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Natasha tore her gaze away from you the moment she noticed the mistletoe.
It was instinct, really. Years of training have wired her brain to clock environmental details without conscious effort: exit routes, reflective surfaces, hidden cameras, the way a room felt before it turned dangerous.
The mistletoe was harmless. Technically.
But it registered all the same. Green sprigs tied together with a thin red ribbon, hanging deliberately at the intersection of two hallways just outside the common room - right where she had been heading before you intercepted her.
Someone had put it there on purpose. Or, well, for a very specific purpose.
Natasha filed the information away.
Because you were standing directly beneath it.
You were mid-sentence, talking about something inconsequential - movie night schedules, maybe, or the way Stark insisted on playing the same three holiday songs on loop like psychological warfare.
Seriously, though, how many times was he going to play Joe Williams' Jingle Bells before it became illegal? No matter what remix it was, it was getting on her nerves.
Natasha shook herself out of it, watching your hands move as you talked, expressive and familiar. You looked relaxed. Comfortable. The kind of comfort that settled into Natasha’s chest and refused to leave.
But the mistletoe was still there, hovering above you like a dare.
Okay...
She had options.
Option one: She could interrupt you smoothly, smile, keep it casual. Make a joke about traditions, tilting her head just enough to draw your attention upward. If you laughed, if you stepped closer - good. Very good. If you did not, she could deflect, turn it into banter. Low risk. Medium reward.
Option two: She could wait until you finished talking, then step forward and lower her voice. Say something honest while still keeping it open. 'You know, that’s funny, we’re standing in a very specific spot right now...'. Let you decide what to do next, put the control in your hands. She did not like that one very much. Terrifying. But... fair?
Option three: She could not say anything at all. Just reach out, let her fingers brush your wrist, test the space between you. Read your reaction. Pull back if she had to.
Natasha was very good at reading reactions.
She was very good at a lot of things.
She executed none of them.
Instead, she kept glancing up.
The mistletoe stared back at her, smug. Accusatory. Like it knew exactly what she was failing to do.
You kept talking - because, of course you did. Your voice faded in and out as Natasha’s attention fractured. She nodded at the right moments, hummed acknowledgment when expected, her body running on autopilot while her mind ran simulations that somehow all ended the same way: her doing nothing. Again.
This was ridiculous.
She had jumped out of planes with no parachute for Chirst’s sake. She had dismantled criminal empires with nothing but a fake name and a shitty burner phone. She had seduced ugly arms dealers, uglier war criminals, men who would probably have killed her - or at least tried to - without blinking if she slipped up and failed her act.
And yet.
Asking you for a kiss felt like stepping into traffic.
Blindfolded.
With headphones on.
And her limbs tied together.
She risked another glance upward.
Yep, still there.
Still directly right above your head. Still mocking her.
Natasha’s jaw tightened.
You paused mid-word, tilted your head slightly to study her face with that quiet attentiveness that always threw her off.
"Is there something on my face?" You asked, confused.
Natasha bit back the first sarcastic response that came to mind.
There was no reason to snap at you just because her own thoughts refused to cooperate. That had become a bad habit lately - sarcasm, sharp edges, emotional walls snapping into place before she could stop them.
It was just a stupid plant. Not even a full plant. Just a couple of stupid leaves. Even worse.
"No." She said immediately. The simple word came out rougher than she intended, clipped and impatient. She winced internally, but kept her expression neutral, controlled.
There was something above your face, though.
She did not say that part out loud.
You blinked, then smiled faintly.
"You were making a weird face."
"I don't make weird faces." Natasha shot back, defensive.
She was also painfully aware that you had a point.
She made a conscious effort to smooth out the tension in her shoulders.
You snorted, giving her a look.
"You absolutely do."
"I do not." Natasha insisted, voice flat - but the corner of her mouth twitched.
This was familiar ground. This she could do. Trading dry remarks, standing a little too close, pretending the static in the air was nothing more than faulty wiring in the Compound.
The mistletoe remained, though.
You shifted your weight, stepping closer without really thinking. And Natasha had to consciously stop herself from leaning in too. The space between you narrowed. She caught the scent of your shampoo. Something clean, fruity more than floral. Her fingers curled at her sides.
She knew she should say something.
But just because she knew did not mean she did, though.
Because what if she was wrong?
What if the mistletoe was just decoration to you? A joke. A seasonal cliché that did not mean anything unless someone gave it meaning - and what if you did not want that meaning with her?
Natasha had survived on certainties most of her life. This was not certain. This was hope, and hope was dangerous.
You bit your lip as the silence stretched, glancing past her toward the common living room.
