Chapter Text
STEVE HARRINGTON
It’s winter in Hawkins, and you know that means one thing: you stay your ass inside. You’re nestled by the window, cocooned in a warm, fluffy blanket, cheek pressed to your palm as you watch snowflakes tumble and swirl outside. The TV murmurs with a holiday sitcom, but your attention is tuned to the kitchen, where the gentle clink of mugs and spoons floats in, courtesy of your ever-charming boyfriend, Steve. He told you that he was making you something and wouldn’t elaborate, but the rich, sweet aroma gives him away; your best guess is hot chocolate.
You hear the spoons clatter in the sink, soon followed by his soft footsteps padding closer, and you glance over just in time to see him approach, balancing two steaming mugs of the good shit like a seasoned acrobat, making his way to you on the couch. A fond smile tugs at your lips as you watch his tongue peek out in concentration, lowering the mugs to the coffee table. He does little jazz hands in celebration when he sets them down without spilling, and you applaud him for his performance. He takes a bow, basking in your praise.
“Very impressive, Stevie. Your talent is wasted at Family Video. Have you considered joining the Cirque du Soleil?” you quip, hiding your grin behind the mug of hot chocolate you take from the table to warm your hands. You can feel the heat seep into your fingers, and you take careful sips of the scalding liquid. Steve’s grin is smug and playful as he flops onto the couch next to you, curling around your form carefully making sure not to knock your mug. He buries his face in your neck, nuzzling his cold nose against your throat, causing you to let out gentle laughter. “What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” He preens his soft lips, brushing against your neck as he starts trailing kisses wherever his lips can reach. You lean your head on his and melt in his strong arms, taking a few more sips of your drink.
“Any plans for today, Loverboy?” you tease, fingers idly twirling the hair at the nape of his neck. Steve all but purrs, burrowing himself closer to you; you feel him shake his head, his hair tickling under your jaw. He looks up, warm, honey-brown eyes meeting yours, a goofy, love-struck smile spreads across his face. “Nothing at all. Just you and me, keeping each other warm,” he flirts, pressing a trail of kisses along your cheek before capturing your lips in a slow, lazy kiss.
A frantic knock at the door snaps you both out of your cozy bubble, jolting you both apart. The sudden rush of cold makes you shudder. Carefully, you set your drink down; thankfully, no spillage. Both you and your sweetheart watch the door from your seats. You're confused, you weren’t expecting anyone today, and you’re certain that knocking wasn’t just in your head. The knocking returns, and you turn to your boyfriend, his brows furrowed as you can see the gears turning in his head, the knocking now accompanied by a familiar whine, “Steeeeve! You promised to drive us to the mall!” Your confused frown turns to a simpering grin, “No plans, huh?” You catch him as he slumps into your arms with a sigh of defeat. You gently pet his hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, “Oh Stevie, what am I gonna do with you?”
“Put me out of my misery,” he grumbles, lips jutting out in a childish pout as he drags himself away from your embrace and trudges toward the door.
EDDIE MUNSON
You adore your boyfriend, you love his cute wild curls, those soulful doe eyes, and the way he’s currently wearing his beanie, It makes him kinda look like a gnome, but he’s your gnome.
What you don’t love, however, is his van. It’s less a vehicle and more a mobile igloo, with a heater he refuses to fix, as he claims it ‘works fine, just takes a while to warm up.' Yeah, tell that to your chattering teeth and nips that have definitely frozen off at this point. You wouldn’t be surprised if you became the first person to be cryogenically frozen. You're sure Eddie would mourn you, and probably write a power ballad about it too.
You huddle in the van, pulling your jacket tight around yourself, watching as he makes a deal. He promised it would be quick, and that afterwards the two of you could go home and canoodle under the covers, preferably until winter ends. But the guy Eddie’s dealing with keeps trying to haggle with him, you’re pretty sure you heard, through the frosted glass of the van, the guy say “c’mon man it’s Christmas,” as if your Grinch boyfriend gives a shit. You watch Eddie bicker back and forth with the guy before finally it looks like he managed to seal the deal, and the guy hands him a wad of cash.
The frizzy-haired cutie grumbles his way back to the van. You feel a blast of cold air hit you as you shrivel into yourself to retain any semblance of heat, before he slams the door shut. “Jesus fuck, aren’t you cold?” he mutters, shivering as he rubs his gloved hands over your arms to create some warmth for you. You lean over the middle console and flump into Eddie’s arms, and he pulls you close, still trying to thaw you out. You hear him softly murmur in your ear, “I’m sorry, didn’t think it’d take that long…”
You sigh, lift your head from his chest, and plant a kiss on his frozen lips. “I’ll forgive you if you warm me up,” you tease, flashing him a coy smile.
You see Eddie’s eyes light up in excitement as he purrs back, “Oh yeah? And how should I do that?”
With a salacious smirk, you grab him by his coat collar and tug him near, letting your breath dance against his ear as you murmur, “I want a burger.”
