The party was in full swing, the usual extravagance that came with anything Tony Stark hosted. Golden light spilled from the chandeliers, reflecting off the endless stream of champagne glasses, and the air buzzed with laughter, conversation, and the faint hum of jazz from the live band in the corner. You stood at Natasha’s side, her arm casually draped around your waist, fingers idly tracing the fabric of your dress as she introduced you to the rest of the team.

“This is my girlfriend,” she had said, her voice smooth and confident, yet tinged with something almost protective. The reaction had been varied—Steve had given you a polite, approving smile, Bruce a slightly nervous nod, and Thor had clapped you on the back hard enough to nearly knock the breath from your lungs, grinning from ear to ear as he declared Natasha a lucky woman.

It had been going well, and Natasha had stayed close—until Steve had pulled her aside for something, promising it would only take a second. You didn’t mind at first, sipping your drink and looking around the room, but then you felt a presence too close to your side.

“Wow. Natasha’s girlfriend,” Tony mused, his voice smooth with the unmistakable slur of expensive whiskey. “You must have something special.”

You turned, finding yourself face-to-face with a slightly disheveled Tony Stark, his tie loosened, his lips curled in that infamous smirk. He tilted his head, looking you up and down with the kind of scrutiny that made your skin crawl.

“I mean, come on,” he continued, leaning an arm against the bar beside you. “What’s your secret? Spy training? Hypnosis? Did she threaten your family?” He chuckled, sipping from his glass. “Or—” he lowered his voice, eyes gleaming with mischief, “—are you just that good?”

You stiffened, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. “I—”

“Well, well,” Natasha’s voice sliced through the air like a blade, smooth yet sharp, deceptively calm. “What do we have here?”