#12daysofchristmas2022

About & Rules

The challenge will run from December 13-24, 2022.

The challenge is open to any and all fandoms.

Submissions must relate to the theme for that day in some way, however small. This year’s themes are listed below.

Tag your submissions with #12daysofchristmas2022 AND tag either this blog or my personal blog (@zsjaywhite​​) so that I will be notified to reblog your submissions here. (Also, it would be super cool if you gave this blog a follow!)

Submissions for the day must be posted before midnight YOUR time. I’m not super hard-and-fast about this rule, but posting within time is very much appreciated! For your reference, I live in the Eastern Standard timezone. 

If your submission contains any warnings (alcohol use, sexually explicit content, etc.) you must identify/tag them as outlined below.

If your contribution is writing, please use a “keep reading” cut and follow the post template below.

Title: Theme: Fandom/Character(s): Warnings (if applicable): Word Count: 

Example:

Title: Santa, Baby Theme: Day 8 - Decorating Fandom/Character(s): AEW/Adam Page x OC Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations (explicit) Word Count: 7,290

2022 Themes

13 December: Bells

14 December: Santa Hat

15 December: Candles

16 December: Snowman

17 December: Reindeer

18 December: Ice Skating

19 December: Cookies/Gingerbread/Sweets

20 December: Decorating

21 December: Mistletoe

22 December: Travel

23 December: Music/Songs

24 December: Presents

“Seriously.” He can hear the eye roll in her voice. “We both work in the morning. My uniform is at home.”

“Alright,” Tim pauses for a moment, considering. When he speaks again, it’s with a playful lilt. “But if you stay … I could start a fire, see what’s left to make of the evening.”

“A fire? In what fireplace?” He feels Lucy’s head turn as she looks around the room. In response, he slides his hand from her arm, down far enough to toy with the waistband of her leggings.

“Not that kind of fire …" He dips his head down to nose at her hairline, smiling against her skin.

Lucy laughs, turning her head and squirming. She reaches down to smack at his wrist.

“You are insatiable!” She giggles. Her head lands more squarely on his chest now, and she’s lying halfway across his lap. He relents, wrapping his arm loosely around her waist to slide her closer into him. Just when she’s settled in, he wiggles his fingers along her side, across the patch of bare skin where her T-shirt has ridden up. Lucy squeals again, and he tugs her the rest of the way across, until she’s leaning between his side and the arm of the couch, thighs stretched across his. She tucks her toes underneath the edge of a throw pillow and sighs.

And still, she doesn’t even try to get up. He’d let her, if she did. But they both know what she’s after, and he wants it just as badly, even if neither of them are willing to say it outright.

“Well don’t rush yourself,” Tim says, adjusting his hold so one arm wraps around her belly and the other drapes down her leg. His hand fits perfectly over her kneecap; they both smile when it lands there. “You’re right, it is getting pretty late.”

“Mmm, maybe just a few more minutes.” Lucy tips her head back and tucks her face into his neck. He kisses the edge of her temple lightly, then starts humming in her ear. He’s not sure what song it is, but it’s been stuck in his head all afternoon. Some festive jingle or the other, playing over the loudspeaker at the gas station where he’d spent three hours investigating a burglary. “But then I really do have to get home. Tamara will worry.”

“Last week she asked me if I was planning to ‘put a ring on it’ anytime soon, so I don’t think that’s true.” When Lucy’s shoulders go stiff at his words, Tim squeezes one gently and tacks on, “Not anytime soon. Right now I just want to enjoy the way things are.”

He doesn’t say any more than that, just lets Lucy relax again. She doesn’t need to know about the pretty emerald that caught his eye over the weekend, while he was shopping for earrings to give his sister. Not yet, not anytime soon.

Just … someday.

“Things are good,” Lucy whispers. Her breath tickles his jaw in hot puffs, and he kisses the side of her head again.

“They are.”

They sit like that, all tangled up, basking in each other and together, for a few minutes. Lucy only stirs enough to reach for her highball glass, dripping condensation onto Tim’s coffee table and return to her previous position.

“What’s in this again anyway?” She takes a sip of the cocktail, watered down from the melted ice, and leans her head against his shoulder. “It’s delicious.”

He could rattle it off easily, give her the secret to his spiced rum cider. It’s not even a secret, really; Genny had sent him the link in an email several years ago after a friend of a friend forwarded it on to her. There’s a printed out copy stuck in the cover of a bar guide he inherited from his grandfather. He could show it to her, sometime when she’s not sitting on top of him.

But where’s the fun in that?

“I could pour you another,” he offers instead. “If you … won’t be driving for a bit.”

It’s not his fault that the rum cider is strong.

Lucy sits up just far enough that she can turn around and look at him. From this angle, her eyes twinkle with more than just her amusement. He can see the reflection of the Christmas tree lights, the tree she’d insisted he needed for the back of his living room, countless little white dots sparkling beneath her eyelashes. They remind him of the dark night skies he’d stare at during his deployment days, the only source of beauty in a war-ravaged world.

Her hair is pulled into a loose knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing leggings and a faded-out college T-shirt. She’s nowhere near drunk, but a glass from his bar set hangs from one hand while the other trails a line up his shoulder. She reminds him of those skies, a bright spot in a year that needed more of them.

He’s seen her every which way: in uniform, pajamas, casual wear, dressed for a night out, in her finest formal attire, with longer hair and pointed nails, not wearing anything at all …

But this might be his favorite version of Lucy, he thinks. The Lucy that’s soft and comfortable in his space, pliant against him, with stars dancing in her eyes.

“What?” She asks, smiling fondly at him, and he realizes he must have been staring.

“Nothing.” Tim shakes his head. “Just … thinking about how beautiful you are like this.”

The easy honesty sends a flush up her face, visible even in the dimly lit living room.

“You are …" she trails off, and he hesitates for a moment before meeting her eyes. She sighs. “Something. You are something, Tim. I just want you to know that.”

She leans forward before he can say anything in response and fits their mouths together. He slides the glass out of her hand, groping blindly for the end table so they’ll have their hands free to hold onto one another. It’s his favorite kind of kiss too, slow and easy and endless feeling, until they break just far enough apart to breathe.

“I don’t want to leave,” Lucy murmurs into the space between them. Tim isn’t sure he was meant to hear it; other than how closely together they’re sitting. It feels like the sort of thing she’s saying to herself more than to him. He wants to tell her that she doesn’t have to, that she never has to leave unless she wants to, but that feels like too much for 11:30 on a Friday night, when she’s trying to convince herself to stay behind some line in the sand.