"So... I should probably grab some coffee before your sister drinks it all again."
A safe subject, Natasha appreciated it.
She nodded, shoving her hands in the pockets of her combat pants to keep herself from doing something stupid, like reaching out.
"Yeah... good idea. She has no shame." She muttered, voice dry.
You hesitated, like there was something else you might say. Natasha held her breath.
Then you smiled again, warm and uncomplicated.
"I'll see you later?"
A part of her wanted to seek you out, grab your arm, ask you to stop, ask you to stay, ask you for something - anything so the moment would not just end.
Instead, she just nodded.
"Later." Natasha confirmed, forcing herself to give you a nonchalant smile.
If her eyes lingered on you as you walked down the hall - her expression carefully neutral but her pulse loud in her ears - she did not acknowledge it.
And just like that, you were out from under the mistletoe, the moment dissolving as if it had never existed at all.
When you were fully out of sight, Natasha finally looked up properly.
The leaves swayed slightly, disturbed by the air you had left behind.
She exhaled through her nose.
"Traitor." She muttered under her breath, refusing to look up again as she walked away.
She refused to give the mistletoe the satisfaction.
She told herself it was nothing. Just bad timing. Just a stupid decoration. You had not even known it was there. There will be other chances, maybe other moments that did not hinge on a plant and a tradition she never grew up with anyway.
Still.
Later that night, as she was laying awake and staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, she could not stop thinking about the way you stood beneath it without ever looking up once.
And how she stood right there, with you, and did absolutely nothing.
- ⧗ -
Friday movie night with the team was supposed to be safe.
That was the logic Natasha used, anyway. Low stakes. Low lighting. No missions, no expectations - just a bunch of couches, blankets, snacks, a screen way too big, and the collective truce the Avengers had formed around not saving the world for a few hours. If anything went wrong, she could always blame the movie. Or Stark. Usually Stark.
She noticed the mistletoe the moment she walked into the common room.
Of course she did.
It had been added since the last time she was here, hung deliberately above the kitchen threshold leading into the lounge. Subtle, but not subtle enough. The ribbon was a slightly different shade of red than the other.
Natasha stopped just inside the doorway, taking the situation in.
You were already there, curled into the corner of the couch with a blanket pulled over your legs, arguing with Wanda about the movie selection. Something animated. Something with mystery. Something with laughter. Your face lit with easy amusement as Tony and Sam joined the debate. You looked comfortable. Happy.
Natasha felt the familiar, unwelcome warmth bloom in her chest.
She grabbed a bowl and moved into the kitchen area, loading it with popcorn like it was a task she had been assigned. She added a little extra without thinking - her muscle memory kicking in - because she remembered of course, that you liked it better that way.
She reached the threshold.
And stopped.
Accidentally. Well, on purpose.
Natasha positioned herself directly beneath the mistletoe, angling her body just enough that it looked natural. Like she was just... paused. Like waiting for something mundane. Perhaps waiting for the microwave to finish or the kettle to boil.
Except the microwave was off. So was the kettle.
She stood there anyway, her eyes drifting back to you - silent and traitorous, begging you to turn around.
And you did.
You looked up, as if sensing her gaze. Your eyes met hers across the room, and for a heartbeat, everything went quiet. The movie menu hummed softly in the background, waiting for everyone to settle in. The world narrowed to the invisible line stretched between you and her. The moment stilled, almost unnaturally so. Natasha thought that was it. Her fingers flexed around the rim of the bowl. You would probably say something. You would notice for sure, right? You would come here, deeming she was taking too long for your liking. You would smile like you did last time and maybe this time you would look up. Maybe this time she would not have to explain anything at all.
She did not look away.
She actually let herself hope.
You blinked, then smiled, nodding towards the bowl in her hand.
"You good?" You mouthed to her from your place on the couch, pointedly ignoring the bickering still unfolding beside you.
Natasha opened her mouth.
The words were right there. 'I'm fine,'. Or 'Almost done.', 'Just waiting.' Something simple, easy, believable.
She could even flirt 'Why? Missing me?'.
She had done it so many times before. She was good at playing things off - at making things light when they were not. She was good at flirting too.
Instead, she just stood there. With stupid popcorn and mistletoe above her head. Like an absolute idiot.
She nodded, managing a soft smile.
You smiled back, winking, then turned back to Wanda to finish your argument about why the original was better than the sequel. You did not look up. You did not notice the mistletoe. Or maybe you did and looked away for that exact reason.
Natasha’s grip tightened on the bowl as disappointment washed over her - quick and sharp, like cold water down her spine.
You had not noticed. Of course you had not.
