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bishova exes - established avenger yelena and vigilante kate.

they dated previously some time after hawkeye events - kate hopeful and naive about hero work, yelena resentful of any hero bullshit, still haunted by her past. they fall hard for each other but for some reason can't make it work (mainly yelena).

the best i can describe their falling out is by olivia rodrigo songs the cure and less - highly recommend checking them out (the cure is so yelena coded its insane guys i've been haunted by the visions since the release of the song).

they both need to mature and find themselves outside the relationship first. so they dramatically end things. triple homicide - kate is hurt, yelena is hurt, we are hurt. idk the details maybe yelena ghosts kate after a big fight, unaddressed fears and insecurities, they say things they don't mean etc etc

some time after thunderbolts events - yelena now is an established avenger saving people from world ending threats, being praised and paraded in media. and kate is an underground vigilante trying her best to protect everyday people, dealing with so much crime and injustice, facing the worst kind of people.

they finally reunite when kate gets recruited for an important avenger gig - it's the first time they saw each other since the break up. and there's so much feelings between them - heartbreak, longing, guilt, hope, pride, resentment, anger, love (just imagine thunderbolts reactions to yelena suddenly having so much tension and beef with hawkeye jr lol)

also the perspective change for both of them is sooo good - yelena finally stepping into the hero light and seeing meaning in helping people. and kate first hand experiencing the price, responsibility and weight that comes with being a hero/vigilante. and so they understand each other fully now.

and this just eats my brainnnn. the complicated feelings of it all. right person wrong time. can they rebuild the trust and overcome their personal struggles? the mix of being resentful of the person for breaking your heart, but still feeling so proud of them for becoming who they are. being butt hurt over how you ended things, but still hoping. still loving each other but thinking other person moved on.

someone sedate me

You glance at Natasha. You're both thinking the same thing, which is that you should conserve this moment in some way. Take a picture, maybe, or write about it in your diary. You don't have a diary, but this would be worth getting one for.

You can't even say nobody prepared you for what the future would entail. A teenager and a baby — not a combination many parents experience. Many assume it's easier. With one almost grown, independent kid, you get to focus on the baby more. And after months of Niko making life hell for you, that fantasy might become reality.

He's at the dining table, working on his homework and not making a sound. He's drinking orange juice he squeezed himself. There's half a bottle of it left in the fridge, and he threw out all the empty orange peels.

Masha's asleep in her crib. She's on her back, pacifier moving in a slow motion, arms stretched out next to her head. Her last growth spurt seems to have ended a few days ago. 

You blink, staring at the way daylight floods the kitchen. Life is much brighter after a full night's sleep.

Natasha lightly taps your hip. You can tell she's afraid to speak, and she does hesitate for a few seconds, but then her mouth brushes your ear. "Do you see that?"

"Yeah", you mumble, leaning into her side. "This is what I thought parenting would look like when I was a kid. Incredible."

"Makes me want a third."

You huff and pinch her waist. She jolts, a little frown on her face. 

"Don't ruin it", you warn her. "We've got our hands full here."

A head of red curls looks up. Niko scrunches his nose, his eyes inspecting both of you thoroughly. As much as he loves his sister, he's aware another sibling would be overkill.

"Agreed", he says. "Figure us out first, why don't you?"

You roll your eyes and step away from Natasha. You grab a glass and open the fridge to pour yourself some orange juice. Freshly squeezed — the last time you had something like that was on your babymoon last year, about a month before you had Masha.

Natasha leans over Niko's shoulder to glance at his homework. He's doing good, she realizes, and she runs her fingers through his hair. "I think we're doing a great job, buddy."

"You strained the juice?", you ask, taking another sip. "That's so nice, sweetheart."

He looks at you, shrugs, then keeps writing. He doesn't say anything in response. Verbal communication is shut down for the moment, at least until everyone stops reminding him how well behaved he's been.

He's never been a bad kid. You're all aware of that. He isn't troubled, or even complicated. He's a teenager, and most teenagers are like this. It's a thought you had to get used to. 

In the crib, Masha stirs. You both glance at her, but she calms down again, and you turn towards Natasha.

"Even you're behaving."

She furrows her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

You walk up to her, a smirk on your face, and press a kiss to her cheek. "You heard me. It's not every day I get to see you act your age."

The frown on her face vanishes, replaced by something both unimpressed and slightly embarrassed. She scoffs, her arms wrapping around your hips, and quickly kisses your forehead. 

"Well, you're the one who married me."

"Damn right I did", you huff, getting on your tiptoes to be more on eye level with her. "Best thing to ever happen to you."

Despite Niko's exaggerated loud gagging two feet next to you, she hums and smiles. You're still not fully on eye level, so she tightens her arms around you and lifts you up, and you finally kiss her mouth. 

"Can you not?", Niko interrupts. He's staring at the book in front of him, his nose almost touching the page. No way is he risking a single glance at you.

You let a breathy laugh escape, your mouth brushing your wife's. She pecks your bottom lip before pulling away. 

"AmeriCup tomorrow", she reminds him, reaching for the orange juice. 

"I'll practice when I'm done."

"Attaboy." She pats his shoulder and turns around. "So..."

You tilt your head at her. You don't manage to say anything, though — Masha starts squirming, and Natasha abandons her juice to fuss over her. 

No, you didn't think you'd get this kind of peace. All you can do now is hold onto that little bit of hope that it won't change. 

. . .

A tiny jersey. A pair of shorts, baggy fit. Knee high socks. 

Natasha's been looking forward to this ever since you found out you were pregnant. She hid everything in her closet, knowing you'd likely complain. After years of mourning that you'd never have a daughter, you don't plan on dressing her like your wife's second mini me. 

Fortunately, Masha doesn't care, and that's what matters. 

"Just like that", Natasha whispers. She snuck Masha into the bathroom while you were looking for Niko's gym bag. "We gotta be quiet, bub."

Masha gurgles, her chubby legs kicking as Natasha puts on the shorts. The jersey follows, and while the baby's restless feet make it hard to get the socks on, Natasha does succeed. 

She hears your voice from outside the bathroom right as she scoops Masha up. 

"Are you done? We're leaving in a minute!"

"On it!", Natasha calls, hurrying to wrap Masha into a blanket. "You can get into the car already. We'll be right there."

You pause in the hallway. Something is off — you can tell as much. You step closer, put your hand on the doorknob, and then you're interrupted. 

"Mom! We'll be late!"

The doorknob creaks, but then it stops. Natasha lets out a relieved breath, Masha cradled to her chest. She waits a moment to make sure you're gone, then she leaves the bathroom and makes a beeline for the car. 

By the time she gets there, Niko is buckled up and you're getting into the passenger seat. You pause, your head poking out of the car. 

"Are you okay?"

Natasha nods. Masha is in her arms, the blanket still wrapped around her. "Peachy. Ready to leave?"

"I am", Niko says. "You guys took forever."

"Because we had to get your stuff ready", you remind him. "Nat, honey..."

Natasha buckles Masha into her car seat. For some reason, she's sweating. There's no need to be this agitated. She didn't do anything. It's just a jersey. 

She tries her best to cover the outfit with the blanket, anyway. A corner slips, and she catches Niko looking at his sister. 

Their eyes meet, but he doesn't say a word. He does raise his eyebrows in a knowing manner, though. 

"...so we might have to find another spot."

She looks up. "Huh?"

"The parking lot in front of the arena is being remodeled. We'll have to find a spot for the car."

Natasha nods, checking on Masha one more time before getting into the driver's seat. You glance at the baby, but you can't see much more than a tuft of hair, so you turn around and type the address of the arena into the navigation system. 

You get there an hour later. Natasha jumps out to grab the baby, and you make sure Niko gets all his stuff. Once you're certain he's got everything, you go inside.

You send Niko off to his team, then find your seats. You glance at Natasha — she's still refusing to hand Masha over. The blanket she brought for whatever reason hasn't left the baby once so far. 

