[Who else?]

You're the outgoing type. Cheery, loud, doesn't have a filter. Yeah, you've said a bit too much at the wrong times more than you can remember.

But it's Christmas Eve and you're having too much fun to care about what others think. You're taping mistletoe onto the doorways, under the stairs, anyplace you can reach without anyone's help.

And then it you find yourself staring at the ceiling just out of your reach, your finger tips just brushing it if you jump.

"Need some help?" Steve asks, setting down his drink when you nod. "Okay, I'm just going to-"

You hop onto his back, pushing yourself up until you can reach the ceiling and press a piece of mistletoe against the surface.

"Thanks, Stevie," You say, getting to your feet and pat his arm.

"No problem," He starts to move away, but then there's Clint, standing there and grinning.

"You know, (Y/n), you really should watch where you put those things," Clint says, pointing to the mistletoe just above your head and..

Steve clears his throat. "She just hung it there. It doesn't count."

"It does too count!" Clint huffs. "She made me kiss Nat."

"So? You've been wanting to since like, forever," You smirk, holding up a finger. "And Steve's right. It doesn't count."

Clint glares. "If you two don't follow the rules then I'll.. I'll.. scream."

"Clint, come one, be reasonable," Steve ears start turning red as he tries to calm Clint down, but he shakes his head and opens his mouth. Before he can get a peep out, you slam your palm over his lips.

"Fine, fine. Now go away," You push Clint by the shoulders, sending him towards Natasha and wave. "Make a run for it before he realizes."

"Realizes what?"

"That we're not going to kiss," You smile innocently when Clint turns. "Hurry up or he'll notice!"

"We could," He says, and you face him. "I-I mean.. you and I could- should- if you're okay with.. lip touching..?"

His face is full on red now, and even in the low lightening you can see the blush all the way down his neck.

"Yeah, lip touching sounds nice," You go on your tiptoes, pulling him by the collar closer until you're kissing him.

"I can't believe that worked," Clint whispers to Natasha, who's nodding as Steve rests his hands on (Y/n)'s waist. "They're really going at it. Who know Steve had it in him."

"It's rude to stare," Natasha tugs on Clint's sleeve and he turns away.