Why would you? You just... smiled and turned away like it was nothing, like she was not standing there with one of your favorite snacks and a stupid tradition dangling above her head. Pretending she was absolutely, unequivocally not waiting.
"Nat?" Steve's voice came from behind her.
She flinched internally, but she did not show it. She turned, eyebrows lifting in polite attention.
Steve fully stepped into the kitchen, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweater. He glanced around before frowning down at the popcorn bowl.
"Did we run out of napkins? Tony sa-"
Natasha could kill him.
She could do it cleanly, efficiently. No mess.
Outwardly, she just sighed.
"They’re in the drawer next to the sink."
"Oh. Right." He followed her gaze, stepped forward - then his eyes flicked upward, the mistletoe hanging awkwardly just above his hair.
Steve's eyes widened a fraction. His mouth opened without any sound. His cheeks flushed almost immediately.
Natasha felt like she had been dunked into freezing water this time.
She looked at the mistletoe.
Then Steve.
Then back to the mistletoe.
She stared. Steve stared back.
She would have found his expression hilarious under any other circumstances. Right now, she wanted to scream.
Steve smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh, uh, hey... I mean. We don't have to b-"
"No." Natasha said quickly, a little too fast, a little too sharp. She cleared her throat before shoving the popcorn bowl into his hands and stepped sideways - retreating fast, like she had just remembered something urgent or classified on the other side of the room.
She grabbed a stack of napkins as quickly as she could and did not look back.
She absolutely did not look at you either.
When she finally sat down - deliberately choosing a spot not directly beside you, because that felt safer now - you glanced over with a smile.
"Hey, did you get the good popcorn?" You asked, looking at her expectantly.
Natasha exhaled, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. This, at least, she could handle.
"Who are you taking me for, huh?" She replied, nodding toward Steve as he passed you the bowl, cheeks still faintly pink.
You hummed in approval, settling back as the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled.
Natasha leaned back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Movie night was supposed to be safe.
But it was fine. She was not waiting for anything. She just wished - briefly, foolishly - that you had looked up. Maybe things would have been different then.
Maybe something would have happened then.
- ⧗ -
Perhaps she should have accepted Steve's kiss under the mistletoe the other day.
Strange thought, she knew.
And Natasha did not really believe in all that stuff in the first place, but nothing, absolutely nothing, had gone as planned since then - as if there really was some kind of stupid curse attached to refusing a kiss beneath a stupid couple of festive, green leaves.
Since then, a black cat - frankly annoying - kept showing up outside her quarters, yowling to be let in. Natasha did not even know how the damn thing had gotten into the compound in the first place. Yelena had been insufferable, somehow managing to be even worse than usual. Your Christmas present was late, and although Natasha claimed she did not care and insisted it was not stressing her out, she still caught herself thinking about it at inconvenient hours.
On top of that, Clint had seen straight through her act and had not let up since. Constant teasing. Casual comments. Invitations to come over for Christmas with her girlfriend - you - said with just enough innocence to make it unbearable.
Natasha had not slept properly in what felt like weeks but was probably months if she really thought about it.
She was one bad day away from letting the damn cat into her quarters and killing her supposedly best friend.
And now this?
This was simply the last straw. It was deliberately meant to mock her, there was no other explanation.
So yes, maybe she should have accepted Steve's platonic kiss under the mistletoe.
Because right now, the cover was fucking with her head.
That was one of the first thoughts Natasha had as you walked into the hotel ballroom on her arm - your posture relaxed, your fingers resting easily against the inside of her elbow, your body angled just close enough to suggest intimacy without exaggeration.
You looked like a couple who had done this a hundred times.
You had not.
Your cover identities were printed cleanly in her mind: names, anniversary date, shared backstory, the small lies that make the big ones believable. A couple. Together long enough to be comfortable. Long enough to touch without thinking.
Natasha was very good at this. She should have been glad to do this with you as her partner, really. Yet it felt like a poisoned gift.
She leaned in slightly, her breath ghosting your ear.
"Come on," she murmured, discreetly tugging you closer. "Gimme a pretty smile. I saw eyes on us."
And you did. God, you did it so easily.
The room was dressed for the holidays. Everything looked expensive, tasteful, just the right amount of excess. Soft music was playing. Pretty low lightning. People in suits and dresses, most of them pretending they were not here to trade secrets under the guise of champagne and charity.
Natasha clocked the target immediately - across the room near the bar.
But then she saw it as well. Again. The thing that refused to leave her alone, following her everywhere she seemed to meet you. The thing that haunted her thoughts.
Mistletoe.