"What's with this thing?", you complain, touching one corner of the Winnie Pooh blanket. "Isn't she warm?"

"She's more than happy, thank you very much", Natasha huffs. She presses a little kiss to Masha's forehead. "I know how to take care of my child."

"I didn't doubt that. But it's warm in here."

"Really? I think that's the postpartum hormones", Natasha says. "Hot flashes, you know."

You give her a deadpan look. Masha fusses, her fist in her mouth. She hasn't eaten in over two hours, which means she's due for another feed. Your hands stretch out, and Natasha makes a startled noise when you move Masha into your arms. 

The blanket shifts. You, one hand in the middle of lifting your shirt, pause. 

"That's not the outfit I picked."

"You're sure?", Natasha mumbles, eyebrows raised innocently. "Might be baby brain. I remember you leaving this on the changing table."

You stare at Masha. A jersey, shorts and long socks. She might as well belong to the team practicing on the court. 

"Natasha."

Your voice is disapproving. Now you understand why you haven't caught a proper glimpse at your daughter in so long. 

"Don't like it?"

"I didn't have a girl to dress her like...this." You sigh and shift her around. "I had the cutest cardigan put out for her. It has flowers."

Natasha shrugs, absently reaching over to help cover you with the blanket. "I think this is cute."

You glare at her. "She looks like a Knicks mascot. Can you pay attention to what you're doing? Everyone can see my boobs."

Her eyes drop to your chest. She curses and pulls up the blanket again. "Sorry, sorry. You're not mad, are you?"

"Me? Mad at you?"

She looks up again. It's not unreasonable to assume you'd be at least a little ticked, she concludes. She'd rather play it safe. 

"I don't know", she says. "Are you?"

You roll your eyes, adjusting the blanket and batting her hand away. She gives you a sheepish look. You're not mad — just irritated. Nothing she can't fix.

The game starts with a jump ball. You both shift your focus away from each other, finding Niko on the court. His team secures first possession.

They score within the first two minutes, bettering your mood instantly. Natasha jumps up, almost pulling you along, but stops herself at the last second. She bends down, a kiss getting pressed to the top of your head. 

You find Niko as soon as the game ends. His team wins — a final score of 88 to 58. 

"Did you see that?", he yells, running up to you. "Did you see that fadeaway?"

"That was insane!", Natasha yells back. You grimace, covering Masha's ears. "You've been working on that forever!"

"I know! Man, that was amazing." He stops in front of you and grabs the towel Natasha pulled out of her backpack. "Did Masha like it?"

You glance at the baby. She fell asleep half an hour into the game. "You know, you might have to wait a bit for her to start paying attention. What did coach say?"

He points his thumb at his teammates. "We're going to a diner. It's on him."

There's no need to discuss whether he's allowed to go. His behavior has been impeccable these past few weeks. You brush a sweaty curl out of his face and smile.

"Want us to pick you up?"

"I'm good", he says, stepping back. "Mateo's mom will drive me home. I'm staying at his place, we'll play video games. I gotta go, okay?"

"Niko-"

"Bye!" He lifts one hand and grins, then turns around and runs towards his team. 

You watch him for a second. Once he's talking to his friends, your eyes drift and meet Natasha's. What you should do is run after him and discuss the sleepover he didn't bother to mention. Instead, you both have the same thought.

With Niko gone and Masha sleeping like a saint, you basically have the house to yourselves.

. . .

Steam and a smell of vanilla hits her. She pauses in the door, her eyes finding you through the frosted glass of the shower. Music's playing, quiet and almost overshadowed by the sound of running water. Natasha steps into the bathroom and takes off her hoodie.

It took a while for the baby to fall asleep. Natasha and Masha have turned into a team — a bottle of warm milk, some story from the office, pacing through the nursery until she's about to nod off. Transfer her into the crib and keep one hand on her chest until she's knocked out.

The next few hours belong to you. Natasha puts her clothes aside, then slips into the shower with you. Two warm hands settle on your hips.

"You started without me?"

"Hey." You turn your head and quickly peck her mouth. "Didn't even shampoo my hair yet."

She raises her eyebrows and steps closer, her front pressed against your back. Her hands slide to your stomach. "Not what I meant and you know it."

You let out a breathy laugh and lean back. She palms your stomach, then your breasts, and her lips brush your shoulder. It's familiar, safe, practiced. You never related to other parents' stories about their temporary involuntary celibacy. Somehow, you always find a way, even if it means you have to hurry.

Her fingers lightly twist your nipple. Milk trickles out of it. "How you feeling?"

"Can't complain", you hum, your head dropping back against her shoulder. "Full night's sleep...amazing kids, amazing wife..."

"Agreed", she whispers. Her teeth graze your ear. "Sleepy?"

You shift against her, feeling her get hard against your back. "A little bit."

Neither of you mind that. Sleepy sex has its own perks. One of her hands moves in between your thighs, and you cup your neglected breast. She sucks your earlobe into her mouth and slips two fingers into you.

Your hips buck against her hand. She exhales, her eyes closing, and starts pumping them into you at a slow pace. Water cascades down your bodies, washing away the residue of the day. 

She can feel herself get harder by the minute, until it's beginning to hurt. Drops of precum spill on your lower back and ass. You can feel them, and you can hear her labored breathing, so you reach for her wrist and make her pull out. 

Dazed eyes meet yours when you turn around. You tilt your head up and kiss her, your hand slipping between your bodies to wrap around her cock. You squeeze once, twice, until she's moaning into the kiss, and then you guide her into you. 

Tight, warm heat envelops her. Her eyes close, her arms snake around your waist. You lean against the slippery tiles and part your thighs.

You meet each deep thrust, the combined heat of the water and everything else slipping into your veins. Natasha doesn't take long, and neither do you, and your own orgasm milks dry. 

You shudder, hands linked behind her head. 

"Still sleepy?", she murmurs, her face moving to the crook of your neck. You hum. "I want to sleep like this."

You scoff. You tried this a few times — sleeping with her inside of you. You almost didn't get her back out twice. 

"Forget it."

"It was just an idea", she defends herself. She looks up to reach for the shampoo. "We can talk about it later."

It takes one look from you for her to realize that, no, you won't be talking about it later. There's many people she'll fight, many situations she'll argue herself out of — or into — but now she just sighs and accepts defeat. 

. . .

There's game footage playing on the monitor in front of her. Her coffee is getting cold, and her desk is covered in sticky notes and folders. 

She's been watching the games of last week for what feels like hours. In reality, not more than an hour has passed.

Her focus shifts to the corner of her desk. Framed pictures, an orchid, basketball stuff. She glances at the Polaroid of Masha sleeping her your chest, at the picture of you carrying a six year old Niko on your shoulders. He was almost too tall for you. 

Parental leave didn't last long enough. She got two months with you and Masha, and back to the office she went.

"Mrs Romanoff?"

She looks up, trying to look like she's hard at work. "Hm?"

It's one of the new student associates. She's got assigned the role of being his mentor. As much as she loves the new kids, she has better things to do than run after them all the time. She does enough of that at home. 

"Quick question", he says. "I was tracking ticket sales from last month, but the whole screen blanked. I think the system crashed."

Natasha stares at him. He stands there, tie crooked and shirt wrinkled, and scratches his head. 

"You crashed the system?"

"Not me!", he quickly says. "Just...I clicked something and it stopped working."

"I'm not the tech person here", she says. "Do you know where Eddie is?"

"I don't want to ask Eddie. He's mean."

"Go ask Amar, then", she says, rubbing the spot between her eyebrows. "And try to restart the computer."

He nods, spinning on his heels and leaving down the hallway. The door stays wide open, though, so she mutters a curse and gets up. She closes it, sits back down, and presses play on the basketball footage again.

Not too far away — a few floors lower — you push a stroller into the reception area. The stroller seems merely decorative at this point. Masha decided about ten minutes after leaving the house that being carried is the only option for her.

You stop in front of the receptionist and hand him your key card. He scans it and hums.

