the lines of ‘what the fuck did I do wrong?’, which Jack didn’t blame him for. 

For months he’d watched Brock get stood up from Tinder dates, both men and women, either cancelling minutes for the date, or not showing up at all. Jack tried his hardest not to utter one bad word about them, but it was easier said than done, every one of them was an inconsiderate asshole in Jack’s eyes. He hated seeing Brock’s confidence get thrown into the wind time and time again, given that Brock was simply looking for someone to possibly settle down with. Although, his reaction may just be from the fact that Jack's pining for Brock and only him. Any previous attempts at showing Brock that he was interested had gone unnoticed, mostly from poor execution, but that all fuelled itself through Jack's anxiety. 

Jack glanced down at his phone, before looking up to see the bar Brock was at, as well as Brock leaning against the wall outside. Brock had the first two buttons of his shirt undone and his eyes looked glazed, either from crying or maybe it was the alcohol he'd consumed. Not that it mattered to Jack, he was thankful that Brock was still there, despite smelling like a distillery. Well, it wasn't that bad, but Jack could tell he'd had a few, yet still seemed relatively coherent and stable on his feet. 

"You look like shit." 

Brock looked up from his phone.

“Jesus, thanks Jack,” he scoffed, but smiled nonetheless.

Jack pressed himself up against the wall beside Brock.

“What happened?”

"Turns out he's married and his husband was getting suspicious. He was tryin' to pin the blame on me. Can you believe it? I wouldn't have gone after him I'd known he was fuckin' married," Brock replied. 

"You know it's not your fault," Jack said. 

Brock swallowed thickly before glancing over at Jack. 

"Why does it feel like it is?" 

His voice wavered a little and Jack noticed that his eyes were in fact glistening with remnants of tears, something he'd never seen from Brock. He hated it, he hated that Brock felt alone, Brock didn't deserve to hurt as far as Jack was concerned. Something cracked inside him, blocking the anxiety he felt just thinking about what he'd been wanting to do for a long time. So much so, he couldn't control what he said next. 

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" he asked.

Brock frowned.

"The fuck are you talkin' about?" 

Jack lifted his hand until it came to rest on the nape of Brock's neck, causing him to sag into it, his want for affectionate touches becoming evident in his reaction. 

"You keep going on these dates and they always stand you up. Or they just want to fuck and leave. How can you do that to yourself? You're not subtle when You're trying to hide how you're feeling. Every time I see you...you look unhappy. Why do you do this when-" 

"When what, Jackie? Fuckin' spit it out huh?" Brock interrupted, his body going tense.

"Why do you do this when I'm right here? I've been trying to tell you for months, maybe not verbally, but through other things. The dinners that were just us, the late night stays at work to do paperwork and the weekend invites to watch movies...it was all to spend time with you. I fucking love you, dumbass." 

Brock's eyes widened a fraction in surprise at Jack's admission. 

"Jack…" he whispered, as Jack's drew him in close.

"Stop talking." 

Jack met Brock halfway, kissing him deeply, with one hand on the back of his neck, and the other resting loosely on his hip. Brock may not have been entirely sober, but he could still kiss Jack in the way he wanted to, his head tilting up to seek more. He grasped the front of Jack's leather jacket, then pressed himself as closely as he could to Jack, whose grip tightened a little on his waist. When they pulled back for a breath, Brock's breathing came out in little puffs of air, lips slightly swollen from the teasing bites Jack had tossed into the mix. 

"Fuckin' hell, Jackie." 

Jack's mouth twitched up at the corner, while Brock stared at him with a heated, yet shocked expression on his face.

"You can't fuckin' do that, that was-" 

"Speechless huh?" Jack hummed, with a pleased grin spreading across his face. 

"Oh fuck off, you dick," he laughed, breathily.

Jack smiled, before he shrugged his jacket off and put it around Brock's shoulders, since he'd seen him shudder once or twice. Brock tried to protest, but Jack simply tugged the jacket closer to Brock's body, then leant down to kiss him again. It was softer this time, chaste as well, and when Jack pulled away, Brock looked dazed, yet content. 

"Gonna' kill me Rollins," Brock said.

