starfish stark

Tú sabes bailar Se te facilita como el caminar Tú sabes bailar Y ese ritmo que lo hace lento Poco a poco se va a violento Vamos, vamos, vamos al cielo Yo no tengo miedo y lo siento

Arguments with Pepper were never fun. Her relentless criticism of his choice to be a “superhero” had morphed into a grueling daily routine. It felt like she was constantly trying to disassemble him and rebuild him into someone else. That’s not love, is it? He wondered, raising the glass of amber liquid to his lips.

Maybe she was right. Maybe if he finally ripped out the arc reactor and stopped building the suits, he could actually have the family he never thought he deserved.

But then again, he became Iron Man to right his wrongs. He was trying to honor Yinsen’s memory by rewriting his legacy, a concept Pepper just couldn’t seem to grasp.

To hell with it. Maybe it was for the best that they broke up, but this time it had to be for good. No half-assed apologies that would just spin them right back into the same toxic cycle.

“Are you always this broody?”

The voice snapped him out of his spiral, drawing his attention to the girl who had slipped onto the barstool next to him. Tony blinked, looking around the dim room in genuine confusion. Was she talking to him?

“Yes, I am talking to you,” she said, answering the unspoken question as if she could read his mind.

She looked young—mid-20s at most. Tony’s eyes reflexively scanned her, taking her in. Dark brown eyes were framed by a dusting of glitter that perfectly matched her shimmery dress, and long, dark hair cascaded in loose waves over her chest.

“I’m not in the mood for pictures, Tinkerbell,” he muttered, deflecting with a classic Stark defense mechanism. She just laughed at the ridiculous nickname. Most people would’ve taken the hint and walked away, but not her.

“The name is Mia, and I don’t want your picture,” she replied easily.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached out for Tony’s now-neglected drink. He tracked her every movement, from the way her ink-covered arm stretched across the dark wood of the bar to the moment the rim of the glass pressed against her plush lips. She downed the burning liquid he’d been nursing as if it were nothing but water.

Sweet lord baby Jesus. When was the last time someone had openly flirted with him like this?and, more importantly, when was the last time he’d actually been free to play along? He couldn’t remember. But looking at her, he knew one thing for certain: this girl was absolute trouble.

Mia set the empty glass back down with a soft clink, turning her dark eyes back to his. “Looks like you’re dry. And I need a drink.”

Tony held her gaze, a slow, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he signaled the bartender. “Another whiskey, and…”

“Two tequila shots,” she interrupted confidently.

Tony shot his eyebrows up. Yep. He could already foresee how this night ends.

“Whatever the lady wants,” he said, sliding his black card across the slick bar top.

He turned back to Mia. For a split second, a flash of genuine surprise crossed her dark brown eyes at his easy compliance. But then again, he was Tony Stark, what were two shots of tequila compared to his net worth?

“Careful,” she warned, a playful edge to her voice. “How do you know I’m not gonna buy drinks for the whole place?”

The bartender placed the shots in front of her with a practiced nod. Mia didn't hesitate; she immediately slid one of the salt-rimmed glasses across the counter toward Tony.

“You don’t seem the type to splurge on someone else’s dime,” Tony replied, eyeing the clear liquid with a mix of amusement and dread. “And besides, Tinkerbell, I don't do tequila.”

Mia tilted her head, her dark waves shifting over her shoulder as she looked at him, completely unfazed by the rejection of the drink.

“You don’t do tequila, or Tony Stark doesn’t do things he can’t control?” she challenged, her plush lips curving into a teasing smile. She picked up her own shot glass, swirling the liquid lazily. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re dying to lose control just a little bit tonight.”

Tony let out a dry, breathy laugh, leaning his elbow on the bar. The girl was observant. Too observant. It was dangerous, especially considering the raw, gaping wound Pepper had just left in his chest, but right now?

Dangerous felt a whole lot better than miserable.

“Ouch. Direct hit,” Tony said, pressing a hand to his chest over his shirt, right where the arc reactor sat. “And here I thought I was doing a seamless job of playing the mysterious, brooding billionaire.”

“You’re doing great, sweetie, really,” Mia said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She raised her glass in a silent toast. “But the whiskey-sipping pity party is a bit of a cliché. Come on. One shot. It won't kill you.”

Tony looked from the shot glass to her eyes, decorated in that distracting shimmer. The heavy weight of his legacy, the looming threat of the next argument with Pepper, the guilt over Yinsen; it all felt incredibly loud. 