As if there’s a line they haven’t crossed together.

“I really should …" Lucy says again, loudly enough for him to hear.

“If you’re sure you’re good to get home,” Tim replies, meaning the late hour and the long day more than the alcohol.

“Yeah, I’ll be good.” Still, she doesn’t get up. “Of course, if we’re worried that it might be … cold …" She reaches for one of the drawstrings on his sweatshirt and twirls it around her fingers. “Maybe you should make sure I have something warm to wear.”

“Yeah?” He’s already reaching back to pull the sweatshirt over his head. Lucy laughs as she helps him untangle his T-shirt underneath it and keeps laughing as he tugs the sweatshirt down onto her shoulders. Her head pops through the opening at the neckline and she grins at him until he’s laughing with her.

When all is said and done, even sitting across his legs, the sweatshirt pools around her hips. He knows when she stands up that it will reach her knees. There’s something intimate and thrilling about knowing that even if she does go home tonight, she’s taking some physical, tangible part of him with her.

He traces his fingertips across her knuckles. Her skin is soft and smooth, and he knows that if he drew her hand to his lips, he’d be able to smell the floral hand lotion she rubs on every so often.

“It’s been a good night,” he says quietly. It’s an out, if she wants it to be, the beginnings of a goodbye. Or, it can be an invitation to let the night run on between them and keep a good thing going.

The choice is hers.

“It has been. It always is.” Lucy snuggles back into him. “If I stay … I have to get up early to go home before shift.”

“I’ll make you coffee,” he offers. “Carpool?”

“Sure.” She wraps both of her arms around one of his, holding it against her chest. “Probably better than driving home tonight anyway. Y’know, because you say it’s so cold out.”

“Yeah,” Tim kicks one foot up onto the coffee table. They should go to bed soon, if Lucy is staying, but he doesn’t want to make her move just yet. He hasn’t actually checked the weather, knows that what passes for ‘cold’ in LA is hardly a breeze in other parts of the country.

But he can’t imagine anything warmer than this, wrapped up in comfort and devotion and love.

And Lucy.

Compared to this, whatever the temperature is beyond his front door?

Eddie also has a knack for identifying any chord played in a song, and later replicating it on either his acoustic or electric guitar. It’s a helpful as fuck skill to have as a musician. Especially when Steve finally lets slip that his favorite song is Dancing in the Dark. It sounds better on his acoustic, soft and easy when he practices in his bedroom. 

He knows how to pick a lock, but only because he’s lost or forgotten his key to the trailer one too many times. 

He can recite the entirety of The Hobbit by memory alone. This also includes his copy of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons - 1st Edition. 

Needless to say, Eddie has a few tools under his belt so to speak. Plus, his habit of faking confidence has saved his ass a couple times in the past. A skill of bullshitting if you will. 

Unfortunately, there are some things you can’t fake-it-til-you-make-it. 

Eddie can’t skate for shit. 

Doesn’t matter if it’s inside a roller rink or on the frigid ice of a lake. The moment he manages to detach himself from the safety bar or arm of a friend, his ankles wobble and bend inwards, and in his attempts to adjust his balance, result in his ass meeting the hard ground. Eddie gave up on it a long time ago, content to admit defeat and move on with his life. 

That is, until December 18, 1986. 

The Upside Down is officially no-more. Super-girl (El), Will Byers, and a Dr. Owens had officially confirmed it after the defeat of Vecna, two months after their first (failed) attempt. Eddie would’ve fallen to his knees if he hadn’t been helping support Steve’s weight. Summer was spent amongst new friends - no, family - as they healed together piece by piece. As the months rolled on and the holiday season drew near, Eddie learned this would be the first year since ‘83 that the kids could celebrate Christmas without the ever-lingering threat of the Upside Down. 

Steve also knew this, which is why he’d offered to drive the gremlins into Indianapolis to the new ice rink they’d opened up a month prior. The invitation was extended to the self-proclaimed babysitters as well, which now included Eddie, which was such a bizarre realization that he eventually added ‘babysitting’ to his mental list of skills. Of course he’d accepted; along with Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle. The kids ( “We’re fifteen Eddie.”) had immediately begun making plans, and driving duties were delegated between Steve, Nancy, and Eddie. 

Now, sitting behind the wheel as he follows a familiar maroon BMW, Eddie panics. Fleetwood Mac plays on a lower volume, the melody of The Chain soothing a small fraction of the nervous energy humming beneath his fingers. Argyle is riding shotgun, head bobbing to the music as he watches the passing scenery. He’d offered to share the home-made trail mix he’d brought, and Eddie figured what the hell and accepted. Nerves and empty stomachs don’t usually mix well. 

“You ever skate the ice bro?” Argyle asks about twenty minutes into their drive. 

Eddie glances at him, then back at the road. Shrugs a little. “Once or twice,” is all he says. 

Argyle gives a lazy nod and pops a small handful of trail mix into his mouth. “Nice. I’ve only seen it on tv, the people with the cool costumes doing all those spins. Made myself dizzy once watchin’ ‘em.” He takes another bite of the mix. “Like, they must have strong bones or something. I’d snap my ankle if I tried a spin.”

Eddie can’t help but agree, because how the fuck do people manage to skate ice normally? Let alone twisting and jumping while gliding across the icy surface like it’s nothing? It’s a mystery he has little interest in solving; he thinks he’s done enough mystery solving for one lifetime as it is. 

Before the subject can be dropped, Erica pops her head into the space above the center console. Her hair is braided up into twin buns, a furry headband across her upper forehead and covering the tips of her ears. 

“Our parents took us last year. Lucas brought Max and tried to impress her.” Eddie can hear the amusement in her voice as she recounts the time Lucas nearly broke his ass doing a spin he’d seen in a movie. He tries to picture it, making a mental note to ask Max about it later if only to torture the older Sinclair. Dustin also butts into the conversation, explaining how he’s never been ice skating, but he’s “done his research” and “how hard can it be?” 

Eddie bets him five dollars he’ll hit the ice within eight seconds. Erica bets for five seconds. 

—

It’s Nancy who helps keep everyone together at the skate counter. Steve and Robin were already securing a section of seats for the group, and Jonathan and Argyle were on snack duty. The teens waste no time lacing up their skates, the first-timers like Dustin and Argyle moving a little slower, eyes glancing over to make sure the laces were correct. Eddie catches Nancy’s little smile as she kneels to adjust Robin’s lacework, notices the lingering touch between them and promptly minds his business. He knows Nancy and Jonathan split amicably, has seen evidence of their friendship prevailing despite their history. Eddie is a little surprised though; he’d never clocked Nancy ‘guns plural’ Wheeler as batting for both teams. 