"Welcome, Mrs. Romanoff. You know the way?"

"Mhm. Been here before."

Masha hiccups. You pray she didn't spit up and glance at your shoulder. The light fabric of your top is still spotless.

"Right", he says, returning the key card to you. "If she's in a meeting, you might want to-"

You nod, already making your way toward the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. I know where the break room is. Don't lose your head over it."

The elevator dings when you reach the desired level. You step out, pull the stroller with you, and make your way down the hallway. Glass walled offices are to your left and right, you walk past the break room, and finally, you spot the door you've walked through time after time.

'Romanoff' the nameplate next to it says. There's a drawing hung up above. You give the door a quick knock.

"Yes?"

You poke your head in. Natasha looks up and huffs, pausing the footage. She didn't expect you — though she maybe should have. You've been texting her about your boredom all morning.

"Hey", you say, slowly revealing Masha. 

"Look at my girls. Come on in."

"Are we interrupting?", you ask, walking into her office and closing the door.

"Best interruption I could've gotten", she promises. She gets up and scoops Masha out of your arms. "What the hell did you put on my child?"

"Don't like it?" You walk around the desk and sit down on it, legs crossing. "It's better than the jumper you picked."

Natasha raises her eyebrows at your choice of outfit. She doesn't mind the pink, nor the teddybear sweater, but the amount of frill is an eyesore. If she let your grandmother pick an outfit, it wouldn't look too different.

"She looks like she escaped from the Victorian era", she says. "How was your morning?"

"Boring", you drawl, absently tidying up her desk. "She slept so much. The house is clean, I meal prepped for the next two days..."

You feel a kiss against your cheek. Natasha slides back into her desk chair, Masha in her lap.  

"More productive than me so far."

"Mhm? Sounds like I should get a share of your salary, then."

She grins. She wouldn't mind doing that — she pays for most of your stuff as it is. All her money ends up on the shared bank account, anyway. 

She props Masha up against her shoulder, letting her stare at the whiteboard behind her desk. "I was working. Reviewing game footage."

"Sounds like I should leave", you tease, adjusting yourself atop her desk. 

Somehow, you managed to get ready as well. Shower, cute outfit, red lipstick. Thighs still a little plumper from the pregnancy, one hand sliding across the desk with the wedding ring glistening. Fresh manicure, too, paid for by Natasha.

She scoffs. "I'd have to be the dumbest idiot alive to let you go now. You're staying right there."

"That's what I thought."

Masha lets out a squeal, her foot kicking at Natasha's stomach. You give each other a look. 

"You're sure we're not distracting you?", you ask. "I bet you have work to do."

Natasha shakes her head. Worst case scenario, she gets it done later, or asks to turn it into a home office situation. She pushes back the desk chair and gets up. 

"It's basically lunchtime, anyway", she says, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet, quickly drawing you closer. "We haven't had a slice in so long." 

Your hands end up on her sides. You fist the crisp fabric of her button up shirt and tilt your head up. "Sounds good."

Her free arm wraps around your waist. Her mouth brushes your forehead, breath tickling your skin. 

"Let me make all the unmarried losers jealous", she mumbles. You slap her lower back. "What? Come on, you like being showed off."

"You're mean", you state. "Pizza it is?"

You watch her throw on a jacket, then you make your way out of the building. The pizza place is right across the street, with a huge sign advertising it. 

Natasha, juggling Masha and your purse, holds open the door. You slip inside and get in line. 

Ten minutes later, you're squeezed into a small booth. You were lucky to get a table in the first place, knowing it's prime lunchtime. 

"That looks good", you say, eyeing the plain slices Natasha picked. "Mine's spicy."

Their pepperoni has always been spicy, Natasha recalls. Pregnancy must've messed with your taste buds. She takes a glance at your face before pushing her plate in front of you.

"We can share", she says. 

You look at her, finding and squeezing her hand under the table. Instead of a thank you, she receives a kiss on the mouth.

Lunch doesn't last as long as you need it to. Her phone starts buzzing right as you finish your slices, so instead of soft serve for dessert, you part ways. 

Handing Masha over has easily the become the most difficult part. She kisses her chubby cheek before putting her back in your arms. You step closer, get on your tiptoes and kiss Natasha goodbye. 

. . .

It's too good to be true. 

That's what you've been repeating for days — weeks at this point — and somehow, it stays true. There are no fights. Arguments are short lived. Niko doesn't resist his chores and his schoolwork. Masha only wakes once a night. 

You're both starting to become suspicious, but you're pushing it down for your own happiness' sake. It's a sunny warm Saturday, you're all wandering in and out of the house, and to celebrate Natasha getting a promotion, you ordered a huge ice cream cake.

You feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle. They're getting bigger again, you notice. Natasha's been bulking. 

"I miss you", she whispers, kissing the back of your neck. "Why are you in here?"

"I'm doing the dishes", you whisper back. "Why are we whispering?"

She huffs a laugh and nuzzles your neck. You're alone. The kitchen is empty. Niko is outside, watching Masha as she naps on a blanket in the shade. It's not enough for a quickie — of course not, as you could still be walked in on, and neither of you want that — but she starts mouthing at your shoulder. 

Teeth graze your skin, sinking in. Her tongue soothes the spots. Her hands slip under the oversized shirt you're wearing. There's nothing but a pair of soft cotton shorts underneath. 

You miss your youth. Both of you do. Even in moments like this, when you're alone for a short while, when everything is exactly the way you pictured it to be — you miss it. There's nothing like unplanned sex, even if you pretend otherwise. 

"We should drop the kids off at grandma's", Natasha mumbles, kissing your pulse point. Her hands slide to your lower back. "I need a weekend alone with you."

You want to hesitate. Masha isn't even six months old yet. Then again, you trust Melina, and you also trust your own parents. The thought of getting two uninterrupted days is enticing enough to let you consider it. Fortunately, the heels of Natasha's hands press into your aching back muscles just right. 

"God, yes", you sigh. 

"Gotta have you all to myself", she adds, starting to daydream. "You'd let me do whatever I want, right?"

"You'd deserve it", you hum. "A gift for you getting that promotion."

Natasha rests her forehead against your shoulder. Her thoughts are running wild, and she has no choice but to put an end to them. You're not in college anymore. You're married, you have two kids waiting outside, and this is already crossing multiple lines. 

"I love our children", she mutters. "I really do."

"Yeah." You exhale, leaning back against her for a moment. "Me too."

She nods, torn between the incomprehensible amount of love she has for her babies and the inevitable frustration that comes with being blue balled a majority of the time. You're not involuntary celibates, but you're not living up to your libido, either.

One last, longing kiss to your neck, then she disappears upstairs to grab something. You turn around to look out the window, the backyard stretching out behind it. 

There's lots of space, more than you thought you'd find in New York City. Moving to Brooklyn was worth it despite the long commute to work. It's why you get to see Niko and Masha nap in the shade of a cluster of trees. 

You check on them again. Niko really does seem asleep. You frown, about to open the window and wake him, when the sound of the doorbell wakes him. 

You turn around, he jumps up. You miss him yelling "I got it!" and make it to the front door first.

It opens to a girl standing there. You blink, trying to piece it together — she seems familiar, but you can't put your finger on it. 

"Is Niko home?", the girl finally asks. "I'm Darla."

"Oh", you say. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I had no idea you were coming over! That boy doesn't tell me anything, I swear-"

Niko is sprinting, so eager to get to the front door he nearly slips in the hallway. You give him a startled look. 

"Mom! That's Darla!", he sputters. "I gotta go, 'kay? Bye!"

You put a hand on his shoulder just before he can tug Darla away. You met her once, but that was before they started dating, and it was only a brief interaction at their school's science fair. 

You know you're the embarrassing mom. It's fine. The flush in Niko's cheeks will fade eventually, and it's only fair you meet the girl your son has been swooning over for almost a year. Truthfully, he should be happy it didn't happen sooner. 