He couldn’t explain it, but looking at Mia—who was a complete stranger—the noise started to dull.

Reaching out, his fingers brushed against hers for a fleeting second as he picked up the small glass.

“Fine. But if I end up singing karaoke on top of the bar, you’re the one explaining it to my PR team,” Tony warned, a genuine spark of mischief returning to his eyes for the first time in weeks.

Mia’s laugh was loud and genuine, a sound that cut right through the ambient hum of the lounge. “Deal, Stark. To bad decisions.”

“To bad decisions,” Tony echoed, and slammed the shot back.

The burn of the tequila hit the back of his throat, a sharp, violent contrast to the smooth warmth of the whiskey he’d been nursing. He slammed the glass back down on the bar, exhaling a sharp breath and pulling a face.

“Horrible. Absolutely barbaric,” Tony muttered, though the familiar fire in his chest felt grounded. Alive.

Mia downed hers like an absolute pro, not even flinching as she set her empty glass down beside his. She wiped her bottom lip with the back of her hand, a smug, triumphant grin spreading across her face. “See? You didn't die. In fact, I think a little color actually just came back into your face.”

“That’s not color, that’s my internal organs crying for help,” Tony shot back, leaning his hip against the bar so he could face her fully. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the counter, his mind finally moving faster than his misery. “Alright, you’ve successfully poisoned the great Tony Stark. What’s phase two of your master plan?”

She turned on her stool, crossing one leg over the other. The shimmery fabric of her dress caught the dim, ambient light of the lounge, and the ink on her arm seemed to shift with the movement. She rested her chin in her hand, looking at him with an intensity that made him forget all about the looming, suffocating silence of his empty workshop.

“Phase two involves figuring out why a guy who has everything looks like he just lost his last friend,” she said softly. The teasing edge in her voice had softened into something genuinely curious.

Tony stiffened slightly, the phantom ache of his argument with Pepper flaring up again. No half-assed apologies. He’d meant it. He couldn’t go back to that cycle. But explaining that to a stranger?

“Let’s just say… corporate restructuring,” Tony said, his voice dropping into that smooth, practiced cadence he used for the press. “Re-evaluating partnerships. Cutting ties with assets that no longer align with the company’s vision.”

Mia let out a soft snort, shaking her head. “Wow. You really talk in press releases when you're hurt, don’t you?”

Tony blinked. Direct hit. Again.

“You’re brutal, you know that?” he said, a genuine smile breaking through his defensive walls. He raised his fresh glass of whiskey toward her. “I like it. Most people just nod and pretend they understand the genius.”

“Well, I’m not most people, Stark,” Mia murmured, her dark brown eyes locking onto his, holding him captive in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. “And personally? I think you look a lot better when you're not trying to be a genius.”

Her words truly took him aback. Had she really been able to see straight through his carefully constructed layers based on nothing but a five-minute interaction? It made him feel exposed, like she already knew a little too much about him. Yet, looking at her, she seemed entirely genuine. 

No hidden agenda, no cameras. Just her.

It was his turn to put her on the hot seat. Tony opened his mouth to flip the interrogation back on her, but before he could speak, a sudden squeal of excitement left her lips, startling him.

“That’s one of my favorite songs! Come on, dance with me!” Mia cried, sliding off her barstool and instantly grabbing his hand, pulling him upward.

“I don’t dance,” he tried to protest, attempting to anchor himself to the bar, though his eyes immediately began to wander.

She was on the shorter side, but damn, she had curves in all the right places. His eyes traveled up from her legs, watching how the sparkly fabric of her dress stretched perfectly over her plump ass. As she turned, he realized the tiny piece of clothing was completely backless, revealing a stunning cascade of inked flowers blooming across her bare skin.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find her attractive.

In fact, a dark, possessive thought crossed his mind—if this girl were to be his girl, she probably wouldn’t have made it past the bedroom door. Tony immediately reprimanded himself for the thought, shaking his head to clear it. Focus, Stark.

But Mia was relentless, dragging him straight into the thick of the dance floor. Sweaty bodies pressed against each other, moving to the sensual, heavy rhythm of what Tony guessed was a Spanish song.

“Just follow me,” Mia said, turning back to face him. She caught his hands, her hips immediately beginning to sway like a hypnotizing pendulum.

Tony stood there for a second, feeling entirely out of his depth. He could build a particle accelerator in his sleep, but moving his feet to a Latin beat while a beautiful, tatted-up woman melted into his personal space? That required a different kind of genius.