For Robin’s sake, he hopes that’s the case. 

Eddie stares down at his grey and black skates, laces halfway done. He shivers despite the extra layers, an insistence by Steve because “You’ll catch a cold Eds.” Eddie is a weak man, and Steve’s recent nickname for him is a guaranteed method of getting him to listen. Robin gives him shit for it every time, shooting pointed looks between him and her best friend/platonic soulmate. The gloves he wears are borrowed from Wayne, black and fingerless, thick enough to provide warmth but not enough to impede his lace-tying skills. Still, he stalls for time, does up one set of shoelace into a horrible knot before tugging it free and starting again. 

“Alright assholes, prepare to be amazed!” Dustin crows, adjusting the green beanie squashing his curls. 

Eddie watches the fifteen year old carefully step onto the ice, one hand gripping the rail and the other held out to the side. He starts the mental timer once both blades meet the ice, catching the obnoxious cry of success from Dustin right before he slips and falls sideways a moment later. Erica claps slowly, completely smug as she steps out onto the rink beside him. 

“You owe me five bucks Dusty Bun,” she snarks. She extends a hand and helps Dustin to the rail, and Eddie playfully mourns his loss of the bet. 

—

Eddie should add stalling to his proverbial toolbelt. Maybe he could major in it at the local community college, if that were his thing. He’s the only one of the group who’s yet to touch the ice. Everyone is practically paired up amongst the other scattered people; he can just see the bright yellow of Argyle’s coat at the far end of the rink, Jonathan at his side offering a steadying arm as they hug the outer wall. Dustin is slowly making his way around with Will’s assistance, the latter proving fairly skilled. Lucas is at Max’s side, both using the skate trainers Steve had requested from the front desk. Eddie’s pretty sure Max is smiling, figures Lucas must be telling her some kind of tall tale whilst keeping his wobbling legs steady. Max hadn’t quite hugged Steve when he’d approached with the assistive device, but she’d let him help her onto the ice, Steve placing her hands correctly onto the bar and giving her tips on preventing her ankles from bending. 

Eddie had acted as if he’d missed the whispered thank you, choosing instead to properly lace up his own skates and try to ignore the growing warmth in his chest at Steve’s attentiveness. He’d given Lucas the same level of attention and care, offered advice and encouragement until both teens were carefully gliding away together. 

Eddie goes to fiddle with his rings, only to remember he can’t wear them with the gloves and had left them at home. He searches the rink again, finding Erica on her own and speeding along confidently. Eddie feels a little green with envy at her apparent skill, but it’s beaten by the pride that’s been growing for the youngest Sinclair ever since their first encounter. He debates escaping to the bathroom again, even if he’d already spent fifteen minutes there earlier trying to draw up some of that famous Munson confidence. 

Spoiler alert: it hadn’t worked. 

Once again, he looks down at his unlaced skates. He’d finally done them up properly, but he couldn’t wear them to the restroom and thus he’s presented with another excuse to stall. Maybe he should roll for charisma, or just suck it up and face the music. 

Wonderful Christmastime begins to play from the overhead speakers. A couple pass by singing along to the lyrics, and Eddie taps out the chords on his knee. It helps, a little, gives him something else to focus on other than the 100% chance of him faceplanting onto the ice. 

You don’t actually know that you will, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Wayne argues back. 

“Hurry up Eddie! The ice waits for no one!” 

Robin’s voice jolts Eddie out of the mental argument. He leans forward and searches until he sees Robin waving at him from the center. Her left arm is looped with Nancy’s right - the latter shouting at Mike to slow down as he speeds past them in a blur of teal. Eddie doesn’t fight the fond smile as he returns Robin’s wave. 

“Just got a cramp!” He gestures at his calf, rubs at it as if it aches. 

Robin and Nancy both eye him curiously, but Mike dashes past them again but closer, and suddenly the older Wheeler sibling is chasing after him, tugging Robin along with her. Eddie’s smile morphs into a grin as he watches the chaos unfold. El and Will have joined the chase, and Eddie has full confidence Supergirl will end up using her psychic powers to win. 

“Eddie? You okay?” 

And oh, the universe loves to laugh at Eddie. 

Steve has stopped outside the little door to the stands, peering through the plexiglass with mild concern. “Robin said you got a cramp?” 

Eddie stumbles over his words, can’t decide whether to play up the ‘injury’ card or just admit defeat. He blames Robin and the universe, and he makes a note to get back at her later. 

“Uh-yeah,” he finally manages. Eddie rubs his left calf and fakes a wince. “Just gotta stretch it out a bit.” He continues, committing to the act and stretching out his left leg and even flexing his foot. Eddie flashes what he hopes is a reassuring grin, dredging up a modicum of coolheadedness to further sell it. 

Steve doesn’t look entirely convinced. 

He looks back out onto the ice for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. Eddie starts to tell him to go on and have fun, he’ll be out in a few minutes, but the words die on his tongue when Steve looks back at him. There’s genuine concern in those deep brown eyes of his, and it takes Eddie back to their first and (unfortunately) second trip into the Upside Down. The scars along his sides and abdomen twitch at the memory. 

“I could use a break anyway,” is what Steve says as he pulls open the gate. Eddie says nothing as Steve carefully steps up onto the concrete steps, blades clinking until he plops down beside Eddie on the bench. He leaves a small bit of space between them, for which Eddie is grateful, even as a part of him wishes for the closer proximity. 

Steve stretches both legs in front of him and leans back a little, body a long line compared to Eddie’s somewhat hunched figure. For a moment, Eddie lets himself drink in the sight that is Steve Harrington. Not the same Steve who he’d pinned to a wall with a bottle to his neck, not the Steve who’d dove into Lover’s Lake and was nearly eaten alive, and not the Steve who’d carried his half-dead ass out of hell and fought at his side a mere two months later. No, this was probably Eddie’s favorite Steve; happy, relaxed, carefree. Eddie still had to pinch himself some days, because the idea of someone like Steve being friends with someone like Eddie was still such an odd concept. His younger self would certainly shit bricks if he could see them now: The King and the Freak. 

Eddie manages to look away right before Steve catches him. He tracks down the gremlins and continues to say nothing, allowing himself to just enjoy this moment with Steve. A part of him wants Steve to ask what’s wrong, to turn that attentive gaze his way once again and allow Eddie to live in his delusions. Because even if Eddie knows how this story is going to play out, he still wants and hopes like any other queer kid living in a small town would. He hopes that Steve might grow to like him, as a friend of course, but maybe as something more later on. Which is why the other part of Eddie wishes Steve would simply look the other way. Instead of asking why he still hasn’t attempted to touch the ice in their first hour of being here, instead of proving that once again Steve Harrington is a good dude. 