"Why are you in such a rush?", you say. "Let her come inside for a minute. And go grab Masha, you can't leave her outside unsupervised."

"But mom-"

"Go", you say, shooing him into the backyard. He bites back a groan and trudges outside. You turn back to a flustered Darla. "Come on honey, I'll get you some ice cream cake. How's lemonade sound?"

You lead her into the dining room and hand her a slice of ice cream cake. Niko puts Masha into her crib before joining. Natasha walks in right as you're pouring a glass of lemonade, rubbing her freshly washed hair dry with a towel. 

"What's going on?", she asks. 

You quickly make your way to her side. "That's Darla", you whisper, taking the towel from her. "Niko tried to leave before I could meet her. Can you believe that?"

Yes, she thinks. "No", she says. "But don't hold them up, I'm sure they have better things to do."

"We were about to go swim", Niko adds. "Can we?"

"Let Darla finish her cake", you dismiss him, turning around. "Darla, sweetheart, how's school going? Everything alright?"

She nods, briefly glancing up at you. "Almost all A's."

Better than Niko. Much better, in fact. Not that he's doing bad in school, but he's far from being an all A's student. You sit down at the table, raising your eyebrows at Natasha when she gestures at you to leave them alone.  

She gives up when she realizes you're not budging. She grabs Masha, who's started to fuss, and sits next to you. 

Darla is a sweet girl, just like you assumed she'd be. She plays tennis, her parents are a part of the local country club, she loves science. After ten minutes of her answering your questions and Niko groaning at them, you let them free. 

The door shuts after them. What's left is the quiet coos coming from Masha, a fork clinking against the plate as Natasha demolishes her third slice of cake, and the dishwasher running in the background.

The peace is accompanied by a an odd feeling in your stomach. They're just going swimming — no harm in that. Niko has been so well behaved, too. You're probably just worried about nothing. 

Masha giggling makes you snap out of your thoughts. Something about Natasha making faces as she eats cake amuses her immensely. 

"So, we get the night off", you say. "Niko said he's staying at Darla's."

"Hell yeah", Natasha mumbles, smiling absently at the baby. "We can drop this one off at Melina's."

"You're not, I don't know...worried?"

She looks up, her attention turning to you. She frowns. "What? Why?"

"He's your son. And he's staying at a girl's place."

She shrugs. She's thought about it before. Multiple times. The first time she thought about it was when you were halfway through the pregnancy, and it's a recurring thought ever since. 

"So? I didn't cause any teen pregnancies."

"You narrowly escaped them!", you protest. "How old were we? Twenty?"

She pauses, not willing to admit how right you are. Having a baby in your second year of college isn't the same as a teen pregnancy, but it's far from ideal.

"I mean, if that's true we still got four years."

"Natasha!", you hiss. "This is not a joke! He really is like you."

"No", she quickly says, patting Masha's back as she starts crying. "No, he isn't. I mean, parts of him are, but he's...responsible. He's so well behaved now. Remember the orange juice?"

You blink, staring at her. She can feel you rush to her side before you move a muscle, and then, you're standing next to her. She shrinks, Masha suddenly going quiet. 

"Orange juice?"

"It was good orange juice", she argues. "Can we not jinx this, please? You're talking about shit that...it's like you're fabricating problems we don't have to deal with right now."

Alarm bells go off in her head the second the look on your face changes. She's not soothing your fears — she's writing you off as a paranoid lunatic. That's what it feels like to you, at least.

"Natalia Alianova-"

"No no no", she says, getting up hastily. "Love, listen. Life is going well, isn't it? It's not sunshine and rainbows, but come on. We got two kids, a teen and a baby, and I'd say it's not too shabby how we're handling it. And I hate seeing my pretty girl worry, so if there's nothing to worry about, we don't."

You're still staring, but now you're staring up. Natasha's sweating. She has to bend to kiss you, her biceps are basically the size of your head, she's been up against basketball players of all sizes — and yet, there's nothing more terrifying than her tiny terror of a wife. 

And god, she loves you for that. 

"You better be right", you snap. It's not as harsh, though, and Natasha sees that as a win. A small win, but even small wins accumulate into a bigger victory. 

"I will be", she says, confident as ever. "And you know what? Let me take your mind off this. I was serious about dropping Masha off at Melina's. Hell, my mom's been asking to babysit for weeks."

You give her another glare, but it's softer and weaker, not nearly as intimidating as the prior stare. She presses a kiss to your forehead and you feel yourself fold. 

"My promotion gift", she adds, a mumbled reminder that, unfortunately, works. 

A sigh slips. You've caved. 

. . .

Too good to be true — but now you push the thought aside.

It's a tiny little restaurant in Manhattan. Red lanterns are attached to the ceiling, there's no more than two tables outside, and for the first time in weeks, you're alone. 

The feeling is fantastic. No grouchy teen, no drooling baby. You pumped milk, enough of it to warrant the glass of wine you're sipping on. Natasha's in her best suit, and you're wearing that one dress that makes your post partum body look and feel magical. 

Natasha's been staring ever since you put it on. How couldn't she? Until tomorrow afternoon, it's just the two of you.

"Your food", you remind her. "It's getting cold."

She pauses, caught off guard, before remembering the steak in front of her. "Oh, right. Whatever. I'm not here for the food."

"Right now, you are", you say firmly, though you can't stop the heat sparking all over your skin. "We're taking it slow."

"Slow", she sighs. "Fine. How's your food?"

"Good", you say. "Like, too good. Isn't this the restaurant that overcooks their pasta?"

"Their steak is always well done", she adds. "Even when I ask for medium rare."

Again, too good to be true. Even the bad restaurant you keep going to for some reason has managed to surprise you. 

You twirl some spaghetti around your fork and force yourself to stop thinking about it. Natasha said it best — if there's nothing to worry about, you don't. But you spent years worrying, and unlearning that after few quieter weeks isn't an easy thing to do. 

You finish dessert and make your way out of the restaurant. The wine worked wonders, getting you tipsy enough to forget about how awfully perfect everything is. It's not the only perk, either, and by the time you get back home, your skin is hot, almost feverish to the touch. 

Natasha holds open the door for you. The cold air of the air conditioned bedroom hits you, sending shivers straight through you.

"What a night", you say absently, lifting your foot to take off your heels. "That view is insane."

"Central Park right in front", Natasha agrees. She watches you turn around, heels in hand and headed straight for her. "Even if we've been there a bunch of times before."

The heels drop. You run your hands down her necktie, pulling slightly, before starting to loosen it. She watches with half lidded eyes. 

Natasha's been waiting for this ever since she saw you in that dress, or maybe since that moment in the kitchen this morning. Maybe even since last night, when you were so close but Masha decided to lose her pacifier and start crying. At this point, she's beginning to think the waiting never ends — it's only interrupted by short moments of satisfaction. 

At least you like being desired. She's been hit with a wet sponge or eraser more often than she can count, but it's always accompanied by a little laugh or smirk. 

You take the tie off and start unbuttoning her shirt, taking your time with each button. Your fingers graze her chest and her breathing gets heavier, her face a little flushed.

"So, President of basketball operations", you mumble, lightly pushing the shirt off her shoulders. "What's your first wish?"

She raises her eyebrows, face lighting up. Her hands squeeze your hips. You press closer and brush your nose against her jaw. 

"Anything, right?"

"Mhm."

She hesitates, which is unusual. You do know she's been going easy on you since the pregnancy — somewhat easy, that is. She's still Natasha, after all, and you'd be more concerned by a lack of that all consuming hunger that drives her. 

"You're sure?"

"Don't make me repeat myself", you tease. "Come on, big guy. Too scared to ask?"

Natasha scoffs. She palms at your sides, her hands working their way down to your ass. "What, me?"

"Then what's the problem? I'm sure your pretty little brain is just overflowing with ideas."

You're not wrong. Not a night goes by without Natasha pitching some sort of new idea. It's been your thing ever since college, and though you do take breaks and settle for vanilla sex most of the time, it does make everything more interesting. 

