Christmas Cookies || Natasha Romanov x Reader

A content sigh elicited from rose-tinted lips, gliding languidly over a silver mug of hot chocolate. Garland and tinsel decorated the once barren corners of your home, holly and lights dangling from various windows, allowing Holiday cheer to engulf the atmosphere. In previous years embellishing your surroundings had been impossible, given your occupation at S.H.I.E.L.D. Though a small celebration was held with the Avengers, after the events of Loki's reign, it didn't compare to the comfort of home. Ornaments glistened on verdant branches, the scent of pine laced with peppermint candles wafting through the air. Warmth flourished from the swell in your stomach, complete serenity dancing beneath your skin. No amount of iridescent flickers from the fireplace or sugary delights could make you more radiant. 

Though, the presence of a particular red-haired agent arriving at your doorstep could cause your heart to skip a beat. 

A few moments prior to plopping down on the lavish sofa, you'd messaged Natasha Romanov that you required her assistance. Granted the text had come across as urgent, reading "At my house, need your help asap." Perhaps that was causation for the sudden rapid knocking outside, followed by a door nearly flying off it's hinges. 

"(y/n)? (y/n) are you here?" In dashed a rather flustered Black Widow, weapon in hand to fend off potential attackers. She spotted you atop your homely perch -eyes popping from your skull- spared one more cautious glance, and proceeded to fixate an inquisitive glare on your docile form. Despite your better efforts, laughter elicited from amused features. Disgruntled and breathless, Natasha failed to acknowledge any humor in the situation. 

"I had no idea you'd get here so fast, Nat," you muttered, voice soft in attempt to keep composed. Emerald orbs narrowed in response. 

"I thought you were in trouble." Venom laced in her austere tone, a blatant scolding done without the use of reprimanding words. 

"I just wanted you to help me bake Christmas cookies." A small sniffle and watery gaze followed, intentionally, softening her features. Seconds passed before a light sigh emitted from above, a delicate palm reaching towards you in defeat. You peered up through thick lashes, a signature puppy dog glance, before releasing an exuberant squeal. Childish behavior implored you to drag the red-head to the kitchen, though she appeared not to mind the sudden lack of maturity. Her composure, solemn and strong, constantly rivaled your own. Dashing through offices and teasing all-mighty heroes, laughing uncontrollably at your witty antics; your daily actions failed to disguise how distinctly opposite you and Natasha were. And yet, contrary to the disbelief of co-workers and mythical saviors alike, an unmistakable bond formed between you both. A fawn and a lion, somehow completely content with the prospect of friendship. 

"Why exactly do you need my help, (y/n)?" 

"Because, Nat." 

"Because isn't an answer."  

"Because I want your help."

"Why?" Pulling baking sheets from the cupboard you released a weary sigh, recognizing any explanation provided would only be contradicted. 

"Because, you're my friend. And that's what friends do." Surprise briefly registered on her features, rendering any counter-arguments she prepared worthless. Satisfied her inquiries had ceased, you began preparing the cookie mix. Adding various ingredients to the ceramic bowl, Natasha diligently observing each dash of cinnamon and sprinkle of sugar, a chorus of Jingle Bells poured from your throat. A perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in response to your antics, which naturally caused your volume to increase. The aroma of ginger enlightened your senses and coaxed the stiff redhead into offering her assistance. After a few moments of hasty whisking, a pace contrasted by delicate fingers cautiously stenciling the rolled dough, a batch of miniature Christmas tree's and reindeer entered the oven. 

Watching the timer tick, criss-crossed on the tiled floor, puzzled your guest. She stifled a chuckle, most out of character, humoring your peculiar habits. Once a minute passed, and you realized patience certainly wasn't your virtue, you attempted to return to a standing position. Attempted. Attempted implying uncoordinated limbs performed graceless movements, causing your feet to slip from beneath you. No stranger to the occasional clumsy fall, you prepared for the bitter crash. Extended arms were quick to retrieve you, your body saved from the possibility of scattered bruises. 

"Working for S.H.I.E.L.D and a slippery floor can still make you fall on your ass? Tch." Prepared with witty remark, you shifted your neck back to glimpse at Natasha. Comprehensible sentences caught in your throat at the close proximity, cheeks ablaze at the sight of her knowing smirk. Lips opened, closed, opened, and repeated the process once more. And by some cruel fate, your prolonged silence only appeared to further amuse the woman whom held you close. You hadn't registered your own unwavering stare until her face grew closer, the warmth of her breath sprawling over your neck. 

And a tender kiss pressed to your jawline. 

Innocent, and somehow completely passionate. It was enough to cause a brief jolt, before melting into her embrace. 

"Your cookies are going to burn, (y/n)." With a single swift motion she spun you around, ensuring your balance remained stable. Mouth agape, brows furrowed and your mind doing somersaults, you couldn't manage a verbal response. So naturally, a feather-light caress of her lips meeting your own seemed reasonable. 

"I don't think I mind so much," you responded. 

And another kiss on crimson lips for good measure.