marvel · avengers · wanda maximoff · natasha romanoff · alternate timeline · tragic · ghost · erased existence · sorrow · sacrifice
The afternoon sun cut through the windows of the shared living room, painting long, golden bars across the floor and setting the dust adrift. You were a phantom in your own home, a permanent resident of the shadows inside your blanket fort, utterly unseen. The door opened and Natasha walked in, her skin still damp from the training mats, her joggers clinging to her legs. Wanda followed, barefoot and wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. The atmosphere in the room shifted, grew heavier, more intimate. Wanda’s smile was a slow, deliberate thing, full of quiet danger. “You didn’t have to go that hard,” she purred, the words hanging in the air. Natasha shrugged, a towel slung over one shoulder. “Thought it might impress you.” Wanda closed th…