You feel her hand touch the zipper on the back of your desk. You hear the quiet sound it makes as she pulls it down, exposing more and more of your skin to cold air.

She mulls it over. You're trying to figure it out yourself, racking your brain for any new positions or turn-on's she might've mentioned lately. It must be bad, considering how long it's taking her to spit it out. 

"Should I worry?", you ask, finally breaking the silence. Natasha blinks. "No, really. You look like you're about to bring up that threesome thing again."

Her blinking turns into an offended look. Clearly, you still haven't forgotten about that one thing she asked for in college, the one that made you stop talking to her for a week. "That was a joke."

"Please, we both know you would've done it. You-"

"It's not a threesome", Natasha cuts you off. She touches your shoulders, and the fabric of your dress starts sliding off your body. "It's not even bad. We've done it before. It's just...limited resources, but you had wine tonight anyway, so..."

The question mark inside your head morphs into a soft "oh" that spills from your lips. Natasha's fixation on your ability to produce milk never lessened in intensity, even when you stopped breastfeeding. You assumed it'd come back full force after having Masha, but she managed to rein herself in for a few months. 

"You'd toss it out anyway", she adds, almost petulant now. "What a waste."

You scoff, but you can't hide the smile on your face. It's cute how nervous she was to ask for this. Her college-self would've made you ride her lap and then pulled up your top to latch on. 

"That's it?", you say. "And you had me stressing over a threesome."

"The only threesome I want is with you and your boobs", she mutters. Her hands wander up to your chest, thumbs brushing over your clothed nipples. "You feel full."

Your skin is taut, full breasts stretching out the fabric of your bra. They're heavy, hot, fitting perfectly in her palm when she cups them. 

She watches two wet spots form. They're tiny at first but rapidly grow in size. 

"I am full", you agree, letting out a strained breath. You bat her hands away. "They're sensitive. And you're spilling a lot."

A barely contained groan comes out of her. She pulls you closer, kissing you, your chest pressing against hers. Her tongue slips into your mouth, and her hands steer you toward the bed. 

You end up straddling her. She's fully hard, her cock resting against your thigh. It's big and heavy, and even though you've spent years getting used to the sheer size, it still catches you off guard a little whenever you look at it. 

You're wet, too, a slick layer of your arousal coating the inside of your thighs. Natasha kisses you again and again, keeping it brief enough to let you try and catch your breath. Her hand slides up your thigh, feeling the dampness between your legs. 

She lifts one of your knees and guides herself in with her other hand. The slick tip pushes in first, and what follows is that big stretch you have to get used to each time. 

"It won't fit", you moan. "Natasha, what the fuck did you do?"

"Nothing", she groans, forcing herself to keep her hips firmly pinned to the mattress. No thrusting up until you're ready. "The size doesn't just...change."

"It's the bulk", you mutter, sweat beading at your temples. You sink down another one or two inches and curse, but you can feel the pain turn into pleasure. "Swear to god."

She wants to argue, but all she manages is a breathless laugh. You're so tight around her, so wet and perfect. Her hands are on your waist to guide you lower, and once you bottom out, you both let out moans that collide midair. 

You rock your hips, a gentle movement to test the waters. It's not painful anymore, and you feel full and tingly, each deep stroke making you move faster. 

It's your favorite view. Natasha, lying back against the headrest, abs sweaty and glistening and on full display for you. Her thick biceps, and the way her green eyes go absent as she stares at you. 

The rocking turns into light bouncing. Natasha, who's been watching your chest jiggle right in front of face for minutes, unclasps your bra. Your tits spill out, nipples damp with milk. She feels herself twitch deep inside you. 

A pair of big calloused hands cup your breasts. Natasha squeezes, milk dripping, before leaning in and sucking one of your nipples into her mouth. 

A sweet-salty spurt hits her tongue. She moans, arms wrapping around your middle. 

"Happy now?", you gasp, still riding her. It's hard to talk with her tongue flicking against your nipple. "Fuck, Nat-"

She ignores you. Her moans are low and quiet, but they vibrate through your spine. You're out of breath too, shaking from how turned on you are. The motion of your hips was quick and hurried at first, but now, it's in synch with the slow pulls of Natasha's mouth. 

Her nose nuzzles your skin. She's still sucking, and you're warm and damp and smell like sweet cream. You're tight around her cock, sending shockwaves through her each time the swollen head hits that one spot deep inside you. 

Now it might be too good to be true. For the first time since you brought up this absolutely ridiculous concept, Natasha is inclined to agree. You're home alone, child free for the night, full from a nice dinner. She's got her naked glowing wife in her lap cowgirl style, she's sucking the soul out of your tits. Her balls might explode if she doesn't let herself cum anytime soon, but this is too precious to rush it. 

Another bounce, your thighs parted to let her even deeper into you. She moans against your breast, her hand coming up to grope its neglected twin. Her fingers tug and twist the nipple, and milk spills everywhere — her hand, your stomach, the bedsheets. 

You can feel the climax twist and turn inside you long before it hits. You tense up in anticipation, the movement of your hips stuttering. And then your thighs give in, and the orgasm, though messy, feels like a full body release. 

Natasha cums the second you clench around her. It spills deep into you, drips down your thighs. You pull away and eye her lazily. 

She kisses your mouth and rolls you onto your back. You stay put in place, watching her slip out of bed and disappear into the bathroom. She returns with a warm cloth and a fresh, softer bra.

"Aren't you sweet", you muse. "Is this bribery for round two?"

"Who do you think I am?", she says, starting to wipe you clean. She tosses a quick glance at you. "Round two, you say?"

"Oh, you big fat jerk."

She laughs, pressing a kiss to each your boobs before lifting her head. Her plush lips meet yours, still warm and sweet.

You wrap your arms around her neck to keep her close. It's a light kiss, all pecks and hums and sighs. Hands wander. The bed is comfortable and soft, the room around you cold from the A/C. 

And the best part? You still have all night. All morning, too. Breakfast in bed, sex in the bathtub. Kiss as much as you want. No taking breaks to breastfeed or help Niko find his headphones. 

You let yourself deepen the kiss. Wandering hands turn into groping. You swing one leg over her hip, and then, your phone starts buzzing.

There's a pause. You're both wondering whether you should just ignore the call and keep going. But your children are in the care of other people right now, so not picking up the call is simply not an option. 

"Won't take long, I bet", Natasha mumbles. She's tipsy from the wine and your milk and you. She's sleepy, and one more orgasm will be the exactly right thing to knock her out. "Probably just Melina wanting to ask about nighttime feedings and shit."

"It's not Melina."

Natasha frowns. You glance at her and accept the call. 

"Hello, this is Officer Ellis from the New York City Police Department. Am I talking to Y/N Romanoff?"

Immediately, your heart starts pounding. Your palms feel damp, and your stomach turns. Natasha gives you a worried look. 

"Yes, that's me. Is everything okay? What happened?"

"Mrs Romanoff, I am calling about your son Niko. He got detained this evening after attempting to take a boat from the Hudson. He's okay, but we'll need you to come down to the precinct."

There it is. It's like a huge, beautiful, perfect bubble bursting. You spent days, weeks worrying about nothing at all, and this is how the universe decided to make you pay for it. Natasha was right — you did jinx it. 

It takes a second for you to speak. At least officer Ellis is patient. 

"Oh dear god."

"He's in our custody", the officer adds. "As I said, he's perfectly fine, just a little shaken up. You can come get him right now."

"Yeah, okay", you say, voice dry and quiet. "We'll be right there. Thank you, Officer."

The call ends with a click. Natasha sits there, naked from head to toe, only a blanket tossed over her lap. You're naked too, still trying to process everything. 

"Niko got arrested."

Natasha stares at you. The words sink in, but not fully. "Huh?"

"He got arrested", you repeat, slipping out of bed. Natasha watches you walk to the closet and dig in it. "Our son got arrested. He tried to steal a boat. A boat, of all things!"