A laugh spilled from Jack's mouth, as he wrapped his arm around Brock, his fingers smoothing over Brock's hip where a part of his shirt was untucked.

"That wasn't my intention," he drawled.

Brock let out a tired sigh.

"I want to go home..." 

Jack nodded, then pressed a kiss to Brock's temple.

"C'mon then, I'll walk you home." 

How could you ask me such a thing? How can you expect me to even be able to answer? But okay, here goes:

Milan pros:

Handsome with great hair

Stylish in an understated way. Classy and sophisticated

Very sexy accent

Good with his hands (heh)

Clever and manipulative

Milan cons:

Not the head of his organisation

Operates out of a warehouse

Is a drug lord

Eats people. Like honest-to-god just chows down on humans

Underestimates his enemies

Anatoli pros:

Equally handsome (lol) but comes with bonus tattoos

Big dick Slav energy

Is trashy as all hell, but can scrub up well if he needs to mingle with the rich and famous

Great taste in vodka

Even sexier accent

Have I mentioned the tattoos? Because he has a badass eagle on his throat

Anatoli cons:

When Lex Luther says ‘jump’, he asks ‘how high?’ C’mon you know who is wearing the pants in that relationship

Probably spends a lot of time travelling

Murders a few people. One or two, or....lots, idk it’s not that important

The verdict?

Brock Rumlow could use a friend, couldn’t he? (for torture tuesday) 

trigger warning: tooth gore

Brock spits out three teeth. He tries to stand up, even gets his hands and knees beneath him, but collapses back to the floor. 

As usual, the Winter Soldier says nothing. He strode into Brock’s cell silent, and he will leave silent. 

💘 What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

If he gets home dog-tired but catches a look at his equally tired partner, he’ll toss the keys and roll up his sleeves. Straight path to the kitchen. It may not be a five-course meal, but it won’t be microwaved frozen dinner, either.  

He’s highly tactile; life in the bedroom is one of the clearest conduits for him to express that emotion. Take grabbing a towel to wipe someone down, prolonging the after-glow, or an exceeding amount of eye-contact.

Rumlow has a pair of strong hands, naturally ambidextrous. He’d drop whatever he’s doing and dig his thumbs into sore muscle and stiff necks, kneading at trigger points.  

He’d do that with someone else’s hands too. Putting controlled pressure on sore knuckles, squeezing out tension, pushing fingers back. Encouraging dexterity in spots of repetitive injury (if they’re present). No, it’s probably not perceived as too romantic, but there’s great meaning in it for him.

💍 Has my muse ever had a one-night stand?

He’s had a good number of them. Nothing outrageous, but it comes with a professional life that discourages attachments. 

👿 Would my muse ever blackmail someone into sex?

No. The thought might have been enticing to him at one point, in his early years. An abstract power-trip over people that have done him wrong or those that elicit strong reactions from him, ahem, Captain America. But it remained just that, vivid fantasies to pass time. In practice, Rumlow only engages in consensual sex that’s mutually enthusiastic.  

😳 What was my muse’s worst romantic/sexual relationship?

Rumlow can shoulder a lot and keep his suffering silent, but he’s not a multi-functional pocket-knife. No matter how good it feels to be needed, he can’t fix everything or be a full-on guard dog. He learned it the hard way in a relationship that slapped the equilibrium in his head.  

As for sexual, he once saddled himself in a situation where he always felt like shit. Craving sex while knowing it’s not on the table, that his libido triggered trauma, and his kinks would never see the light of day. He tried to be a good man, he really tried.

🍬 Is my muse a sub, dom, or switch?

He’s a dom.

💦 At what age did my muse lose their virginity?

Steve glared up at the man that was currently using him as a human punching bag. “That what you tell yourself when you can’t sleep at night because you sold any morals you might’ve had?” he spits out, as Rumlow sighs disappointed that Steve just doesn’t seem to get it. “listen Cap, you can either learn to play nice with me or I can call the rest of boys back in to give me a hand again.”The shudder Steve tries to hide at Brock’s casual attitude towards what his team will do, gives Brock some warm fuzzy feelings inside. “Now, let’s try this again Cap, Where’s the flash drive?”