It was hanging above a narrow archway just a few steps away. Green, full, carefully placed. The kind of thing meant to encourage exactly the sort of behavior your cover required.
Her pulse stuttered.
She was going to lose her fucking mind.
Until you saw it too this time. She knew you did because your fingers tightened against her arm. Just slightly. You tilted your head towards her, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"You seeing this?" You murmured, eyes flicking up again.
Natasha was suddenly very aware of the warmth of your fingers and the faint scent of your perfume.
Her chest tightened. She kept walking and did not change pace.
"Yeah. I see it."
This was different.
This was not hope. This was not timing or miscommunication. This was protocol.
A couple not kissing under mistletoe was noticeable. Suspicious. The kind of detail that lingered in the wrong mind. If anyone was watching - and someone always was - you should do it.
You knew it. Natasha knew it.
She had done far worse things for far worse reasons.
Natasha angled her body slightly, shielding you from most of the room.
"We should..." She said quietly.
You swallowed, meeting her eyes.
"Yeah," you agreed. "We probably should."
Neither of you moved.
The air between you felt charged in a way it never had before. This was something dangerously close to real, and Natasha suddenly noticed everything - the warmth of your hand as your fingers twitched, the change in your breathing, the way your gaze flicked to her mouth and back up.
She told herself this was fine.
This was just part of the job.
Except she did not want it to be part of the job. Or of any job.
But since when was she lucky enough to have what she wanted?
She lowered her voice, offering you a practiced smile.
"Follow my lead?"
You nodded and Natasha leaned in.
Not fast but not hesitant either. Just enough to close the distance, to make it look natural. Her hand settled at your waist, fingers resting there like they belonged, like she had done it a thousand times and knew the shape.
You inhaled sharply, and for one terrifying second, she thought you might pull away.
But you stayed and Natasha could feel your warmth. Your proximity. The possibility of it.
She thought that was it this time. It had to be. She could feel your breath mingling with hers, your lips hovered so close she could almost feel them.
So, of fucking course, something had to go wrong.
"Guys, problem."
The voice cut through both your comms - urgent and clipped.
Natasha froze, eyes briefly flicking to yours.
Her jaw tightened as she pulled back just enough to be able to breathe again.
"Go." She whispered, trying not to crumble as you pressed your forehead to hers, trying to maintain your cover, holding the illusion.
"Changes of plan, target’s mobile," Clint grunted. "Heading toward the service corridor now. Armed."
The moment shattered. You pressed your lips into a thin line, quickly glancing around the room.
Natasha stepped back, her hand dropping from your waist like it never belonged there. Her face reseted into something cool and professional, eyes already scanning the corridor Clint indicated.
"Sorry," she murmured, besides not being entirely sure why she was apologizing. "We’re moving."
You did not argue. You rarely did.
You pivoted smoothly, fingers slipping into hers as you laughed softly, leaning into her like you were tipsy. You headed for the exit together, mistletoe disappearing behind you.
No kiss.
No questions.
No witnesses.
The mission proceeded without incident after that. The extraction was clean. The intel was solid. The debrief was efficient. Everyone congratulated everyone else on a job well done.
Natasha nodded in the right places. Answered when addressed. Kept her expression carefully neutral.
But something had shifted.
Later, when you were the only two left in the room, shaking off your cover identities, Natasha caught her reflection in the mirror.
She looked... tired.
You hovered nearby, awkward in that way that suggested you wanted to say something but did not know how. Natasha felt it like pressure against her ribs.
"We did good today." You said eventually.
Natasha sighed, looking at you in the mirror, her reflection meeting yours.
"Yeah," she said softly. "We did."
A beat passed.
She turned slowly, leaning back against the edge of the table behind her. The mission clothes were gone, swapped for casual sweatpants that felt heavier than it should. Her fingers tapped once against her thigh.
She could still feel where your lips almost touched hers. Like a scar that was not there yet but already hurt like hell. Natasha decided it was better to shove those thoughts down deep and locked them away. Because feelings were not an option for people like her. Or at least, she liked to pretend that was the truth.
"You good?" You asked, smiling softly, fingers twitching at your sides, aching to slip into hers again.
Natasha looked up, forcing something that resembled a smile onto her face. It came out too tight.
She considered lying.
Instead, she exhaled loudly.
"Mhm, just thinking, you know."
You smiled faintly, eyes trailing over her features.
"You’ve been doing that a lot lately."
She did not respond. Because the truth was too messy, too complicated and ridiculous to put into words.
Every time there was a reason, something got in the way. Every time there was logic, or tradition, or an excuse that made it safe - the universe intervened. Interrupted. Redirected.
Like it was warning her.