"Damn", she mutters. "Maybe he is like me."

You shoot her a glare. "Get your ass out of bed and get dressed. We need to go down to the police station."

She nods and reaches for her boxers. A pair of jeans, a shirt, hair in a low bun, and you're out the door. 

It's a long, quiet drive. You don't talk at first. Then, she drums her fingers against the steering wheel. You look away from the buildings passing by outside the window. 

"I mean", she drawls, "he is a teenager. So this is normal, I guess."

"Natasha, attempted theft is not normal", you snap. "He's in a shitload of trouble."

"I know that! But, you know, it's still in that teenager range of normal."

"No, that's your range of normal."

She shuts up after all, a slightly offended look on her face.

The police station pops up in front of you. You park the car, get out, and make your way inside. 

Officer Ellis approaches you. There's not much to say — Niko was at the harbor with a few of his friends. He was caught on a boat that, obviously, doesn't belong to him, another kid in the process of trying to untie it. 

"There's not much to say", Ellis says. "He's embarrassed, of course. Don't need to add to that."

You glance at Natasha, who's got her arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed. All of a sudden, she's forgotten about that 'teenager range of normal' she was talking about earlier. 

"What now?", you ask quietly. 

He sighs and gently pulls you aside. "Look, between you and me...I've had kids stab people. Not saying what he did was right, but dammit, he spent the entire car ride here apologizing. Besides, he didn't even know how to start the damn thing."

"He...what?"

"Didn't know how", the officer repeats. Natasha groans quietly. "He's just a dumb kid. No offense."

"All good", you say. "He takes after my wife."

Niko gets handed over once the officer explained all the next steps. You get court dates, a bunch of paperwork, and a teen who looks like he'd rather be swallowed whole by the Hudson River. 

. . .

Consequences follow, and they affect you almost as much as they affect your son. 

No basketball games for the next few months, which means missing out on the rest of the AmeriCup. He's grounded, all his classmates know, and you're trying to understand what in the world possessed your child. 

The original plan was going swimming with Darla, and then spending the night at her place. It turned into meeting up with a couple friends at the pool, after which they hung out at the Hudson and started doing stupid bets. 

At this point, it was nearing midnight. Somehow, no one had thought to question them being outside this late, but their luck ran out when they dared Niko to steal a boat and drive a few rounds. Mateo untied the boat for him, but Niko didn't get far.

Even now, almost two months later, he's still not fully over it. Neither are Natasha and you, but you've decided to let it rest. Water under the bridge, he's spent the past weeks trying to make up for what he did.

Summer is coming up, too. In less than a month, Niko will be out of school for the summer, but the idea of going on vacation hasn't even entered your head yet. Too preoccupied have you been with trying to keep your family together. 

At least it's worked out for you so far. Niko is doing good in school, he's practicing basketball pretty much every day. Masha is growing rapidly — you almost forgot how little it takes for babies to go from sleepy potatoes to small human beings —, and you and Natasha are keeping your marriage alive as wonderfully as ever. 

Having a teen cause trouble doesn't equal trouble in paradise, after all. 

"My pretty girl", Natasha coos. She's on the floor, head turned towards Masha. "Come on, malysh. Crawl to mama."

"She's wiggling", you comment. "That's progress."

So far, Masha hasn't managed to do much more than get into the position to crawl — but the part where she moves forward has yet to happen. 

"Like that", Natasha says, watching her attempt to get closer. "Attagirl. A little more practice and you'll be crawling everywhere."

Masha squeaks and drops to the ground. She stretches out her hand to capture the teething ring in front of her, and Natasha scoops her into her arms and gets up. 

"She's gotten so big", you say. "And she's so aware now, too. You should've seen her and Niko yesterday."

"Right?" She kisses the baby's forehead. "I think she might be ready for her first vacation. Some tropical beach seems just like her vibe."

You raise your eyebrows and slowly lower your book. It's been years since you last went a summer without a vacation, but neither of you have been bringing it up, so you assumed you'd spend this one at home. 

"Are you serious?"

"Hell yeah", Natasha says. "My princess deserves to practice crawling in the sand. And you need a break, too. Seeing you half naked is also a plus, but..."

"Ew."

"Don't say ew", she retorts. "You enjoy the attention. Anyway, I'd love to take you to the Bahamas. The flight isn't that long, either."

You hum. It's an enticing idea — Natasha, you and the kids. White sandy beaches, clear water, cocktails, tiny bikinis. Sex in the ocean, maybe, if you're sneaky enough. 

"We could bring my parents", you drawl. "Free babysitters."

All it takes is one sentence, and the fantasy is ruined. Natasha groans. She loves your parents, really, but having them around on vacation?

"Oh, really?"

"Think about it! Separate rooms, and we get to drop off the kids whenever we need a break." You tilt your head at her. "Of course, it's just an idea."

She makes a low, noncommittal sound. Masha shrieks, chewing on her fingers and standing in Natasha's lap, supported by her mom's hands. 

You forget about the vacation topic when Niko walks in. It's a Saturday morning, which means no school — only basketball practice and helping around the house. 

If you decide to have pity, you might let him have Darla over for a while. He may be grounded, but after a very detailed explanation delivered by Natasha, you understood the importance of not letting his personal mistakes affect his relationship. 

"Morning, buddy", Natasha says. "You're up late. There's bagels in the kitchen, and grab a shake. We're having practice in ten."

"Okay, thanks", he mumbles, dragging his feet into the kitchen. The sound of rummaging through the fridge and drawers sets in. 

"When's his next game again?", you ask softly. "Next week?"

"Yup", she confirms. Masha sinks into her lap and cuddles up against her chest, yawning. "Friday. AmeriCup final. Can't believe they're letting him play."

"Wow", you say, getting up. "Fingers crossed. He's doing great, I hope he won't be too intimidated."

Natasha hums absently. You're in a shirt of hers, swallowed whole by the fabric, and her mind is wandering. She wishes her hands could wander, too. 

"Hey, bud?", she asks Niko when he returns. "How about babysitting your sister for some extra cash?"

He gives her an apprehensive, yet mildly intrigued look. "Why?", he asks, plopping into the chair across from her. 

"Just asking."

"Leave him alone, babe", you call from upstairs. "Niko, where'd you put your towel?"

"Why?"

"I need to wash- never mind, I got it!"

He goes back to eating his breakfast. A lox bagel and a protein shake later, he grabs his basketball and joins Natasha in the driveway. 

There's no part of your house more stereotypical than the basketball hoop Natasha had installed the minute you moved in. It's the same height as all the other ones — a standardized 10 feet. It's not quite like an actual basketball court, but it's been useful in helping Niko practice. 

You hear them outside. Cars driving by, their voices overlapping, and the quiet thudding of the ball against concrete. You put the laundry basket aside and open the window, peeking at them. 

Natasha's still holding Masha, who's fast asleep against her chest. She bounces on her heels and gives Niko instructions. 

He's doing good. Amazing. He's at the point at which Natasha's sure he'll get a scholarship. If he chooses to go pro, he'll likely succeed. 

You turn back around and leave the laundry room. You get dressed — a new dress, heels, a bit of makeup — and join the others outside. 

Natasha stops and raises her eyebrows. 

"Hey, gorgeous", she says. "Can I have your number?"

You give her a look that's supposed to make her shut up and let her know it's well appreciated. It works as intended, and Natasha's cheeks flush when you cup her face. 

"I'm meeting up with Wanda", you say, giving her a kiss. "We're grabbing a coffee. Will you be alright?"

She nods, pressing another kiss to your mouth. You taste like toothpaste, smell like her perfume. "I'll be fine. Are you bringing Masha?"

"Wanda's been texting me all day not to forget her, so yeah."

"Can't blame her", she says, starting to hand Masha over ever so gently. "This is one cute baby."

"The cutest", you agree, ready to transfer her into your arms. Cup the head, one hand on the bum, slowly place her against your chest...

No shot. Masha stirs, and once she realizes she's left Natasha's arms, she starts crying. 