Of course :)

~~~~~~~~~~

Jack grunted as he bit down on his belt, clenching the leather between his teeth, while his hands were occupied. He pierced the needle through his skin, fingers trembling, before he gently pulled the thread through to close the wound on his leg. It’s fucking freezing inside the abandoned building he’d escaped to, and his comm is busted, so help is not an option. He’s thankful they were all told they had to carry a small medical kit with them, or he’d probably be bleeding out by now. His attention turns to the trail of blood seeping into the snow, hoping that it’s sparse enough for him not to be tracked, unless of course it’s his own team. 

“Fuck.”

The curse is muffled by the belt, which he quickly spits out now that he’s finished, his breathing laboured like he’d run a marathon. He’s not sure where the rest of his squad went, they all parted in different directions when the mission went wrong, Jack just happened to get caught in the crossfire. He knew he’d be better off running instead of trying to hide at the base they’d infiltrated, despite the immense amount of pain he was in. But that pain had quickly been replaced with adrenaline, taking him as far as he could go, before Jack’s leg buckled under him. 

It was a long journey to get to where he was now, he was safe, for the moment, if he was lucky. Jack sighed, then leaned back against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself, yet it gave him no relief from the cold. His eyes fell closed, as he began to settle his breathing down, working through the exercises he’d learnt whenever it became too much. Brock would probably be helping him through those, he was always there, now Jack was fucking alone and-

Brock. 

Jack’s breath hitched and his eyes snapped open, before he reached into his pocket, fishing out the chain where a ring was hanging on it. ‘To keep you safe Jackie’ he’d said when he first gave Jack the ring. And it wasn’t an engagement ring or anything, just...a promise, one he might never get to keep. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jack continues to curse to himself, his head bowing, practically praying he’ll make it back to Brock...

“Jack!”

A beat passes.

“Jack! Are you here?”

Jack wondered if he was starting to hallucinate, he was in the middle of a snowy wasteland, there’s no way he-

“Brock he’s here!”

Bucky. 

Sure enough, Jack looked up and saw their silhouettes through the heavy snow that was falling down, the wave of relief surging through his body. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, until he saw the anger 

“You!” Brock exclaimed. “You fuckin’ asshole!” he spat.

“Brock wait,” Jack muttered, tiredly.

“No, fuck you! I thought you were fuckin’ dead! How do you think I’m gonna’ react to seein’ a trail of blood in the goddamn snow! No one else knew where you were, they said-”

Brock swallowed thickly, and Jack could see not just anger, but a small flicker of fear cross over the other man’s face. He was scared that he’d lost Jack...

“My comm was broken I couldn’t-” he paused, as he got to his feet, his jaw clenching through the pain.

“You should’ve gone with the others! We’re stronger in numbers Jack you know that!”

Brock’s hands came up to shove at him, but Jack barely moved.

“You know that!” he yelled, shoving again.

Jack was jostled that time, sending a searing pain down his leg, which he made a pained noise at.

“Brock stop!” Bucky warned.

“You hear me Jack? I thought you were dead you-fuck. Fuck you!” Brock screamed.

As Brock went to take another hit at his chest, Jack quickly grabbed his wrists, gripping tighter than he really wanted to.

“Don’t. Don’t do that Brock...”

Brock stared back at Jack, the anger slowly willing itself away, as he sagged under Jack’s touch on his wrists. It was soft, tender even, a touch Brock was so akin to that a few tears brimmed in the corner of his eyes. Jack moved Brock’s hands up to his face, resting them there, where the warmth of Brock’s gloves was like being wrapped in an embrace. He leaned into Brock’s hands, then closed his eyes again, feeling Brock’s thumb stroke over the scar on his chin.

“I thought you-”

Jack silenced him with a rough kiss, Brock’s ragged stubble scratching his lips, before he pulled back. 

“I had somethin’ keeping me safe.”

Brock’s gaze fell to the chain still twisted around Jack’s hand, his eyes softening slightly.

“You’re still an asshole for worryin’ me but-”

Brock shifted his hand to brush over a fading bite mark, peeking out from the collar of his jacket, his fingers putting some light pressure on it.

“...I’m the only one allowed to give you good pain yeah?” 

Jack grinned roguishly in return.

~~~~~~~~~~