i can’t type while doing my nails so
i have the day off and will be doing 3 graphic promos for people who enter this giveaway. you guys have 30 minutes to reblog this post to enter, likes will not count.
5 more minutes
"Yeah. That, the lip thing. Can you not? Cause it’s just a little distracting.”
"I like you distracted."
� — - “Note to self: drinking away the pain only leads to a hangover and more pain.
I really need to stop this shit.”
There’s a cup of coffee sat down gently near Jensen’s elbow, and Tony keeps his voice low.
There’s a softness to her in that moment, set against the strong slide of her shoulders and the foot already dangling near the floor. Tony knows the sight of a girl about to bolt when he sees one.
And maybe he should let her go, since there’s no one to protect his balls in this apartment. But he can’t stop himself from letting his fingertips brush along the ends of her hair, down the line of her back.
Hadn’t she told him that actions spoke louder than words?
The trace of fingers along the curve of her spine has her smiling, despite herself. Tony is something unexpected, unplanned for. She only ever leaves that bar with a man when she’s doing business with him.
This isn’t business. Only pleasure.
And so, she fights herself; allows her spine to arch a little at the brush of rough fingers, turns her head to peer over her shoulder at Tony, hand outstretched towards her bare skin.
”If you’re trying to tempt me to stay, then you’re out of luck.”
"Hey, I did all my tempting already."
So it’s a little bit crass, playing the ‘I got you in bed, neener neener’ card. But Tony feels like this is a victory worth celebrating. Plus, there’s a smile hinting at Quinn’s lips, and he’s thinking he’s done pretty good for himself so far.
"You’re supposed to be tempting me now. So that I’ll buy us breakfast."
[ Steve looks up- eyes bleary. Even if he’s already had a run and a shower this morning, he’ll hit a lull of energy until he eats afterward.
And- if there was ever a time in his life that he wasn’t used to tired billionaires talking about their spending habits. Well— he doesn’t show it, does he? ]
"You— bought an island?"
[ What does Steve even do with that information? But there’s amusement in his soft, morning voice. Written in the little quirk of one golden blond brow, though it’s tempered with concern.
Tony’s weariness is written in the slump of his body, like without the chair he would utterly lose shape, deflate like an overextended balloon. ]
"What exactly were you expecting when you bought an island, Tony?"
[ He grabs a pastry from the plate stacked with food in front of him and shoves it at Tony, into the hand not talon like on his coffee mug. ]
—Superheros can’t live on coffee and eccentricity alone.”
[He’s building up to tell this whole story, fingers itching to skate across the air in grand gestures to explain just how amazing owning an island was supposed to be. There was supposed to be beautiful women and exotic locales.
…Coincidentally, you had to build your own resort for those things to happen.
But the words shrivel up on his tongue when Steve speaks again, and Tony feels like choking on that pastry he’s snatched away, just to make the moment end.]
"I’m-" [It’s barely more than a breath, and he hopes Steve doesn’t hear the beginnings of his soft confession. I’m no hero. Not anymore. Tony doesn’t even have the suit left to redeem himself, nothing to offset all the stupidity and misery he causes.]
"…good thing I hung up the proverbial boots then, huh?"
[Because he couldn’t compete. Not with men like Steve, with god in their heart and a flag on their shoulder. Tony Stark was no hero and never had been, not even when he took to the skies.]
"Okay, I’ll how ‘bout this. I’ll stop if you ease up on that— thing you’re doing.”
He knows that his old man will be calling before long, trying to figure out where Tony has run off after his “unveiling” at the ripe old age of 19. But he’s comfortable beneath the sheets, burrowed against the guy’s back, nose nestled against his spine.
"I’ll give you ten grand to let me stay and eat breakfast." No one could say he was a poor businessman. Tony knew what kind of bargain he’d need to throw out to keep the warm skinned, sly smiling bartender in bed for a little longer.
Jack is slow to wake, and for once he wishes he could sleep a few hours more instead of killing the dawn by carving out wooden figures of his past, or getting an early start on the drinking.
He doesn’t dare attribute this calmness to the warm weight pressed to his back.
"Ten grand, well—" His voice is scratchy with sleep, but he feels the beginnings of a smile already rising at the corner of his lips. Whatever happened to good old fashioned morning rituals? "With that level of incentive, I’d almost be persuaded to let you spend the day."
Kid could stay as long as he wanted, but Jack wasn’t about to take his money.
That might just be a squeak of urgency in his voice as Tony burrows down closer, fingers twitching against Jack’s hip. He doesn’t want to go home, or go back to all that disappointment waiting for him. Hell, he can almost feel the ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ from here.
"…make your offer."
That one was definitely a plea.
”—sounds like you’re hanging out in the wrong kind of bars.”
[ She’s an expected variable this woman — not a regular, and not even a regular of similar places, by the looks of things. Her clothes are well-worn, stained with something that might be engine oil, but they were once expensive. Rich and idle, that’s Quinn’s best guess. ]
“As far as I know, I’m not waiting on anyone.”
[ As far as he knows because as yet there hasn’t been a single sign that anyone here wants to do business with him, not today. Swells and ebbs, some weeks there’s people who need be killed, and some weeks not. Doesn’t hurt to keep up appearances. ]
"Then again, not exactly waiting on anyone putting their hand on my thigh, either."
[ There’s some taut amusement behind his words at that, though whether at the idea itself or at her story, it’s not quite clear. ]
"Who comes to a bar for any other reason?"
[It comes out a little bit coarse, a little bit disbelieving. Toni doesn’t know why in the hell you’d go to a bar if you weren’t looking to hook up. If all the guy wanted to do was sit alone and drink, then why didn’t he do that in the comfort of his own home?]
[She shakes away the confusing thought, gesturing for the bartender to bring her a drink. A double shot of whiskey, and she throws it back with the ease of being a long term drinker. Maybe not the most attractive trait, but she’s not exactly putting herself on display here.
There’s no make up on her face, no expensive dresses to accent every curve. She’s comfortable, and curious to see if anyone can figure out who she is without all of the bells and whistles.]