“What’s wrong, Iron Man?
Has your tongue gotten all…
rusty?
Come dance with me!”
’ Is this some kind of cruel test? Cuz I feel like I’m about to fail miserably. ’
[7:15:41 PM] Arwen/Ginny/Ren: sldjfkldjfdlakjdfNOTONYNO
[7:21:36 PM] Arwen/Ginny/Ren: wHAT HAVE YOU DONE LMAO
[7:22:47 PM] ; h.: DAKJNDAJ,DA I D K
[7:22:51 PM] ; h.: I’M LAUGHING SO HARD
[7:25:21 PM] Arwen/Ginny/Ren: I CANT BELIEVE THIS L MAO
[7:26:37 PM] ; h.: Y O L O L O L
[7:26:47 PM] Arwen/Ginny/Ren: I CANTHANDLE YOU DLAJLSK
[7:27:03 PM] ; h.: HDAJN,DANJN,DA I CAN’T HANDLE MYSELF
“Touch-a toucha toucha tooooooooouch me,
I wanna be dirrrrrrrrrty!”
’ Nnnnnnnnggggggthisisreallybadnews.
Be good Stark. ’
If we kissed:
- [] This wouldn’t happen.
- [] Oh disgusting.
- [x] Again, again.
- [x] Kiss you back.
- [] Let’s take this to the bedroom.
- [] Slap/Push you away.
- [] Be confused
If you asked me out I’d say:
- [] Um no.
- [] I’m taken-
- [x] Sure.
- [] HOLY ASDFGHJK YESSSSS.
Can we cuddle?:
- [] No.
- [] Ew.
- [x] Sure.
- [x] YES.
Sex?:
[x] Let’s do it.- [] No. You can’t handle my d.
- [] FUCK YES.
- [] No.
Should you reblog this?:
- [] Yes. I want to send you one.
- [x] Yes. (Cuz I already did the first one)
- [] No.
It was a rare occurrence that Tony Stark was genuinely surprised by something, but that question, coming from the cute sandy haired girl he’d met at a bar of all places, caught him off guard.
Calloused digits fidgeted anxiously with the Stark tech phone he carried everywhere, his broad form slumped casually against the door frame. This wasn’t one of his past life, trashy, never-to-speak-of-again one night stands, so what was the harm in it? There was actually a decent of human respect to be given to this girl, and denying her a safe place to rest seemed—- morally wrong?
’ Uh yeah, sure. Lemme just– go and clean up a room for you. ’
“Wait, wait, wait— Iron Man? The, Iron Man?!”
She wouldn’t have been nowhere this excited
if she wasn’t a bit… over-excited, already. She
did admire him, as she followed up on his
work via the papers, and it had always been
a wish of hers to get the honour of meeting
him… but not… not like this— yet her fuzzy
brain couldn’t even immediately place
his face, couldn’t recognize it—
“I’m a— I’m a great admire of your work, Mister
Stark. Great admirer. I— sorry— I’ll have a soda.
Please. Thank you.”
She offered the bartender a small smile before her attention
returned to Tony Stark, her hand shaking his, which was
considerably larger than hers, as firmly as she can,
in her current state; she might have an interesting
conversation, at last, even though she’s drunk.
’ The one and only! ’
To say the least, Tony Stark was not the most modest guy on the block. He nodded his head, an egotistic grin plastered to his face. Being a man of the stature he was, it was undeniable that he was used to this sort of ecstatic introduction.
’ Please, please. Call me Tony. And uh, thanks—- for the faith. You seem pleasant so, consider this your personal VIP pass into Stark Tower. ’
He considered moving into the chair next to her for a moment, but decided to keep the quirky edge and stay where he was. He noted the strength of her grip, discerning that she was probably not a force to be reckoned with. As he received his own drink, he flashed her a cheeky wink.
- send me a (≚ᄌ≚)ƶƵ for my character’s reaction to yours crawling into bed with them.
’ Y‘know—- ’
The broad form of the mechanic shifts atop the mattress, an arm protruding from the duvet to prop his head up in the palm of his hand. He was undoubtedly sincere about offering the girl a place to stay for the night, but he hadn’t quite expected it to be this close quarters.
’ I’ll never say no to having a pretty girl in my bed, but one, I was under the impression you were seeing someone (unless of course I understood wrong, in which case please forgive me) two, I’m not that kinda guy anymore. ’
He still by no means objected.
- Send me a ‡‡ if you like how I portray my muse.
suitless; awwwwww yeeeeeehhhhh building fences over here too :D <3 thanks bby <3 <3 <3
”—-H-Hermione.”
Her cheeks are flushed, that’s for sure, and she’s a bit
confused as to why a handsome gentleman like himself
would want to buy her a drink, when there were other ladies
in the bar who were much more… his type, than Hermione.
She wasn’t sure if she was anyone’s type any more— not
even Ron’s. But she smiles, nonetheless, small as it is,
and nods her head timidly at him.
“And you are— er… I’ve
seen your face before…
on the papers. Wow. I
can’t remember.”
She really ought not to drink; alcohol is bad, very, very
bad. Hermione Granger not remember something?
God have mercy on us all.
’ ———-Missss, Hermione a drink. ’
His attempt at trying to roll her British accent off his tongue is phenomenal, if failure was able to be described as such.
Pensive brown eyes, which indeed are capable of more than perverse observation flicker briefly to hers, then back down to his twiddling thumbs.
’ Anything you want. I may, possibly suggest a soda though. ’
Humbly, however abruptly, the mechanic extends casually as he introduces himself in return.
’ Yeah, I get that a lot. Name’s Tony Stark—- or Iron Man, if you prefer. ’