Like it was telling her to stop looking into this.
And maybe it was the truth. Maybe this was not supposed to happen.
Maybe she was misreading everything. The looks. The closeness. The way you fit so easily into her space. Maybe that was just what happened when you trusted someone with most of yourself. When you worked well together.
Natasha had survived by knowing when to listen to patterns.
And the pattern felt clear.
You pursed your lips, fingers tapping against your side before you eventually made up your mind and headed out of the room.
"Well... Good night, Nat. Try not to think too much, yeah?"
Natasha waited until you were gone before letting her shoulders slump.
Her fingers curled into a loose fist at her side - not from anger. From absence, from the ghost of something that almost was, again and again and again.
"Good night." She whispered to the empty room - too late, too soft for anyone to hear.
Somewhere, in some other hallway, there was probably another mistletoe hanging over a doorway, waiting to be noticed.
Natasha decided she was done looking.
- ⧗ -
She planned this one.
Because if the universe was not on her side, she was done waiting for it to change its mind. She was going to provoke it. She was done waiting for it to happen. She had enough, she was going to make it happen herself.
So she thought.
And thought.
And planned.
She told herself it was tactical. The debriefing room was neutral territory. Routine. Boring enough that no one looked too closely at such small details.
And you were always early.
So was she.
She taped the mistletoe up the night before, using a strip of clear adhesive she kept tucked in the back of her desk drawer. It was small, totally unassuming and easy to miss if you were not looking for it.
But she was looking for it.
The next morning, she arrived ten minutes early, coffee in hand, heart steady. The room was empty, the table pristine, the chairs pushed in neatly. The mistletoe hung exactly where she intended - above the narrow space at the head of the table, just inside the entrance, where people inevitably paused before taking their seats.
She stood beneath it and waited.
You arrived two minutes later.
Natasha felt you before she saw you - the shift in the air, the quiet recognition that had become instinctive. She looked up just as you stepped into the doorway, hair still damp from a rushed shower, tablet tucked under your arm.
"Oh, morning, Nat!" You said easily, lifting your mug for a sip.
"Hey, morning." She replied, eyes tracking your movements.
You walked toward her without thinking, stopping just across from her at the head of the table. Close enough that she could smell the content of your mug. Close enough that she had to consciously slow her breathing.
The mistletoe hung between you, right above your heads, she knew it.
You did not notice it. Yet.
Impatience twisted in her chest, sharp and unfamiliar. Hope followed close behind. She cleared her throat.
"Before everyone gets here..." She started, carefully.
You glanced up at her, attentive.
"Yeah?" Your eyes eventually caught the sight of the green leaves between the two of you, lips parting.
This was it.
She was about to say it. About to point out. About to make it obvious enough that neither of you had to second guess anything ever again.
And then -
Her phone buzzed.
Natasha closed her eyes for half a second, wincing.
"Shit, sorry," she muttered, glancing at her screen. "I’ll be right back, please just... hold on."
You smiled without thinking, waving her off.
"Take your time."
She stepped out into the hall, answering the call in clipped, efficient tones. It was nothing urgent. A scheduling clarification with Maria. Something that absolutely could have waited.
It took two minutes.
Two ridiculously small, tiny insignificant minutes.
When Natasha walked back into the debriefing room, the first thing she saw was Steve Rogers’s broad shoulders.
Because he was standing where she had been standing.
Where you had been standing with her.
And you were still there, now right in front of him, chin tilted up and cheeks flushed with laughter at the look on his face.
Steve had leaned in.
It was quick. Very polite. Barely a brush. An awkward peck and undeniably platonic that meant nothing and fulfilled everything.
Steve pulled back immediately, ears red.
"Relax, Rogers." You laughed, warm and totally unbothered, patting his arm before heading to your usual seat as Sam and Bucky entered the space as well, bickering as usual.
Natasha stopped in the doorway.
Her body went very still, a tight and foreign feeling locking at the base of her throat.
Steve noticed her and froze like he had been caught doing something illegal.
"Nat, h-hey!"
She nodded, not finding her voice.
Controlled. Professional.
She took her seat without another word.
The rest of the team quickly filtered in, filling the room with chatter and motion. Clint even kissed Wanda's cheek as they both entered the room at the same time - the green thing she did not want to name anymore hanging between them.
The meeting began. Slides clicked past on the screen. Mission updates, logistics, timelines.
Natasha did not miss a single detail.
She also did not stop glaring at Steve, she could not help it.
He tried not to look at her. When he eventually did, he looked apologetic. Mortified. He had not meant anything by it - she knew that. He saw mistletoe, thought rule, followed it like the decent, well-adjusted person he was.