Fuck he really needs a smoke. 

Eddie starts to say it, to offer up another excuse so he can run away from his bullshit, but Steve is turning to face him and he clamps his mouth shut at the apologetic look on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, genuine and a little sad. “I didn’t mean to pressure you into coming, man. I wasn’t sure if this would be your kind of scene, but…” He pauses, a tiny line forming on his forehead. “I just thought getting out of Hawkins for a bit would be good for the kids. And us - uh - us babysitters I mean.” 

Eddie stares. 

“Um, what?”

He watches Steve duck his head, locks onto the stray piece of hair that flops the opposite way and he wants to fix it. He doesn’t, settles for rubbing the place where his rings usually sit on his fingers and tries to understand what’s happening. Steve is…apologizing? For taking the time to arrange a day in the city for everyone? For what he thinks is forcing Eddie to come along against his will? 

Steve rubs the back of his neck, awkward and nervous. Eddie follows the motion with his eyes, can picture the scar hidden underneath the scarf that mirrors Eddie’s own. It reminds him that they’ve faced death and won, and also that he really hates to see Steve sad. 

“I’m confused,” Eddie starts. “Why are you apologizing?” 

Steve finally straightens up a bit and meets Eddie’s gaze. “I-” 

“Because the way I understand it, you did nothing wrong.” 

Steve pauses, lips parted and confusion written across his face. Eddie remembers the first time he’d seen that same expression; back on their first run around in the Upside Down. He’d been honest, called Steve “metal” and “a good dude”. Back then, Steve’s face had been covered in dirt and the darkness of the forest had forced Eddie to take an extra step forward to see the impact of his words. Eddie remembers leaning in, probably too close, but he’d caught that look anyway and wondered what it’d meant. 

Eddie allows his growing affection for Steve to seep in, if only to drown out the anxiety that’s clung to him like a leech all day. He angles his body towards Steve and relaxes his posture, keeping himself open and softening his features.

“You didn’t pressure me into anything, Steve. I wanted to come.” 

Steve visibly relaxes at that, and Eddie silently rejoices. Small victories and all that. 

“In fact, I am incredibly honored to be here, within this frozen fortress of Christmas songs and soggy nachos.” Eddie spreads his arms out in a sweeping gesture to encompass the entire facility, tacking on his DM-ing voice for a bit of dramatic flair. Steve huffs softly, exasperated but smiling a little now. Eddie lowers his arms and drags his gaze towards the rink, nodding to Jonathan and Argyle in the center. 

“Plus, you needed the extra driver.” Eddie shoots Steve a teasing grin.

Steve eventually nods in agreement, and that tiny line in his forehead is gone, skin smooth once more. Satisfied that he’s reassured Steve properly, Eddie figures he really needs that smoke and leans down to slip off his skates. He doesn’t expect Steve to keep digging, to keep looking at Eddie and seeing right through his bullshit. 

It starts with Steve moving an inch closer, maybe to offer more privacy for the conversation even if there’s no one else near them. Steve speaks, voice low but genuine, and Eddie goes still. 

“So why haven’t you gone out there yet?”

Eddie closes his eyes, face angled to where Steve (hopefully) can’t see. It’s so stupid and he knows it, because he’d wanted Steve to ask right? He wanted it and now it’s here and Eddie wants to hide, to run. Because now he’s imagining telling Steve about his stupid anxiety over the fact he can’t skate. 

“You’ll laugh.” Is all Eddie says, arms crossing over his knees. 

“Eddie - hey, man c’mon look at me.” 

There’s a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, a grounding weight that encourages him to glance at Steve. The hand remains even when they make eye contact, and Eddie soaks up every second of it. 

“I swear on Dustin’s grandmother. I won’t laugh.” 

There’s a tentative smile on Steve’s lips, and yeah, the ‘Dustin's grandmother’ bit was pretty funny the second time around. Eddie watches Steve for a moment before releasing a sigh. 

“Icantskate.” He mumbles. 

He can feel Steve leaning towards him a little. “What?” 

This time, Eddie turns and sits up until he and Steve are eye to eye, Steve’s hand sliding off his shoulder. Eddie registers how close they are, but Steve doesn’t back down. Beneath the bright stadium lights, Eddie can pick out the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of Steve’s nose and his upper cheeks. The frigid air has turned his cheeks a soft pink that matches the tips of his ears. Last Christmas begins to play overhead, but Eddie barely notices. 

“I, Eddie Munson, cannot skate to save my life.” 

Eddie fights off the urge to close his eyes and pull back. He chews on his bottom lip instead, the skin chapped from the chilly air. Steve’s expression doesn’t change much at first, a slight furrow of his brow to indicate he’s processing the words. Eddie waits, resolutely doesn’t glance down at Steve’s lips despite how soft they look. 

And then Steve tilts his head a little, shrugs, and says, “Okay.” 

Eddie stares, a bit dumbstruck. “Okay?”

Steve nods, easy as can be. “Yeah man.” Then he smiles. “I can teach you, if you want.” 

“Teach me?” Eddie echoes, because he still can’t believe it was that fucking easy. 

“Sure. I taught Robin, and I love her but she’s a mega klutz, but look at her now.” 

Steve looks out towards the ice and Eddie follows his line of sight. Robin is carefully practicing a slow twirl, with Nancy in arm’s reach and Will coaching her. Eddie glances back to Steve and catches the open fondness across the other man’s face, a mixture of love and ‘proud dad’. It only fuels the silly fluttering in his chest, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone else to look at him that way until Steve came along. 

“Well if you can teach Buckley to do it, I guess there’s hope for me,” Eddie chuckles. The tension in his shoulders practically slides off when Steve catches his gaze again. 

Just when he thinks it can’t get better, Steve is sliding off the bench and onto his knees at Eddie’s feet. Heat immediately crawls up Eddie’s neck and across his cheeks, the fluorescent lighting only exaggerating his naturally pale skin and making the blush even more obvious. 

“First lesson: Secure your laces.” 

Steve is using his ‘babysitter’ tone, except his lips are curled up into a smirk, eyes like hazelnut sparkling with amusement. 

Eddie wills his heart rate to chill the fuck out. 

