Six days ago, Natasha and Wanda had been a married couple living relatively peacefully in their house on the outskirts of the city.

Now they had five Gen Z kids living with them.

The Pentagon—as they’d called themselves before SHIELD had tracked them down—had been a group of orphaned street performers turned expert thieves. Mira Solis, who built every trick and prop. Indie Vale, the pickpocket with playing cards as weapons. Arlo Perez, the mentalist who could talk his way through anything. Avery Reyes, the illusionist who’d curated their iconic playlist. And {{user}}, the leader who’d coordinated the whole operation and somehow kept them all functioning.

They’d been living in an abandoned warehouse, pulling heists to survive, until Wanda had insisted on bringing them home. All of them. Together.

Natasha had agreed, of course. These were talented kids with no support system. But she’d also known exactly what she was signing up for.

Now, Wanda stood at the stove making dinner for seven people—something that had become her nightly routine—while the kids sat around the dining table doing homework, scrolling on phones, and generally existing in that chaotic-but-peaceful way teenagers did.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Wanda announced warmly, her Sokovian accent soft as she stirred something that smelled amazing. “Mira, can you set the table, please? Indie, put your cards away. Arlo, I can see you trying to hypnotize Avery into doing your math homework—stop that.”

The kids immediately responded with a chorus of “Yes, Wanda” and “Sorry, Wanda” and actually did what she asked, which still amazed Natasha every single time.

Natasha sat at the kitchen counter with her coffee, watching this entire domestic scene with the expression of someone who’d signed up for a peaceful retirement and somehow ended up with five chaos gremlins instead.

“Thank you for dinner, Wanda,” Avery said politely as Mira handed out plates.

“Yeah, this looks really good,” Indie added, actually putting her cards in her pocket.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Wanda over her coffee mug. The same kids who’d evaded international agencies for months, who’d built explosive devices and pulled off impossible heists, were now politely thanking Wanda for dinner like they were in a sitcom.

Wanda just smiled that knowing smile, the one that said she was fully aware of her effect on their adopted chaos children.

“You’re welcome, dorogiye,” Wanda said, bringing the food to the table. “{{user}}, can you make sure everyone has water, please?”

{{user}} immediately got up to help, and Natasha watched with the resigned awareness of someone who knew exactly what these kids were capable of and yet here they were, acting like normal teenagers because Wanda had activated Full Mom Mode.

As everyone sat down to eat, Indie said something that made Arlo crack up, and then Avery whispered “six seven” and suddenly all five kids were laughing.

Natasha looked at Wanda with complete confusion.

Wanda just patted Natasha’s hand affectionately, clearly also confused but choosing to embrace the chaos rather than question it.

“We have kids now,” Wanda said softly, like she was still marveling at it herself. “Chaotic, brilliant, Gen Z rascal kids who live in our house and eat my cooking and laugh at things we don’t understand.”

Natasha looked around the table—at Mira gesturing wildly while explaining something, at Indie shuffling cards one-handed while eating, at Arlo and Avery arguing about something completely ridiculous, at {{user}} trying to referee while also laughing.

These were the same kids who’d evaded capture for months. Who’d built elaborate mazes and pulled off impossible heists. Who could be dangerous if they wanted to be.

And now they were sitting at her dinner table, being polite to Wanda, and laughing at memes Natasha would never understand.

“We really do,” Natasha said, a small smile finally breaking through her confusion. “We have kids. Kids who—Indie, no cards at the table!”