That was what made it unbearable.
You sat two seats down from her, faint smile lingering as you tapped notes into your tablet. You did not look uncomfortable. You did not look regretful or conflicted.
You looked normal.
Natasha’s jaw tightened. She knew she did not have a right to this feeling. She had not say anything. Had not claimed anything. Had not acted when she had the chance, instead walked away when it mattered.
Still, it burned.
She kept her hands folded on the table, fingers laced tightly together. Kept her expression unreadable.
When the meeting finally ended, chairs scraped back and people stood.
"Hey, Nat? Didn't you want to talk to me before we started?" You asked, linguering by the door.
Natasha shook her head and watched you leave like most of the time.
When the room eventually emptied, she reached up and tore the mistletoe down in one clean motion. The tape peeled away without resistance.
She stared at the small green bundle in her hand.
This one was on her. She set it up, planned it, and gave herself the opening.
And still - still - it went to someone else.
Natasha dropped the mistletoe into the trash on her way out.
- ⧗ -
She did not overthink this one.
That was what she told herself when she asked you.
It was casual, deliberately so. A quiet moment at the end of the team training session, both of you leaning against the railing overlooking the gym floor. Sweat cooling over your glistening skins. She kept her tone even, relaxed.
"Movie night tonight, my place?" She asked.
She did not clarify further. She did not explain, she simply let the words sit there and hoped they mean what she wanted them to mean.
"Sure, I'd like that." You smiled, nodding eagerly.
Natasha spent the rest of the day pretending this was nothing.
She did not rush back to her quarters. She did not obsessively check the time. She absolutely did not stand in front of her closet longer than necessary.
She did, however, clean.
Her quarters were already pretty immaculate, but she slightly straightened the throw blanket anyway. Adjusted the lighting to something softer. Lined up the drinks on her counter with unnecessary precision.
And then there was the mistletoe.
She hesitated, holding it between her fingers.
It was smaller than the others. Unassuming. Harmless, really. So, how bad could it possibly be this time?
She sighed, telling herself it would be the last time.
She taped it carefully to the ceiling above the couch - not directly overhead, just enough that it might be noticed if someone looked up. If you looked up.
Eventually. Possibly. Maybe.
She stepped back and assessed the room.
She felt... hopeful.
That should have been her first warning.
The knock came right on time. Natasha’s heart kicked against her ribs as she crossed the room, smoothing her expression into something calm. She opened the door -
And found her sister standing there, grinning like she had won something.
"Hey, sestra. Movie night!" Yelena announced, already stepping inside. "I brought the good snacks."
Behind her, Wanda waved two bags of chips with a beaming smile on her face.
"Hope that’s okay."
"I’ve never been in your quarters before. This is so cool!" Kate bounced on her heels, eyes sparkling.
Natasha blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"...What?"
But they were already moving inside, already settling in, already making themselves comfortable like this was the most natural thing in the world.
"Why are you looking at me like that? This was your idea." Yelena snorted, cheerfully flopping onto the couch, grumbling about it being way better than the one in her own quarters.
"No. It was not." Natasha replied carefully, trying not to let her voice sound like she was on the verge of strangling someone.
Wanda paused, sensing the shift.
"What? But, wait, Yelena sai-"
"What are you talking about? I heard you asked her earlier." Yelena continued cheerfully, waving toward you as you appeared at the doorway. "Thought it was a girls’ night."
You hesitated when you saw everyone else, then smiled sheepishly.
"Hey...?"
Your hand found hers automatically, squeezing once, almost in quiet apology.
Natasha felt something inside her give way.
Her fingers curled around yours without thinking. Her eyes softened despite her best effort.
"Hi."
"You okay?" You asked quietly, fingers lingering, thumb brushing her knuckles.
Natasha looked around the room. Yelena sprawled against the cushions like she lived here. Wanda was already opening snacks with a joyful smile on her face. Kate was admiring the view from the window.
Her hand stayed where it was.
"Fine." She replied, meeting your gaze again.
It was not, not really. It was not what she planned at all, at least.
Her eyes flicked upward. The mistletoe was still taped above the couch. Still waiting.
Her stomach dropped.
"Mhm, make yourself at home, I guess." She muttered, already moving.
She circled behind the couch, reached up, and tore it down in one swift motion - stuffing it into her pocket before anyone could say a word.
Kate squinted, looking confused.
"Was th-"
Natasha dropped onto the couch and lobbed the remote at her.
"Nothing," she said sharply, fixing Kate with a look that made her close her mouth really fast. "It was nothing. Come on, I thought we were supposed to be watching a movie."
