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#headers iron man
jiyascepter · 2 months
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˗ˏˋ➳ tony stark aka iron man | headers
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reblog if you save | give credits
╰┈➤ set icons
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spideyzitos · 1 year
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      There is one impostor among us
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marvel black headers
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comiconsnow · 11 months
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Icons + Headers Matching
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bestwitchsam · 6 months
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scifinetwork · 5 months
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WHAT IF...? S2E4 What if... Iron Man Crashed into the Grandmaster?
✩ 7 headers ✩ made for mobile themes ✩ for alternative transitions / transition removal please send an ask or dm! ✩ rbs/likes optional ✩ headers under the cut!
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taikawaltiti · 1 year
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like/reblog if using or saving
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just-twitter-packs · 2 years
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☆  Avengers font white headers  ☆
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©
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chwstain · 2 years
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alguma headers de super heróis da marvel para esse icon baby? pls ♡
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tenho essas best, espero que goste de alguma <3
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aq2003 · 1 year
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Bro what the hell did the dnd do to u that u changed the whole theme /lh
the perc'ahlia huh
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itheredhood · 2 years
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sophiaversion · 2 years
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hello, could you make tony stark headers from marvel? please and thank you
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Tony Stark headers
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jiyascepter · 2 months
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˗ˏˋ➳ iron man | headers
do not repost
reblog if you save | give credits
╰┈➤ more from iron man
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whereve-e-r-you-are · 2 years
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i am iron man
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ijustliketoedit · 2 years
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a very random set of images because I happened to edit them as my brother's drawing references
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taikawaltiti · 1 year
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theemporium · 3 months
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click 'here' to unlock the other boyfriends! .
Max Verstappen wasn’t really good when it came to words. He never had been. 
When Max was told to express his emotions—any of them—it was like a part of his brain switched off and everything became more difficult. It was hard for his brain to wrap around his thoughts, process them and vocalise them. It was difficult for him to say the words that flowed so easily for other people.
When his dad was yelling at him, the fear locked him down before he could even utter a word. When he was happy, the adrenaline made it easy to act instead of thinking. When he was scared or excited or angry, it never mattered. Max Verstappen just couldn’t seem to voice any of the feelings rushing through him. 
And that was the case of love—the most overwhelming and suffocating emotion of them all—Max could barely keep his head on right. 
As cheesy and cliche as it sounded, Max didn’t believe in love at first sight until he met you. He didn’t realise it was love, not really, but he knew that the tightening feeling in his chest and surprisingly pleasant twist in his stomach only urged him to close the distance between you and introduce himself. And he was right. It was love. It was so much more than love, even if it took him a few months to realise it. 
There was never a doubt in your mind that Max loved you, but he just didn’t show it the same as others did. 
You first experienced Max’s love around two months into the relationship. 
Timing for a relationship—romantic or not—was never an easy thing in the world of Formula One. Ironically enough, Max thought the universe was on his side when he met you during the summer break. It was four weeks of bliss. Four weeks of pushing every racing thought away from his brain—something that once seemed impossible—and just focusing on you. 
Even as the season returned, the few weekends away didn’t seem like such a big deal when the two of you were giddy and happy and buzzing to explore this new, bubbling connection. 
But then a triple header came around and Max, for the first time in his life, was annoyed by his job. 
He didn’t like being away from you. He didn’t like the fact he couldn’t just drag you along with him, from country to country like the greedy man he wanted to be. He didn’t like that he was so wrapped up with training and racing and resting that the communication between you two was already getting difficult and you hadn’t even left the honeymoon phase.
It was odd to be so happy for the triple header to end, to cross that line on Sunday and know he had at least two weeks before he had to leave you again. It felt odd that he had found something that he adored as much as racing outside of his job. 
Except, despite feeling every single word he thought, he never said it to you.
Instead, he had wandered into your apartment after stopping by his own and simply grinned at you when you opened the door, a brown paper bag in hand as he said, “I’ve got something for you.”
It was a magnet. In fact, it was three magnets, each from the country he visited. 
And maybe to others, it wasn’t much. And maybe to others, it was a little tacky. But to you, it was everything and more. It told you that even when he was away, even when he was working, even when he had a million things on his mind, Max still thought of you. 
It was a reoccurring tradition that continued throughout your relationship. 
At the most random times on the most random days, Max would hand you a brown paper bag that held some stupidly adorable and sentimental gift that made your heart explode. He bought you other gifts, big and extravagant and expensive ones that made your head spin a little, but the ones that came in a brown paper bag were your favourite.
They were thoughtful and heartwarming and they decorated your apartment like little reminders of the man you loved. 
So, three years into your relationship with Max, it was no surprise when you found him in the kitchen one morning, two plates of french toast and a brown paper bag lying by the counter. 
“Hm, forgot to give me it last night?” You teased as you slid into a stool, grinning at him as he passed you a mug—coffee made just how you liked it—before he slid into the stool next to you.
“I was distracted,” Max retorted with a matching grin on his face as he leaned down to peck your lips. “Can’t blame me.”
“I can forgive you this once, I guess,” you said, sighing a little dramatically as you did just because hearing Max laugh was one of your favourite sounds. “Especially if it is one of those cute figurines you sent me pictures of.” 
“I think you’ll like it all the same,” Max said, and maybe if you were a little more awake you would have noticed the hint of nervousness in his voice as he reached over for the bag and slid it towards you. 
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it,” you assured the boy, because you always did. Because whatever it was, it meant he was thinking of you—of your reaction—when he bought it and that was more than enough. 
You didn’t comment on his sudden silence as you took the bag, reaching inside to feel a small box between your fingers. You looked up at him with an unsuspecting smile, not even fully realising what sat in your palm when you opened the box until your eyes flickered down and you froze. 
Because it wasn’t the figurine. It wasn’t another pair of earrings he saw at a local market. It wasn’t a funny crystal that he swore was meant to bring good fortune. It wasn’t a magnet. 
No, because the gift inside of the brown paper bag—the gift that was currently sitting in the palm of your hand—was a ring box. 
A ring box with the most perfect fucking ring staring back at you. 
“Max?” His name barely a whisper because that was all you could manage, that was all you were able to get out as you turned to look at him. Your vision was starting to blur with tears but so were his. And fuck, his blurry, smiling face was the prettiest sight you had ever fucking seen. 
“Marry me?” He asked, because he was Max. He was your Max. He didn’t do big speeches or love confessions. He didn’t do over the top celebrations or huge parties when it came to the things that mattered, the intimate moments that didn’t require an audience. 
He didn’t need anything more than a brown paper bag, a question and you. 
“I am gonna marry the shit out of you,” you managed to mutter out before you launched yourself at him, practically climbing onto his lap as he laughed and hugged you close and didn’t let go until your coffee was cold and the tears were gone and there was a pretty fucking ring on your finger. 
Max Verstappen wasn’t good with words, but he had other ways of showing he loved you and there was no doubt in your head that he did.
.
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