You frown and start patting her back. She's probably fussy because you woke her. Or maybe she's hungry, or her diaper is full. She should calm down soon. 

Except she doesn't. She turns her head, spots her other mom and reaches out her hands. 

You knew babies like to play favorites. It's nothing new. Niko did it a lot, favoring you over Natasha until he was maybe four years old. For some reason, you assumed Masha would be the same.

Maybe she isn't, because at the moment, she seems very unhappy about having to abandon Natasha's arms. Even Niko has stopped playing to give you a curious look. 

"Oh, seriously?", you mutter.

"Aw, she wants her mama", Natasha teases. "Look at that, I finally got one of our babies to appreciate me."

"Appreciate you? I'm the one who's got sore nipples", you complain. You rub Masha's back. "Come on, honey. You love mommy."

"I love mommy too", Natasha mutters under her breath. You aim a kick at her ankle. "Ow, okay, sorry. I'm sure she'll calm down."

"Thanks for your input", you retort. You turn away from Natasha, but Masha's head keeps turning and her teary eyes keep finding her. You sigh and hand her over again. 

The crying stops. Masha pouts, eyes still wet, and reaches up to grab at Natasha's face. 

"What can I say?", your wife says, clearly thrilled. "She's a real mama's girl."

You roll your eyes. "That's nice, babe. I still need to get to the cafe, so let's try again."

Another attempt, and the tears return full force. You go through the same process three times, and then you decide you've had enough. 

Natasha's smug. She's kissing Masha's chubby cheeks and giving you teasing looks. Of course, you can't just let her get away with it. 

"I'm so glad you're happy", you say. "Now get dressed, I need to get to the cafe and it looks like you'll have to join."

. . .

"Everyone got everything?", Natasha calls. 

"Wait, my iPad!"

"Hon, I think you dropped your sunglasses."

"I don't see my wallet. Sweetheart, do you have my wallet?"

You sigh and look at your wife. She's got Masha perched on her hip, a backpack slung over one shoulder, her hair in a low bun. 

Around you, people scramble to get out of the airplane as fast as possible. They have taxis and shuttles to catch, after all, and hotels to check into. 

Booking a vacation was a last minute decision. Niko brought home an outstanding report card (outstanding compared to his previous one), and the idea of spending the entire summer at home wasn't too appealing. 

"We got the kids", you say, putting one hand on Niko's shoulder. "That's enough, let's go."

You squeeze through, Niko and your parents following close behind. It didn't take much convincing for Natasha to agree with inviting them, and now that the babysitters are secured, you're convinced you'll get at least some romantic one on one time. 

You do end up being right about that, but before that can happen, you have to go through a bunch of bullshit first. 

You find the hotel after trying to check into the wrong one twice. You get your things into your rooms. You find out you forgot to bring Masha's teething medicine, and your parents keep barging in to discuss the breakfast arrangements. For some reason, they firmly believe the buffet will be empty if you don't get there by 7. 

"I think we're done", you say. Two hours have passed, and aside from Masha, you're all exhausted. "Time to grab dinner."

"No way", Niko groans. "Darla is about to call. Can't I stay here?"

"Not today, sir", Natasha says. She walks by and snatches the phone from his hands. "Don't be so dramatic."

He's slumped into the bed, a pillow over his face and muffled noises of protest escaping. The pillow is the next thing that gets snatched from him, and you double down by tossing a shirt at his face. 

"Put this on", you say. "It's nicer than that old thing you're wearing."

"Oh, crap."

Natasha quietly high fives you when you walk past.

Dinner and the handful of hours spent before bed are a blur. You wake up feeling much better the next day, not even too bothered by your father knocking to get you awake for breakfast. 

You make it to the beach after. You and Niko are walking in front, Natasha's trailing behind with the stroller and your parents. She chose this spot deliberately once she found out you were wearing shorts. She had to. 

"You like it here, honey?", you ask, putting your hand on Niko's back. "Don't know if you remember, but you've been here before. You were six years old, I think."

He shrugs, eyeing the ocean stretching out in front of him. Various shades of light blue, glittering in the sweltering midday sun, and a white sand beach in front. Waves roll over the shore, leaving a thick layer of sea foam. 

It's not that bad, he concludes. He'll have to stay a bit longer to have an actual opinion. 

"It's alright."

You sigh and glance at Natasha. She shrugs, cheeks pink. It looks like you caught her eyes wandering, which they were, but who could blame her? 

You keep walking. Niko glances at two boats zooming along the coast. He's too lost in thought to notice Natasha popping up next to him.

"Don't be getting ideas", she says, smacking his shoulder. He feels his entire face heat up. 

"Mom!"

"Still not over that?", your dad asks. "Ah, Niko, young people make mistakes. As long as you don't repeat them..."

"I wasn't going to", your son grits. 

"Better not", Natasha says. "I saw you looking at the boats, buddy. Trust me, you wouldn't know how to get these started, either."

"Leave my child alone", you say, wrapping an arm around him. The little grin on your face is unmistakable, though. "Don't listen to them, sweetheart. Come on, pick a spot so we can go swimming."

You find four empty sun loungers in the shade of a beach umbrella. There's palm trees scattered all over the place, with a food stand right nearby and a bunch of grassy bushes. 

As bad as it was with the shorts, Natasha definitely can't keep herself from staring at you now. It's not the tiniest bikini you own, but it's not a lot of fabric either way, and her hands twitch against her thighs. 

She can't touch you now, can she? With everyone else around, unprompted touching might be a little too much. She leans forward, arms crossed on her knees, and watches you straighten up. The sun is hitting your body just right. 

Sunscreen. What a brilliant thought. Everyone needs sunscreen, she concludes, and so she fishes a bottle out of her bag. 

"Babe, I-"

"Oh, sunscreen!", your dad says, cutting her off. "Slap some on me, Nat, why don't ya?" 

The interruption makes her flinch. She glances at your father, who's already turned on his lounger so that his back is facing her. He pats his own shoulder. 

"Don't be stingy", he adds. 

You look at Natasha, smirking already. You anticipated the sunscreen offering the minute you took off your shirt. It happens every time you're on the beach. It's not like you mind it, of course not — even the wandering hands feel nice — but this feels like a well deserved punishment for how bold she's been.

She sighs and turns around, squirting some sunscreen into her open palm. "Sure."

You've never seen her rush through the application process like this. She shudders at the back hair getting all sticky and pulls away, hands hovering hopelessly in the air. The pitiful look she gives you makes you sigh. 

"My turn", you say, nudging her to scoot. You sit between her legs and move your hair out of the way. "Better?"

"Thank fucking god", she mutters, wiping her hands before putting a new dollop of sunscreen on them. "I never meant to get that close to your dad."

Warm, large hands slowly smear the sunscreen over your shoulders. Your eyes shut at the feeling — her touch, the warm sun on your skin, the smell of salt and sunscreen and summer. If you're not careful, you'll end up asleep. 

"That's what you get, trying to cop a feel in front of everyone else."

"I swear", she mutters, digging her heels into your shoulder blades, "we'll have to go on our own sometime. Seriously. Once Masha is old enough..."

"Please. You'd never leave her behind."

Natasha goes quiet, her palms still working the sunscreen into your skin. She knows you're right. She was hyper careful with Niko, but with Masha, her anxiety has tripled. 

"Maybe I would", she drags. "If there's some kind of encouragement. Like, I don't know...alone time. Real alone time."

You look at the others. Your parents are in the water, Niko is squeezed under a lounger to hide from the sun and you. The baby's asleep in her stroller. 

"You're talking about sex?", you whisper, looking back at her. "Really?"

Natasha gives you a pointed look. If there's one situation that'd invite sex talk, it's you sitting between her legs half naked, with her hands still on your back despite the sunscreen being fully blended in with your skin. 

She scoots closer, maybe to make a point, maybe to feel your ass press against her for a minute.

"Natasha", you say disapprovingly. 