Steve finally looks down and begins tying the shoelaces, humming along to the harmony of George Michael giving his heart away. Eddie subtly pinches his wrist, just to be sure he didn’t somehow die and go to heaven. It hurts, and Steve is still tying his fucking skates as if it’s just another Sunday. 

And suddenly there’s a gentle pressure against his calf, there and gone in barely a minute. Steve glances up and fucking winks. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, tongue darting out to lick his dry lips because holy shit. Steve’s eyes flicker down for a brief moment, tracking the motion, and Eddie’s stomach flutters dangerously. 

Steve doesn’t lose the little smile even when he knows Eddie caught him. He simply finishes lacing the final knot and tucks the ends into the top of the skates. Once finished, Steve practically bounds up onto his feet like an eager puppy, hair flopping into his face a little. He runs a hand through it easily, and Eddie wishes he could do that too. 

“Lesson two: Get on the ice.” 

Steve extends a hand, and when Eddie hesitates, his voice turns sweet as honey. “C’mon big boy, I’ve got you.” 

Eddie’s not sure how much more his heart can take. Or his brain, based on the lack of oxygen since Steve keeps taking it all away. Eddie’s heard of the famous “Harrington Charm”, and he’d always scoffed at the girls who’d titter amongst each other in the hallways and practically swoon over Steve’s feet. This can’t be that though, Eddie reasons, because Steve likes women and he’s just a really good friend. Shared trauma makes the heart grow fonder or whatever. 

Still, Eddie gratefully takes the offered hand. Carefully, he stands up, still holding onto Steve as the other man shoots him a proud grin. “Okay, I’m going to get onto the ice first. You hold onto me and the safety rail, okay?” 

Eddie nods, genuinely appreciative of the play-by-play. “Sure thing Stevie.” 

Steve checks to make sure no one else is nearby or approaching before pushing open the little gate and stepping backwards onto the ice. He doesn’t falter, and Eddie is immensely jealous. But then it’s Eddie’s turn, and jealousy quickly morphs into anxiety once more. He blames the shakiness on the blast of extra cold air he’s met with upon stepping onto the rink, muttering out a few curses as he clutches onto Steve and the safety rail. 

“You’re doing great Eds,” Steve praises, and oh, doesn’t that just stroke Eddie’s praise kink ever so nicely. “How are you feeling?” 

“Cold,” Eddie deadpans.

Steve rolls his eyes. “No shit jackass. How do your ankles feel?” 

Eddie takes a moment to assess. They’re shaky as all fuck, but he hasn’t immediately buckled yet so that’s an improvement. The real test would be trying to actually move forward. 

“They’re okay. Shaky but not broken so…” Eddie shrugs. 

Steve nods. “Good. Next lesson: Don’t look down.” 

And really, what does Steve expect him to do after that? It’s like an immediate response to look down once you’ve been told not to. Eddie does, in fact, look down. His ankles wobble more and he gets that swooping feeling of being off-balance. The butterflies in his stomach pitch to the left, and thankfully Steve is there, body providing a solid presence. 

“Dude, I told you not to look down!” Steve’s sigh is a bit dramatic, and then he’s lifting up Eddie’s chin with his other hand and Eddie blushes again. 

“F-fuck off man,” Eddie wheedles out, taking deep breaths to will the dizziness away. “Everybody knows if you tell someone to not do something, they’re immediately gonna do it.” 

Eddie can’t see Steve, but he can practically hear the eye roll he’s doing. God this dude could be so adorably bitchy. 

“Pro-tip: Don’t hurl on the ice.” 

Eddie shoots an annoyed glare towards Steve. “I’m not gonna hurl.” That’s only partially true. Eddie is pretty sure he isn’t gonna throw up, but no promises. “C’mon Harrington, what’s the next step? I’d like to finish this before I’m old and handsomely grey.” 

Steve doesn’t snark back, but it looks like he wants to. Instead, he moves on to step what-the-fuck-ever. “Bend your knees.” He even bends his own a little to demonstrate. 

Eddie almost looks down again because he’s pretty sure he’s already bending his knees. It’s hard to tell with the chill seeping into his jeans, and he’s grateful he’d listened to Wayne about wearing a pair without holes. Cautiously, he bends as if to crouch, maybe just an inch or so. His right knee pops a little. 

“Okay, coach. What’s next?” 

Steve responds by moving them forward, lightly tugging Eddie along the wall. 

“I’ll pull you along, and while your knees are bent you’re gonna shift your weight between each leg.”

Eddie watches Steve’s movements, tries to mimic them as best he can. It doesn’t seem to do much at first, but the more weight he shifts to each side, the more he starts to feel centered. Eddie’s still gripping Steve and the rail as if his life depends on it (it does), but as they slowly creep forward, Eddie’s confidence starts to build. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “I’m doing it. I’m–Steve, I'm skating! ” 

Eddie can’t help the little whoop he lets out, because he’s been on the ice for at least five minutes now and he hasn’t fallen ass-first and humiliated himself. Granted, Steve is supporting him, but still! Eddie knows how to take the win, so he does, and it feels pretty fucking good. So good that Eddie chances looking to his left, because he wants that ridiculously soft smile shone his way, and what he finds is even better. 

Steve’s grin is blinding, warm brown eyes shining with pride, the skin on the edges crinkling a little. His entire expression is a wonderful blend of pure delight, excitement, and affection. And every bit of it is for Eddie. Something thick and syrupy sweet crawls into his chest and takes root, a pleasant warmth spreading over him like a thick blanket. The metaphorical butterflies in his stomach are now a swirling tornado, and Eddie gets a little lost in the sensation of it all. 

“Eddie watch out!” 

He blinks and Steve’s pulling Eddie sharply towards himself, hard enough for Eddie to lose his grip on the safety rail. He panics, right hand clutching at Steve’s left forearm as they speed away from the wall. 

“Shit! Sorry Eds – hang on I–”

Steve’s skate snags on something, his body jerking harshly. He swears, tries to correct it but they’re both already falling, and Eddie’s squeezing his eyes closed because he’d rather not see his own blood on the ice. He bounces a little as they hit the ground, Steve making a punched out sound as he takes the brunt of it. Eddie’s face hits Steve’s chest, leaving his nose a little sore but otherwise fine, and he opens his eyes to find himself laid out over Steve’s torso. 

“Oh shit – Stevie, hey can you hear me?” 

Steve’s eyes crack open, narrowed and pinched as if he were in pain. His lips move, but all that comes out is a breathy wheeze. 

Before Eddie can spiral over the possible injuries Steve could have, Robin, Nancy and Dustin surround them with matching looks of concern.

 “Oh my god, are you guys okay?”