The movie started eventually, once everyone agreed on which one to put on. Laughter filled the room, snacks were passed, someone complimented the lighting - making Natasha bite the inside of her cheek. Wanda curled up at one end of the couch. Yelena kicked her boots off without asking.
You sat beside Natasha, close but not close enough. Your knee brushed hers occasionally, familiar and warm.
She did not try again.
She did not angle herself closer. Did not wait for a moment when the others were distracted.
She did not look for openings anymore.
When the second movie ended and everyone started talking over each other, your head nearly resting on her shoulder, Natasha stood.
"I’m calling it a night."
"Already?" Yelena pouted.
"We have been at it for three hours. We have training tomorrow." Natasha reminded her, collecting the empty glasses around the living room, pointedly avoiding looking at you.
"You’re so old." Her sister laughed, rolling her eyes as she headed for the door.
You lingered, concern flickering as you stood to help tidy up. You bumped her shoulder lightly while the other girls walked out - too engrossed in their argument about the movie to care.
"Hey, grinch. You’re sure everything’s alright?"
Natasha glanced at you, not moving away but not closing the distance either.
"Yeah, of course."
Her voice came out sharp. Unnecessarily so. She was not angry at you - far from it - but the way things went tonight hurt. And she hated how much it had gotten under her skin.
"Just tired. Yelena can be quite exhausting, you know."
You huffed out a laugh, smiling at her, disappointed but understanding.
"Well, good night, Nat. Thanks for tonight, it was pretty fun." You said softly, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek before leaving her quarters as well.
Her lips twitched at the contact.
She waited until the door closed behind you before exhaling.
Natasha pulled out the mistletoe from her pocket and stared at it for a long moment. Then she dropped it in the trash.
She did not put it back up, she did not keep it.
She sat on the edge of her bed, hands resting on her knees, letting the quiet settle. It felt like aborting a mission.
But some things were not meant to be forced.
Some things were better left alone.
And some things, no matter how badly she wanted them, were never going to be hers.
- ⧗ -
The compound smelled like pine, sugar cookies, and burnt popcorn. Because yes, Yelena had tried to make fudge for them and yes, it went horribly wrong.
Natasha knew better than to intervene. She slipped past the kitchen, carrying a tray of eggnog Wanda had thrust into her hands, and made a strategic retreat while the smoke alarm screamed behind her.
Yelena shouted something very offensive at it in Russian.
Part of the festive chaos, she supposed.
You were already there, perched on the arm of the couch with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, laughing softly at something Sam was saying.
Natasha watched you for a second too long, heart doing that stupid thing it did when you were close. Skipping, stuttering, acting like it had not learned its lesson after the past few weeks. She shook her head once, telling herself rather firmly not to think about it. About you.
She set the tray down in front of the couch, teeth sinking into her lower lip.
You looked up at her and smiled. A little sheepish. A little teasing.
"Tryna get me drunk, Romanoff?" You murmured, and for a moment, the room and the chaos shrunk.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, lips tugging into a smile she did not bother hiding.
"Would that be so bad? I feel like we might need it. I mean-" She gestured vaguely at the chaos. "Look at this."
You laughed, warm and bright, and for a heartbeat everything else fell away.
It always did when you were around.
Natasha shook herself out of it, eyes drifting towards the fireplace, pretending to check the stockings, but she kept one eye on you.
The party ebbed and flowed. Clint had already left to see his family. Sam and Bucky were deep in a heated argument about Die Hard. Tony was trying to tug Pepper away. Kate was helping Wanda salvage the fudge while Yelena was trying to put a scarf around her dog - who absolutely did not want it.
Natasha glanced around, heart tightening. There was laughter everywhere. Light everywhere. Presents everywhere. And still - none of it mattered, because all she wanted was you.
She shook her head for what had to be the hundredth time that night, scolding herself for being so hopeless and pathetic and...
Fortunately, before anyone knew it, it was time for presents. You and Natasha sat cross-legged on the floor with the pile of gifts. The team exchanged small presents, teasing and laughing. Natasha’s gift for you was the last you opened. You unwrapped it carefully - and your breath caught as you lifted the lid.
Inside was a beautiful sweater, with an embroidered image just above where the heart was supposed to be. You recognized immediately - it was a photo you took at some bar after your first mission with the whole team. You were all squished together and asked the first passerby to take the picture for you. You were still in your uniforms, sweaty and dirty, but it was one of your favorite memories of the time. With your family. And Natasha knew it.
You ran your fingers over the stitching, eyes wide and damp with emotion.
"Oh... Nat," you whispered, heart full. "This... I love it."
