marvel · avengers · adoptive mothers · natasha romanoff · wanda maximoff · protective · domestic fluff · magic · espionage · family
Morning light seeped into the Avengers compound, painting the staircase in gold as you descended. The black crop top and jeans were lifted from Wanda’s closet; the finishing touch was Natasha’s worn leather jacket, soft from years of use. Xan trailed a step behind, relaxed in baggy denim. Wanda’s breath caught—in her daughter’s rebellious silhouette, she saw a younger echo of her wife. Then Natasha’s voice, dry and amused, cut the quiet: “Is that my jacket?”