damesnowflake-blog asked: ✺
“I get the feeling you’re not selling cookies."
“Yeah, well. I’ve pretty much ruled out good childhoods as a physical possibility… Huh. Anyone want you dead?” he asked, closing the screen and setting his phone down on the coffee table.
“My old pimp, my drug dealer. Any number of Russians, HYDRA agents or AIM agents.” She shifted, putting her head in his lap, so she was looking up at him.
Tony’s eyes widened, quickly taking his wine glass away from his mouth and coughing. “Wait. Hang on. Your pimp? Jesus, Sam.”
She nodded. “I was a teen prostitute till my daddy died and I ran away to become military.”
