LibertineMs Jumble

If I'm not creating, I'm not breathing.

2 notes

Anonymous asked: Max and his trashy tattoos. Also something something jaegers something kaiju.

Right back at you anon!

0 notes


God Bless. And thank you for following me. 

8 notes

Anonymous asked: 31. prostitute/client au Rumlow/Bucky or Rumlow/Anyone male - with one twist - Rumlow's the prostitute.

"And a club soda with lemon for the gentleman." He doesn’t drink when he’s working, dulls the senses, makes him careless. He’s put too much time into his appearance to get all sloppy. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirrored chrome, yeah he looks sharp. Now, he just has to wait.

The text specified that they were to meet here and the money was well worth his time. The client must have seen him here before, this was his old haunt before the internet made everything so much tidier. It was easy to pick up bored lonely business men on the down low. Well, it had been  easy before he got older. Even though it bruised his considerable ego, he had to work a certain angle. But that didn’t mean he had to talk about it. 

The working girls didn’t care that he’d taken up residence in the hotel bar with them. Not after he he took care of that nasty piece of work that was mugging them on their way home, stealing their hard-earned money and messing up their faces. He was their guardian angel now.

Sure, let them believe that he did it out of the goodness of his heart. That seemed more heroic than finally having a fantastic excuse to beat the living shit out of someone. That felt so good. Brock touched his bruised knuckles lightly. They had to use a pressure washer to get the asshole’s blood out of the alleyway masonry because Brock also carried a switchblade.

"Where’d you get to be so good with a knife, Brockie?" Vicki patted his hand fondly. Her best years were also behind her, but she wasn’t quitting without a fight and a few pounds of makeup, hairspray and spandex. Brock basically lived at his gym trying to fend off the years. The idea of a desk job made him want to hurl.

"Uncle Sam trained me well." Honorable discharge, my ass, Brock thought bitterly. Sure, now they’re okay with gays.

"God bless America!" Vicki tilted her glass. "The girls and I, we put together some money for you. As thanks. We’d love to have you stick around Brockie. Maybe you could help out us freelancers, you know, be our protection."

"I’m not into pimping anyone but myself, Vicks."

"Oh, we’d just need you as muscle and eye-candy Brockie. We’ve got the other shit covered. Think about it." She smiled with too white teeth and laughed. "You look damn good tonight, like an old-time movie star. The ones that oozed masculinity, not those weasely little teenagers. They had class. Real class. Did I ever tell you about the time that Chuck Carrington took me out in his convert—" 

Ah, there he was. It was easy to pick him out of the crowd, Rumlow used the mirror behind the bar to study his trick. Blonde, blue eyes. Tiny thing. Five foot if he was an inch. He looked younger than in his profile picture. Fragile and vulnerable, delicious

Vicki stopped yammering and followed Brock’s eyes. “Oh Brock. Working the daddy angle, are we?”  

"We’ve all gotta go with our strengths MILF-queen. Now, I’ve got a job to do." Brock patted his hair, smiled with all his teeth and swept forth towards the young man. "Steve! Steve! My man! Come on over and say hello to your Uncle Brock! I’m gonna show you such a good time.”

Filed under Brock Rumlow pre-serum steve AU

2 notes

When you get a prompt for an short AU and you start a drabble that turns into something waaaaay longer.