Something tight in Natasha's chest finally loosened. She had almost backed out a dozen times. Almost gave up on the idea more than once after convincing herself it was too much. But seeing you now, eyes shining, a soft smile on your face made it all worth it.
She shrugged, trying not to look too pleased. It was not working.
"Yeah? I'm glad. Thought you might like it." She whispered, clearing her throat.
You hugged the gift to your chest, still looking back at her.
"I... I can’t believe you thought of this. It’s perfect."
Natasha had to look away. Because your face was too soft, your eyes too bright. And her heart, well, it was a traitor.
"You're welcome," she said, trying to downplay it. "Merry Christmas."
You smiled widely, standing up with your little pile of presents and walked them to the edge of the kitchen island. You quickly pulled the sweater on, adjusting the hood and melting in its warmth.
Your eyes flicked to the mistletoe hanging in the small archway between the lounge and kitchen. A tiny, dangling sprig of green, perfectly placed, perfectly harmless. Right where you were. And suddenly, an idea formed. You felt a surge of boldness as your eyes settled back on a certain redhead. You took a deep breath, you could always blame the alcohol if it did not work out - but somehow, part of you already knew it would.
"Hey, Nat?" You murmured, catching her attention. "Can you... come here for a sec?"
Natasha looked up, seeing you bathed in golden light from the tree, wearing her gift like it meant something. Like it mattered.
Like you were the one who planned this.
She hesitated, eyes glancing around suspiciously. Then took a step, then another. Until she was standing directly in front of you, close enough to feel your warmth, to see the flicker of determination in your eyes.
You reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of her soft shirt, tugging her just an inch more until there was no space left between hesitation and action.
"Don’t tell anyone else I said this but... Thank you so much for the best gift." You whispered against her ear, arms wrapping around her in a tight hug.
Natasha inhaled sharply.
She had not expected the hug, but her whole body relaxed into it anyway. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like she had been waiting to do this for far too long.
"You're welcome, really." She murmured, smiling into your shoulder.
You pulled back with sparkling eyes, teeth sinking in your lower lip as you glanced above, making sure she followed the movement.
Natasha’s breath hitched in anticipation, the hair at the back of her neck standing up as if to indicate her where to look.
Mistletoe.
Again.
But this time - it was not part of her plan. It was not a mission trick. No alarms. No interruptions.
It was just you. Smiling at her like you knew it had been there. Like you had known all along how to break through every wall she had ever built.
And maybe you did.
The noise around you faded. The laughter. The music. Yelena’s off-key singing.
Just this moment. Just here.
Natasha looked at you, emotions thick in her throat. She did not trust herself to speak. Her gaze softened, tension draining out of her all at once to spark between you instead.
She took a small breath, lips stretching into a small smile at the expecting look on your face, then tilted her head closer.
You closed the rest of the distance. Your lips met hers halfway, soft at first, testing, savoring, mindful of the people around.
Natasha let her eyes flutter shut. She kissed back immediately, fingers finding yours and lacing together as if she was anchoring herself in this moment, finally letting herself give in.
She forgot everything. All of the reasons why she should not do this. All of the people around. The past year of waiting. The tension she felt whenever you were too close. She forgot everything, and just focused on you. Your soft lips against hers, moving gently.
It was just a kiss. Just a kiss, but oh God, Natasha felt light-headed. She pulled you closer, her free hand gently cupping your cheek to make your lips meet hers again in a better angle - kissing you again like she had been starving for it.
Somewhere behind you, someone wolf-whistled.
Neither of you really cared. There was just this, the warmth of her, the quiet thrill of finally crossing the line you both danced around for so long.
You pulled back first, foreheads touching, breath mingling as you grinned.
"Finally." You whispered, lips stretching into a grin.
"Finally...?" Natasha echoed, huffing a quiet laugh. She opened her eyes slowly, meeting your gaze again. "Oh, I'm sorry. You were getting impatient?"
Her heart was pounding like she had just run a mile. Her thumb brushed your bottom lip, affectionate and unguarded.
"You literally have no idea how many times I tried to get you under a stupid mistletoe to ask you for a kiss." She grumbled, frowning slightly.
You smiled, eyes warm and amused.
"Yeah? Well," you said sweetly, shrugging. "You got me under one now. Merry Christmas, Nat."
She laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief before leaning in to press a quick and victorious kiss to your lips - under a stupid sprig of green that had never had any real power at all.
The two of you stayed there for a moment longer, wrapped in each other while the party roared back into existence around you.
This time, the kiss was hers to claim. The chaos of the party and your friends’ teasing could wait - because right now, everything felt exactly, wonderfully perfect.
Because this time, it worked.