She sighs, arms wrapping around your waist and hand groping your tummy. Her lips press against your shoulder. 

"We got time to ourselves now", she says, more or less convinced. "The kids are napping."

You swat at her thigh, but let yourself lean back against her anyway. She grins as she lays back, the sun lounger keeping you both slightly upright. 

More than a decade of pretending to be annoyed by her flirting, and more than a decade since you first went to the beach together like this. One thing hasn't changed, and that is her desire to be wrapped around you rather than doing anything else. 

You end up moving so you're tucked against her side. Lying on top of her might be a little too much after all, you realized. She doesn't mind that too much, even ends up falling asleep with her face smushed against your chest. 

Your parents return soon, and Niko crawls out of his hiding spot to chug a bottle of lemonade. 

"Aren't you going to go in the water?", your mom asks. "It's so nice and warm. You can see all the fishies."

"I would", you say, gesturing at Natasha. "Maybe later."

"Like a six foot toddler", your dad grumbles. 

"Oh, let them be. Listen honey, we're headed back to the hotel." Your mom tilts her head. "We'll take the kids too, if you want. Get Niko some lunch, maybe look at the pools."

No need to ask twice. Natasha wakes up to the most divine news she's received all week. 

. . .

Ice cold cocktails, fries, and a beach bar. Neither of you are wearing much, nor are the other customers. 

It wasn't hard, convincing your parents to play babysitter again. A full evening this time, ranging from dinner to bedtime, even turning your hotel room into a kids free zone for the night. 

You sip the last of your drink, the sweet watermelon flavor hitting your taste buds. Natasha's eyes are on you, her attention undivided. She can see the sand clinging to everything, can smell the sun and the salt baked into your skin. 

"You're so beautiful."

You shoot her a smile, but then start adjusting your bikini top. "There's sand between my tits."

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh. Still beautiful."

You tug at the fabric again, but it's useless. Unless you take it off — which Natasha wouldn't complain about — the sand is stuck where it is. 

Fortunately, your wife has a better idea. Something cold and wet runs down your chest, no warning whatsoever, making you gasp. 

"Are you kidding me?"

"Water", she announces. You give her a scowl. "What? The sand's gone, isn't it?"

"Dumbass", you mutter. "That was freezing."

"It's hot, anyway", she says, her voice dipping a little. "I'm always happy to warm you up."

You roll your eyes. She grins and leans in closer, green eyes twinkling and a mild sunburn forming on her cheeks. Her hair is wavy from the saltwater. You can't stay mad at her too long, with her looking at you like that. 

You squish her cheeks. "You're an idiot, you know. Getting laid is a privilege, and you keep risking it."

Her grin turns into a playful frown. She finds the clasp of your bikini top, tugging and letting it snap back against your skin. 

"You don't want to get laid?"

"Want...I don't know. But I don't need to. There's other ways for me to get my fill."

Natasha groans, her mind starting to accumulate every dirty scenario she's ever seen you in. "Oh, you can't say that in public."

"I can if it'll help you behave", you retort. Her hand slips lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your bikini bottoms. You grab her wrist. "That is not how you behave."

Her fingers wiggle, brushing your skin. She's got a one track mind right now, that's obvious. Once the kids are out of the way, she can do what she's always been good at — return to the ways of her early 20s self. 

"I miss you", she complains. "Do you know how rare it is we get to spend time alone? Especially with a baby glued to you."

"I know", you say. "That's why we're making the most of this. So finish your drink and grab your stuff, before I change my mind about the whole 'getting you laid' thing."

For once, she shuts her mouth. You pay for your order, slide out of your seats and start making your way back to the hotel. 

It's freezing in your room. The A/C is running on full blast, hitting you the second you step inside. Natasha's right behind you, hands settling on your hips.

"I should go wash off", you say, unwrapping the towel around your body and tossing it aside. "I'm sticky."

"I don't mind", she says. She kisses your cheek before stepping around you to reach the bed. "We'll get sticky again, anyway."

"Gross", you comment — but follow her to the bed, anyway. She's flopped onto her back, arms folded under her head.

"What? We can change the bedsheets after."

You tilt your head at her. She grins, one hand reaching out to skim your thigh. It's tempting — you're alone, the shower seems like a step you can push back, and judging by the tent in her swim shorts, the mood is there. 

You sigh and crawl on the bed, knees dipping into the mattress. "I guess so."

"My three favorite words", she says, pulling you in. "Right after 'I love you', of course."

You shake your head at her words, but her little trick works perfectly — you feel the warmth bloom inside you, mixing with hazy arousal. You curl into her side, one arm propping you up enough to look at her. 

"Who would've guessed."

"It's true", she boasts. Her fingers splay out on your ass. "Makes me swoon."

"Mhm?" Your free hand slips into her shorts, finding her hardening dick. "That's so sweet."

Your hand around her erection makes her falter. Her eyes lock with yours, the look in them already getting distant. A few quick strokes are enough to pump her to full hardness. 

"You're being patronizing", she pants. "It is sweet."

"Oh, I agree", you coo. Your hand moves faster, making her hips shift and twitch under your grip. And then you let go, right as it was getting good. 

"Come back", she groans. 

"Give me a second", you scold her. You reach around your back to undo your bikini top, and her eyes zero in on your breasts when they spill out. Round, heavy, nipples perked. "We're wearing too many clothes."

She can't disagree with that. Your bottoms follow, her shorts join the tiny heap of clothes on the floor. You lean back in, grabbing her cock at the very top and swiping your thumb across the leaking head. 

Her hips buck. She looks at you, eyes trailing down your naked body. It's covered in proof of the past, and she knows the origin of almost every single one. 

Your hand moves slow, like a tugging sensation attempting to draw her body upwards. Precum keeps oozing out, covering her entire length in a slick, sticky layer. 

Her right hand starts wandering absently. It fists the bedsheets first, moves to your hip next. Then, it finds your breast. Touches it, circles the nipple with her thumb. Milk drips.

You're wet and aching. Your hand is moving quicker, your breath is erratic. Your face is warm. Natasha understands the look in your eyes, and the next spot her hand finds is between your legs. 

A shaky gasp escapes you. Her finger slips into your cunt, all slow and gentle. A second finger joins right after, and your own hand stutters around her cock. 

"Fuck", you mumble, trying to focus. Your hand keeps moving — up, down, up, down. Squeeze at the base, twist, move up to the head. It's difficult, with her fingers working inside you. 

"You good?"

You nod, thighs parting a little wider. Her fingers nudge deeper, thumb finding your clit and pressing against it. 

"All good", you say, breathless, eyes squeezed shut. "Just keep going."

She nods, a quiet grunt coming out of her when your grip on her cock tightens. Her own pace quickens with yours, her hand covered in your slick already. 

Your hips grind down against her hand. You're still jerking her off — quick movements, rubbing the sensitive tip, pressing your thumb down against the slit to hear her moan. Her hips rut upwards, against your fist, feeling the pressure become more intense. 

She's throbbing against your palm, you're clenching around her fingers. The air, once cold and crisp, now feels hot and humid. Her chest heaves with the effort of keeping herself from cumming. 

You both open your eyes at the same time, and that's when it becomes too much. Your back arches, her thighs tense. Cum spills all over you in thick ropes, and your own body lights up like a Christmas tree. 

You both keep going for way too long, your hands sloppy and your minds hazy. You're the first one to stop, and you grasp her wrist to make her pull out. Wetness coats her fingers.

She swallows, her heart racing. "Fucking hell, Y/N. I didn't behave that well."

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. "Agreed."

She huffs, a smile on her face. You go down willingly when she draws you closer, and you tuck your face against her feverishly warm neck. 

You smell salt and sunscreen. She kisses your forehead and rubs your side, feeling the aftermath of the orgasm fade. Her heartbeat, so fast at first, slamming against your ear, returns to normal. 

Outside the window, the sky is tinted pink. Tiny clouds speckle it, and the ocean reflects the setting sun at the horizon.