Tony Stark Shimeji Actor
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Tony Stark (Iron Man) Biography- Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) - Marvel Studios Official Web Site
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Tony Stark gave her an ink-stained grin in reply. 'Go hire a professional,' She snarked, 'Someone who's actually interested in doing that for a living.' 'But none of them come with the view!' He whined—she couldn't believe what a whiner Tony Stark was turning out. Fin Fang Foom is a fictional character appearing in American comic books published by Marvel Comics. The character has been depicted as an extraterrestrial creature resembling a dragon. The character first appeared in Strange Tales #89 ( cover-dated Oct. 1961), and was created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby.

Another Avengers idea! This one about our very own beloved IRON MAN. Again, I can't promise that this will be continued, but I'm just throwing it out because I want reviews. Lol. If anybody likes the idea I wouldn't mind tossing it over either. :P

View Toni Stark’s profile on LinkedIn, the world’s largest professional community. Toni has 7 jobs listed on their profile. See the complete profile on LinkedIn and discover Toni’s.

Sarah wakes up early in the morning and stretches—except she can't, because she's being pinned down by something both warm and solid in the way only well-formed muscles can be. She blinks, too comfortable to fuss, and yawns inaudibly.

The taste in her mouth is rather disgusting. She licks experimentally at her front teeth and confirms the involvement of alcohol last night. Not that there had been many alternatives to why she'd woken up in bed with a stranger.

She hoped they didn't do anything—it would suck if the one time she let loose had also resulted in her loss of virginity. And—okay, she still had clothes on—it would probably break her Morning Zen enough to produce screaming.

She needed to pee.

With some strategic maneuvering, Sarah managed to slip out of muscle-man's hold and off the bed. She staggered a little and whistled under her breath as she took in her surroundings. Whoever she had followed back last night was very, very rich.

At least she gets points for taste. For both muscles and money.

'Ms. Jones?'

She jumped a little at the crisp English voice that rang out of nowhere. A short little spin around (thank goodness she didn't have a hangover) indicated no body to assign to the voice.

'Ms. Jones, the bathroom is on your left.'

This time, she placed the voice coming from the ceiling. That…seemed a little familiar. She wasn't sure where she'd have heard about a voice from the ceiling, but there were plenty of very reasonable explanations for one (technology, baby) and so she shrugged and wobbled to her left.

The bathroom was as extravagant as the bedroom. This guy was loaded. And she hadn't even slept with him for it!

She pampered herself with a short soak in the pool-sized bathtub, feeling the tension bleed away from her shoulders. Mmmm. If this was what being rich was like, she now had a goal to strive for. Wow.

When she emerged from the bathroom feeling like a million dollars, said million-dollar-man was still drooling onto the satin sheets. Well, she was feeling pretty generous—the wonders of a great bath—and so she decided not to just cut and run.

No, she'd make him a hangover breakfast, and then cut and run.

'Ms. Jones? Do you not intend to leave before Sir wakes up?'

Oh, English Voice could apparently see as well as speak. And probably hear as well. This would have been a lot harder to take if she had actually been naked last night. As it was, the worst picture they had was probably of her panties, which she could forgive given what had obviously been on the tables last night.

Although it was kind of creepy and paranoid of muscle-man to have guards watching, listening and whatever else over security lines in his bedroom. But meh, she reckoned millionaires or billionaires had their fair share of problems too.

'Nah. Or well, yeah, but I'm feeling nice and thankful so I'm making him breakfast. We didn't have sex and I got to use his awesome tub so yeah. Thank you note.'

There was a brief silence filled with tangible suspicion before English replied, 'The kitchen is 500 meters away from the bedroom door with a turn to the right.'

'Thanks,' Sarah beamed at the ceiling cameras.

The directions lead to the most beautiful kitchen she had ever laid eyes on. It was pristine. Gleaming redwood counter and state of the art…well, everything. She felt a little dwarfed by it, but not enough to dissuade her from opening the (gorgeous) fridge.

Oh. Wow.

Food heaven. She was sure she had floated away in bliss. Food heaven.

When she opened the cupboards and found the frying pans, she nearly wept.

There was…this was…

Forget no-sex. She'd happily film a porn video for all the guards if she could have access to this.

xXXx

It was after she'd covered every inch of the counter with food that she finally wound down. English hadn't objected, so she figured it wasn't a problem. She'd stolen bites in between cooking, so she wasn't hungry, but there was one thing left to do before she went back to her normal, boring life.

Try the coffee machine.

It was a huge, clunky, monster of a thing in the middle of the classy kitchen. Muscle-man was obviously a caffeine junkie. Sarah was in agreement enough that she didn't even protest the way it clashed garishly with the rest of the décor.

She took a sip of her Flat White. (Best way to judge a coffee machine—the basics)

And then promptly dumped the rest of it into the sink.

Okay, she took it back. The stupid thing was a waste of coffee beans. Ugh, Christ. The travesty.

'Erm, little suggestion,' she pointed mildly, 'this thing is a waste of money. And beans. And ugly too.'

When there was no immediate reply, she turned her thoughts to muscle-man drinking the, the sludge every morning and felt a deep, deep surge of pity. And appall. Clearly, money didn't mean good taste all the time. Even as much money as kitchen-heaven-man.

Which meant that she was going to make him this one good coffee in his life and forever ruin his atrocious palate.

She was in the midst of grinding the really-expensive-beans with a hand-held grinder when English spoke up, 'Do you have a suggestion for an alternative?'

'Shit,' she jumped, spilling expensive ground coffee over the counter, 'Don't scare me like that!'

'I apologize, Ms. Jones, but any warning would have had a similar effect.'

She mentally took 'security guard' and switched it with 'butler', which actually lowered the creep factor by a lot. Unfortunately, while Sarah had a discerning tongue for coffee, she didn't have much on coffee machines. 'I don't really know what your er…he likes, but I'm just gonna make this the way I usually do,' she gestured at the coffee-in-process vaguely, 'and you can memorize it if he likes it? I don't really know exactly why you should make coffee this way or that, but I know how to make it so…yeah.'

'That is an acceptable compromise,' English stated, before a watchful silence descended over the kitchen. Sarah had the strange image of an elegant, straight-backed old man sitting in front of a myriad of screens and adjusting cameras 4 and 10 so that they zoomed in on her little demonstration. She snorted and chuckled under her breath as she measured out ground coffee into two cups.

'I do not see any humor?'

Giggling, she shared the image with English Butler, who turned out to be cool enough to admit that his actions were pretty comical, and then it was an easy transition to casual conversation. Most of it was him asking why she added this or that to the coffee and why she did it this way and how it was better with her answering as best she could but mostly that it just improved the taste somehow, but hey, no more suspicious silence.

'You are very different from sir's usual choice in partners,' English finally said when Sarah was sipping her coffee in quiet contentment. She'd gotten the name of the beans as well as permission to steal some (which was so awesome) and was currently drifting in caffeine-induced bliss.

'Well,' she stated with a sigh of

Tony Stark Shimeji