“Dude that kid came out of nowhere!” 

“Shit – did Steve hit his head?” 

Eddie can see the rest of their group heading over as well, but he hears the wheezing again and leans in closer, tilting his ear towards Steve’s mouth. 

“...get…off…can’t…breathe…”

Oh.

“OH shit – yeah, okay. Sorry man, uh – hang on.” Eddie scrambles to get off of Steve, Nancy and Robin offering themselves as his own personal balancing aides. Once up, Steve stays on the ground for another few seconds before the wheezing is gone, and he’s able to sit up a little. Dustin immediately gets down on one knee and gives Steve a thorough assessment, starting with checking his pupils and asking what today’s date was. 

“December eighteenth and will you please stop poking me!” 

Dustin keeps prodding the back of Steve’s head. “Pupils are normal. Memory is intact. No bumps or bleeding found.” He gives Steve a pat on the shoulder and grins. “No concussions for you today, sailor.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but it’s a fond thing as he shoves Dustin’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the clean bill of health, doctor. ” 

A staff member joins their circle of bodies to ensure Steve is, in-fact, alright. They take a brief look at Steve, who now resembles a rumpled, grumpy cat stuck in a red-and-white sweater. Once deemed fit to skate, the employee leaves them be. Argyle helps Steve get back on his feet, and after showing off his still functioning motor skills by performing a brief spin, the kids split off again. 

“Eddie, are you okay?” Steve’s attention is back on him, and he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it. 

He nods, knees a little wobbly. “Yeah I’m good. Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” and Eddie can’t help but tease, if only to try and dispel his returning anxiety. 

“Oh my god, you two are ridiculous,” Robin groans. 

Eddie catches the brief flush along Steve’s cheeks, and he wonders if Steve likes being called pretty. Nancy interrupts his very important mental debate and asks Eddie if he wants to keep skating. 

“Uh, actually can we take a break? I’m feeling a little more like jello than human at the moment.” 

He tries to laugh, but it comes out more strained than he intended. 

“Here, I’ll take him,” Steve replies. “You girls go have fun, us old men will be on the bleachers.” 

“Old?!” Eddie squawks, “I’m twenty-one!” 

Robin and Nancy hand him off to Steve, ignoring his indignant protests. Steve sends them off with a nod, the girls linking arms again and skating past them and towards Max and El. 

“I’m in my prime, Harrington!” Eddie continues, dramatic tendencies winning over self-preservation as he releases Steve’s arm with his right hand, flipping his curls over his shoulder like in the Maybelline commercials.  “You’re just jealous.”

Steve scoffs, and Eddie glances over quick enough to see the amused smile on his lips. Before Steve can respond, he expertly guides them around an older couple, offering a polite “excuse us” and a smile. Eddie offers his own little nod to the couple, who both seem so enamored in each other they hardly notice them. He gets distracted, just for a second, but it’s enough that he doesn’t notice Steve adjusting his grip on Eddie’s left arm. Suddenly, there’s a warm pressure against his lower back, just enough for Eddie to recognize as Steve’s hand. 

This can’t be real, he thinks. 

Eddie can’t even pinch himself this time, because this has to be a dream. He’s pretty sure he’s imagined this once before, although maybe with less people around and even fewer clothes. 

They’re getting closer to the barrier gate, and the hand is still there. Unsurprisingly, it’s easy to let Steve guide him along the ice, and if Eddie leans into Steve’s side a little more than necessary, that’s nobody’s business but his own. He sneaks a glance, just a peek really, and Steve’s face is so carefree and unbothered. There’s a hint of color along his cheekbones, and from this angle Steve’s lips look almost freshly kissed. Eddie’s breath escapes in a slow, quiet exhale, crystallizing in the frigid air. He’s staring, but he doesn’t even care anymore because somehow, underneath glaring fluorescent stadium lighting, Steve looks angelic.

“Tye’re vana ,” Eddie murmurs. 

Steve catches Eddie’s starstruck gaze and tilts his head like a goddamned puppy, brows furrowed. “Uh, gesundheit?” 

Yeah, Eddie’s screwed. 

—

Once off the ice, Eddie practically falls onto the nearest bench, legs shaky as a newborn deer. Steve takes a seat on his left, running a hand through his stupidly perfect hair. 

“So…” He drawls, eyes drawn to the rink. “What did you think?” 

Eddie stares up at the industrial ceiling, traces the trails of pipes and beams. “Could use a little more color. It’s practically a padded cell in here.” 

Steve elbows him with a snort. “Dude, I meant skating. What did you think?”

The touch revives the butterflies in Eddie’s stomach, but he manages to keep the blushing to a minimum. He offers a half-shrug. “Not bad. Scary as shit, but…” Eddie lets his gaze slide to the left, head flopping to his shoulder. Steve raises his brows, expectant. 

“But?”

Eddie’s lips tilt up at the corners. “The coach is pretty hot.” 

And, yeah, Eddie knows he’s doomed, knows he shouldn’t get his gay little hopes up in a place like Hawkins. But he’s fought demon bats and a Freddy Krueger wannabe in an alternate dimension and survived, so he throws caution to the wind and adds a wink for good measure. Carpe diem and all that.

Steve visibly short-circuits. He goes still, eyes wide and frozen on Eddie, perfect lips parted ever so slightly. The flush of his cheeks spreads like a wildfire to the tips of his ears, and Eddie wants to chase that trail, to press his thumb into each mole on Steve’s body and call him pretty. 

“So, uh-” Steve stutters out and then stops, clears his throat. “If this coach were to ask you about going to the drive-in this Friday night, what would you say?” 

And the fucker not only flashes that patented Harrington smile, eyes warm like cocoa, but he presses is knee against Eddie’s and leans in just a fraction. The contact is like touching a live-wire, but Eddie doesn’t pull away, doesn’t think there’d ever be a world where he wouldn’t want anything more than Steve’s touch. 

Eddie licks his lips, catches the dip of Steve’s gaze and leans in just a bit more. 

“I’d say it’s a date, big boy.” 

—

December, 1987

They’re outside this time, the sun dipping lower in the sky. 

“You’re a natural,” Steve grins, clapping gloved hands. 

Eddie does a little twirl, blades sliding across the ice with practiced ease. Steve had offered to keep teaching him, after last year’s little field trip, and now Eddie has his own pair of ice skates and wicked balance control. 

He bends at the waist with a flourish, a movement that once would’ve sent him face-first onto the ground. Steve laughs, and it’s Eddie’s favorite song nowadays. He’s considered putting it on a tape, knows it's cheesy as hell but he’s learned to not to care. 