“You’re assuming I have rhythm, Tinkerbell,” Tony shouted over the booming bass, though he didn't pull his hands away. Instead, his grip tightened slightly against her soft skin.

“Everyone has rhythm, Stark. You’re just overthinking it. Stop trying to engineer the dance,” Mia teased. She took a step closer, closing the distance between them until the shimmery, glittered fabric of her dress brushed against his tailored pants.

She guided his hands down to her waist. The skin of her bare back was warm beneath his palms, the texture of her tattoos smooth. As she moved, her hips rolled perfectly against the beat, drawing him into her orbit.

Tony let out a low breath, the last remnants of his brooding mood evaporating into the crowded, humid air of the club. Pepper, the workshop, the endless expectation; it all faded into the background, replaced entirely by the intoxicating scent of Mia’s perfume and the friction of her body against his.

He allowed his feet to move, finally catching the rhythm. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face as he pulled her just an inch closer.

“Alright, Mia,” Tony murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes locked onto her plush lips. “Let’s see what else you can teach me.

Mia smiled, instantly taking on the challenge. She moved in, getting dangerously close—so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his lips.

“Tú sabes bailar, se te facilita como el caminar. Tú sabes bailar,” she sang softly, her dark brown eyes locked onto his as the foreign lyrics brushed against his mouth. This had to be the gods thanking Tony for saving the world twice already. Seriously. Because that right there? That was easily the hottest thing he had witnessed in a very long time.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden rush of adrenaline spiking through his veins that had absolutely nothing to do with flight suits or alien invasions. Tony’s hands tightened on her hips, anchoring her to him as the heavy bass of the music vibrated through the floorboards beneath their shoes.

“English, Tinkerbell,” Tony murmured, his voice thick and suddenly raspy. He leaned down just a fraction of an inch, his lips practically grazing hers as she continued to sway against him. “You’re cheating. I have no idea what you’re saying, but it feels like a violation of the Geneva Convention.”

Mia let out a breathless, smoky laugh, her hands sliding up his chest to rest against his shoulders. The glitter on her collarbones caught the pulsing neon lights of the club.

“I said you know how to dance,” she whispered, her hips rolling into him with a slow, agonizing rhythm that made his brain completely short-circuit. “That it comes easily to you. Like walking.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not easy,” Tony groaned softly, though a confident, dangerous smirk was finally breaking through his shock. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against hers, entirely intoxicated by her smell, her touch, and the sheer audacity of her presence. “But I’m a quick learner.”

He guided her smoothly through a turn, his hand sliding across the bare, inked skin of her back. The touch sent a jolt straight down her spine. 

For the first time in months, Tony wasn’t thinking about the future, or his mistakes, or the crushing weight of being a hero. He was just a man in a bar, completely captivated by a girl who didn't care about his armor.

Mia’s eyes darkened, her plush lips parting slightly as she felt the shift in his confidence. She leaned her head back, looking up at him through thick lashes. “Yeah? Prove it, Stark.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. The challenge in her eyes was all the permission he needed, but the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her completely hijacked his senses.

His eyes dropped to her plush lips, just inches from his own, still parted and inviting. Every logical thought in his brain evaporated, replaced by a fierce, possessive heat that caught him completely off guard.

He wanted her. No—he needed her. 

And more than that, he needed to get her out of this crowded, sweaty room full of staring eyes. He wanted to take her home, somewhere private, where no one else could witness the way she moved, the way she laughed, or the way those inked flowers traced the curves of her bare back. She was too captivating for a public floor, and right now, Tony was feeling entirely selfish.

“Careful what you wish for, Mia,” Tony murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly promise.

Before she could answer, his hand slid up from her waist, his fingers tangling into the long, dark waves of her hair to tilt her head back. He leaned down and captured her lips in a deep, bruising kiss that completely cut off the rest of the world.

Mia gasped against his mouth, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted right into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as she returned the kiss with a fiery intensity that matched the rhythm of the music pulsing around them. 

She tasted like sweet tequila and pure trouble.

When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead rested against hers. Both of them were breathless, their chests heaving. Tony’s smirk was gone, replaced by a look of intense, raw focus.

“We’re leaving,” Tony said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

Mia’s dark eyes were glazed, her glittery lids heavy, as a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Are we?”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, already wrapping his arm securely around her waist to guide her through the crowd. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone to text Happy to bring the car around. “Because if I keep you here another five minutes, I’m going to make a scene, and my PR team is already having a bad week.”