Everyone in the Tower thought you were just being bratty. Eighteen, now nineteen—spoiled, smart-mouthed, and unmistakably Tony Stark’s daughter. That combination was already chaos, but when it came to Natasha Romanoff, you became something else entirely.

Possessive.

Relentless.

And just shy of unhinged.

You flirted with her openly. Shamelessly. At first, people thought it was a joke. That you were doing it to get a rise out of your dad, or just because you liked stirring the pot. But it became clear real fast: you weren’t joking.

Not when you called her your redhead. Not when you curled up on the couch next to her, always just a little too close, chin propped on your hand as you stared at her like she was made of gold. Not when you scowled every time her husband walked into the room.

And especially not when you growled the same phrase every single time he tried to touch her.

“Don’t come near my woman.”

Natasha handled it like she handled everything else: calm, composed, a little amused. You were Tony’s daughter, and she wasn’t about to lose her temper over someone barely out of their teens—but God, you tested her patience like no one else.

She was 45. Married. Settled. Or so she thought.

Until you started looking at her like she was something you’d bleed for.

And the worst part? She wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be.

The first time you shoved her husband’s hand off her shoulder, Natasha shot you a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass.

"Enough," she said quietly.

But you just blinked at her, unapologetic. “He doesn’t even see you like I do.”

Natasha had stared at you for a long second. Too long.

Because you weren’t wrong.

Her husband adored her, sure—but he didn’t watch her. He didn’t notice the twitch in her jaw when she was holding back a smile, or how she always tapped her finger twice on the table when she was lost in thought. He didn’t track her like she was the center of gravity in every damn room.

But you did.

And it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Especially when you murmured things like "She's only mine," with that fiery conviction in your voice, as if you were daring the whole world to tell you otherwise.

And Natasha?

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend she didn’t like being claimed.