“I learned from the best,” Eddie grins, gliding closer until he can place his hands on Steve’s waist. 

It’s just the two of them; a semi-private little pond that only they (and Robin technically because Steve tells her everything) know about. The few trees lining the banks are bare and sprinkled with snow, the largest bearing an old chain tire swing. They visit in the warmer months too, for picnics or just a chance to makeout without prying eyes. 

Steve’s arms come to rest over Eddie’s shoulders as he cocks his head, eyes practically glowing with the approaching twilight. For a moment they just stare at each other, frosty breaths intermingling between them, and Eddie wishes he could photograph this moment; keep it in his wallet next to the one of him and Wayne. 

“Eddie?” Steve murmurs.

“Yes, beautiful?” 

While Steve’s laugh may be Eddie’s favorite song, his smile is the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. He watches as Steve’s smile spreads, eyes crinkling at the edges, face blooming a rosy shade, the sunset painting the sky in soft purples and golds. It brings out the scant amount of freckles across his nose, and Eddie falls in love all over again. 

“Melin tirië hendutya sílalë yá lalat.” 

Steve kisses Eddie’s nose. 

“What’s that mean?” He hums, affection in every syllable. 

Eddie kisses the mole nestled at the corner of Steve’s left eye. 

“I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh.” 

Steve pulls them chest to chest, gentle but swift. Their noses are practically touching, cheeks flushed and warm even as the winter chill sets in. Eddie could die a happy man right here, in the arms of Steve Harrington. 

Steve’s voice is soft, nearly a whisper. 

“How do you say ‘I love you’?” 

Their lips meet, neither sure who closed the gap. Not that it really matters. Steve’s lips are soft and taste of strawberry, courtesy of the lip balm Robin got him. It’s Eddie’s favorite. Steve kisses Eddie as if he’ll never get enough, one hand moving to cradle Eddie’s cheek. He holds Eddie as if he’s something precious, and Eddie wonders if this is what finding your soulmate feels like. 

When they separate, they don’t go far, eyes locked onto the other. 

“Melin le.” Eddie murmurs.

Steve hums, thumb stroking Eddie’s cheek.

“Melin le, Eddie.” 

Another kiss, short but sweet and carrying a promise.  

“Open, Gate of the Lion, Leo!” Lucy called out. After a solo job, she was almost home when some jerks thought they could take advantage of her in the dark East forest.

Given they had shadow magic, it would have been a correct assumption if she didn’t have her very own light spirit.

“Wow, it’s dark,” Leo said as the light from his gate faded. He immediately lit his fists, pushing one of the attackers out of the shadows. Lucy roundhouse kicked him into Loke’s punch, sending him crashing into the nearby

“Crap, a fairy tail wizard.”

“Light magic too, let’s get out of here. Grab Dan’s legs.”

There was running and fussing.

“Want to chase after them?” Loke asked, turning to face her properly.

She had thought there was something wrong with his sillouhette, but had been focused on listening and feeling for magic signatures.

Lucy burst out laughing.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’?” Loke asked, raising an eyebrow.

She calmed down from her mad cackling to more contained giggles. “So-sorry,” Lucy giggled, wiping her eye, “I’m just not sure your Santa Hat goes with the suit.”

Loke touched his head, eye widening as he felt the fur trim. Then he grinned at her, “Well, tis the season. You called me during the Spirit World Solstice Festival.”

“Since when do celestial spirits celebrate the solstice with Santa hats?” Lucy chuckled.

“Since it made their pretty masters happy,” Loke said, offering his arm. “What, don’t I make a good Santa Claus? I’ll have you know I bring people excellent presents.”

Lucy laughed some more, taking his arm and letting him send out witchlights to mark the rest of the path to Magnolia proper. “I don’t think even you could pull off the tubby belly and long white beard. Capricorn might be able to.”

It was Loke’s turn to laugh, “It is my dearest pleasure to present you this gift.” He imitated Capricorn. “A scale, because I do believe you are putting on some extra weight, dear Loke.”

“When will he let that go!” Lucy cackled. “And what would Santa Loke give someone for Christmas?”

“Oh, it’s twelve gifts if you’re really doing it right, and the first one would be exhausting laughter,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “The rest will have to be a surprise.”

“Well then, I can’t wait for the rest,” Lucy said. “Are you going to keep wearing this?” Lucy flicked the puffball at the end of the hat.

“You want to try it on?”

“I think it looks too good on you.”

“Then I think I’ll wear it until Christmas.”

“You’re as old as grandfather Christmas.”

“Rude.”

“Good thing I’m terribly shallow and only care about your good looks.”

November 27th, first Advent of 2022. It has been long since Claudio has been to Switzerland over the last years, but he always keeps his traditions.

That day he had woken up early as always, going for his routine run and on the way back he had stopped at some bakeries to fetch something for breakfast for him and all his lovers. For Bryan vegan options of course.

Unluckily his wrestling life didn't let him the time to actually bake some German cookies for the others, with having to be on the road most of the time, but it would still work.

Humming he got back to their shared home and left all the pastries on the table, for each seat the favourite ones of each member of the stable.

He went to take a quick shower, enjoying the warm water sliding over his cold body; he liked it more when he could have a shower with one of his lovers, but they were surely starting to wake up.

As he got dressed and down to the kitchen, he found a still sleepy Yuta waiting at his spot, shortly after came William and Jon too. Bryan took some minutes to join them, but in the end they were all sitting at their places.

"This is the first Christmas we are going to spend all together, since I left Switzerland and then Germany I carried on this tradition leading to Christmas, so I just want to share it with all of you too. You're all really important to me and this tradition is important to me as well, so I want you get to know about it." 

William, Jon, Wheeler and Bryan looked at him at the same time and either nodded or grunted in response; Wheeler was genuinely curious, maybe because he was the youngest there? Who could know, but one thing was sure: he literally loved Christmas, so whatever had to do with it was interesting for him. The others were interested too, even Jon, who normally wasn't a Christmas person himself. 

Claudio stood up and took a lighter: at the center of the table there was an Advent crown, with four candles spread around it. The candles had different colors: maroon to represent Regal, white for Bryan, Red for Jon and black for their youngest member Yuta. Him... Claudio pictured himself in the white candle, zusammen mit Bryan, but those were for his lover, not for him. 

"So, for each Advent Sunday, we normally take a candle, light it and in the end we sing a nursery rhyme. Each one of this candles represents one of you, one of us." 

Explained the Swiss man, as he took the maroon candle in the hand and cracked a smile at his lovers. 

"Today it's the first Advent, so I'll light this maroon one, which represents our Lord, William. You are, apart from our lover, our mentor and kind of manager, so something like... a pillar maybe? Which is why I wanted to start by lighting your candle first." 

Did his reason have any sense at all? In his mind yes, but what if the others wouldn't get it? He softened a bit as soon as he noticed the smile on William's lips. 

"Master Castagnoli it is an honor for me, thank you. I appreaciate it."

Claudio nodded and took the lighter, so he could finally light the candle which he put before in the holder.

"Advent, Advent, ein Lichtlein brennt. Erst eins, dann zwei, dann drei, dann vier. Und wenn das fünfte Lichtlein brennt, hast du Weihnachten verpennt!"

None of them said anything, they all stared at him though. Yuta was totally in awe, even if he had only understood the word Advent. Regal was smiling, still honored that Claudio had decided to use his candle first. Jon had listened, hadn't understood anything, but he still liked it all in all. Bryan on his part was smiling proud: it was beautiful to hear Claudio speak German, sometimes he even spoke Italian to them, only some small words, but it was really interesting to hear him. 

"It was simply amazing, Master Castagnoli."

“Yes, it seems so. Excuse me”, he said, and began walking away. Now you frowned. You grabbed the plant from where you had hung it and began following him to see what was up with him. He stopped once again. “Why are you following me with that thing?”.

“The mistletoe?”.

“Yes, are you trying to say something? Because I don’t appreciate you doing this to me. Especially you”.

“I— no, I just thought it would be nice to…”.

“Well, it clearly isn’t nice for me. Now, let me through, I have things to do”.

Your mouth was open but no words came out.

“Loki, I—”.

“See you later. Don’t bring that thing around”.

You sat on the kitchen island of the compound and sighed out in frustration. You knew you could be rejected by him at some point, but why did he have to be so rude about it? He usually was much nicer and kinder to you. You began drawing up some Christmas cards for the Avengers to wrap with their gifts, and left the mistletoe lying on the counter, thinking about throwing it to the fireplace once they light it up.

Later on, Cap and Thor walked in and grabbed some mead from the fridge, sitting in front of you.

“Hey pal, would you like some?”, asked Steve as he poured you a glass anyway.

“Sure”, you said, your tone slightly drowned.

Thor sat by your side and looked at the giftcards.

“Those look very nice”, he said, as he’d talk to a frustrated child. He was slightly older. Just slightly. Still, you chuckled sadly and let him go for it. “You seem sad, are you alright? Would you want to talk about it with us?”.

“Yeah, you can trust us”, said Steve, and looked at the mistletoe on the table. “Oh… you got rejected?”.

“Brutally rejected”, you nodded, and left the coloring pencils on the side to take a good spiteful look at that damned plant. Thor seemed confused.

“Can we know by who?”.

“Cap, I think you can figure it out”, you pressed your lips in a thin line. Everyone in the compound knew you liked Loki. And everyone also thought Loki liked you back, but none of you were ready to potentially ruin your precious friendship. Up until just now. “I didn’t expect him to be so mean about it. Maybe he got upset because I may have ruined our thing? He’s a big fan of unspoken things. Maybe he wanted us to be in this non-verbalized special relationship without putting more pressure into it—”.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about? What does all of that have to do with that treacherous weed?”, interrupted Thor.

You frowned.

“You don’t know what the mistletoe means here?”.

“Yes, I certainly do. It’s a dooming sign. Why would you declare yourself with it near you? And to Loki?”.

You stood up.

“That’s not what it means at all! And I never said the words, I just thought he knew what being under the mistletoe means!”.

“What does it mean?”, he asked with a frown. You began walking around the kitchen island and fidgeting with the plant.

“When you’re both under the mistletoe you have to kiss. I just pointed out we were under the mistletoe. I didn’t even say anything about it. What did he think I was saying, then?”, you said, eyes wide and still pacing around.

Thor grabbed his face and then put his hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“In the myths, Loki starts Ragnarok by using a mistletoe to kill Balder. The literal end of our world! It’s a terrible augury, a horrible omen”.

You sat, bewildered.

“No wonder he got offended”.

Thor patted your back.

“I think you better mend it right”.

That same night, you knocked on his door and heard him pace around before opening up a small crack to see who it was. When he saw you, he sighed out.

“What do you want?”, he asked tiredly. His hair was tied up in a messy high bun, and had an unsharpened dagger through it. “I’m busy”.

“I’m sure you aren’t”, you tilted your head to see the accumulating pile of books on his bed and his unarranged bedsheets. He had been laying there reading all afternoon, you were positive. “I brought you something”.

“Did you bring a heartfelt apology with you?”, he joked. You chuckled.

“You know very well I don’t have a heart”, you said as you went through and sat on his bed. He looked down at you and smiled lightly.

“And you know better than anyone that’s not true”, he said, and then sat by your side. “So, what did you bring me?”.

You gave him a small box, and he looked at you quizzically, before opening it with curiosity. He unfolded the soft paper inside of it and found a fresh batch of his favorite type of cookies. He looked at you with glistening eyes.

“Mint and chocolate?”.

“Yup”, you smiled proudly. He jumped to hug you.

“Oh, thank you! You know I love these!”. You sank in his hug and hugged him tighter.

“I’m sorry about the mistletoe thing. I spoke to Thor about it and we both have very different concepts of it. I didn’t even know about the bad omen. I’m really sorry”.

He pulled out of the hug, but kept relaxedly holding you by the elbows.

“Oh?”.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. If I had known I wouldn't have done it. It was a very stupid thing. Your friendship means everything to me”.

“That’s totally okay, I was taken aback because it seemed so unlike you to joke about something that would make me feel bad”, he admitted. “Hold on, so… what did you mean with that?”.

“Huh?”, you raised your eyebrows and cleared your throat. “Oh, yeah, I was just joking, you know. A midgardian normal stupid joke”.

“Hey”, he grabbed your face. “What was it?”.

You blushed to an extreme degree and Loki didn’t let go of your face, as funny as you looked. He stared into you with his usual intensity. Well, what was getting rejected twice anyway?

“It means… well, whoever two that end up under the mistletoe must kiss”.

Loki raised his eyebrows.

“And we ended up under the mistletoe together”.

“Yes”, you whispered, getting even redder.

“You said ‘must’ kiss. Not ‘can’ kiss”.

“I… guess I did say that, yeah”, your voice got thinner and thinner.

“We have no choice but to kiss, then”, he smirked slightly.

“I guess not”, you said, and he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs as he hunched closer to your lips.