Eddie’s wild cackle sets off your own laughter, so you bury your face in his neck to hide your giggles. He scatters kisses through your hair and promises, “Whatever you want, you’ll get.” Twining his finger with yours and offering, “How about we get some burgers and then spend the rest of the day watching some cheesy, lame-ass Christmas movies on the couch?”
“Sounds perfect, Ed,” you say with a bright smile, planting a quick kiss on his chilly red cheek before sinking back into your seat. As Eddie fires up the engine, you tilt your head and ask him, “What was so important about this deal anyway?”
Eddie glances at you from the corner of his eye, a bashful heat creeping up his neck. His response is quiet: “Needed the extra cash for something…”
“Something?” you prod, curiosity bubbling as you scoot even closer to the metalhead.
Eddie sighs with nothing but affection in his eyes as he gazes at you, “It’s supposed to be a surprise, you’ll just have to find out when I give it to you, now shut up about it.”
You have an impish grin on your face as you tease, “Is it something sappy?”
“Do not start with me, I will bite you,” he says, waggling a flustered finger at you.
“Oooh, is that the gift?” you tease with a grin. He just rolls his eyes and hushes you with a well-placed kiss.
GATOR TILLMAN
The TV hums quietly, the only sound in the hush of the room. Its pale light spills over you and your boyfriend, painting you both in a gentle glow in the dark living room. You comb your fingers through Gator’s soft brown locks, free of its usual gel for once. You imagine trying to pet his head when it’s slicked back would be like trying to pet a slip n’ slide so you tend to avoid doing that. His head is nestled in your lap, you can see his lashes flutter every once in a while as he tries to keep himself awake, he’s nearly curled up like a cat, his socked feet dangling just of the couch. You bite back a smile, knowing if you mention it, you’ll get a 20-minute speech about how men don’t curl up like cats, all while he's still curled in your lap.
You cherish nights like this, the quiet bliss that settles between you. His calloused fingers trace lazy patterns on your thigh as he half-watches the TV, battling Somnus to stay with you in this moment a little longer. Smiling, you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek, just from a touch, you realize how cold he is, you move your hand to his and envelop it in your warm ones, “Gator? You’re freezing. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He lets you fuss over him, nestling his cheek against your thigh as he huffs out an aloof, “Ain’t that cold.”
“It’s like holding an ice cube,” you retort, bringing his hand to your lips and breathing warm air over his knuckles. He grumbles, rolling onto his back to look up at you with those pretty brown eyes and a disgruntled pout.
“Yer bein’ dramatic,” he insists, but he makes no effort to pull away. He just watches as you fuss over him, pretending his heart doesn’t skip a beat every time your lips graze his skin.
“No, I’m being realistic. You’re going to catch a cold again,” you sigh, exasperated. You place his hand on his chest, then cradle his face, your thumbs brushing softly over his cheeks, tracing over his pretty moles.
“I don’t get sick,” Gator protests, brows scrunched in defiance. You just grin, because that’s just wrong, just a couple of weeks ago, he caught a cold, and you would think he was on his deathbed from the way he was acting.
You smack a kiss right between his furrowed brows, watching them soften at your touch. If the room were brighter, you might catch his pupils dilating from the dopamine rush of your touch. Gently, you coax him off your lap, repeating, “Come on, up, up, up, we’re going to bed.”
Gator sits up but doesn’t move from his seat, his arms snaking around your waist to draw you snug against his chest. He leans forward over your back, his lips brushing your ear. “If that’s whatcha wanted, coulda jus’ said so,” he hums, his breath warm against your chilled ear as his thumbs trace slow, teasing circles along your waist.
You smile, leaning back into him. “Hmm, sexy, you know what’s not sexy?” you tease, turning to meet his eyes. “Frostbite. Come on.” With a playful smack to his thigh, you slip from his grasp and head for the bedroom.
“Ain’t gonna get frostbite from a little cold. You worry too much,” the crabby brunette grumbles, pouting at the loss of your warmth and barely resisting the urge to follow you like a puppy dog.
“So you don’t want to cuddle with me?” you tease, voice coy. You flash him a grin from the doorway as his brows knit together.
“Now I didn’t say all that,” He argues, and immediately follows after you, throwing the big man act out the window.
“Good,” you chirp, and when he’s close enough, you pull him by the belt loops into the warm safety of your room.
KURT KUNKLE
You bop your head along to your favorite song, the music blasting through your headphones, quietly humming to yourself as you stir your favorite soup in the pot. It’s quiet in your home, too quiet. Oh fuck where’s Kurt? You quickly turn in alarm to go hunt down your boyfriend, but you’re already too late. Your shoulders slump in defeat as Kurt stands in the kitchen doorway, soaking wet, teeth chattering, and phone clutched like a trophy in his hand. You whine in defeat, “Kuuurt, why are you wet?”
“I-Ice bu-bucket challenge,” he grins proudly through his cold tremors. He thrusts his phone at you, eager for your reaction. Just to appease him, you watch begrudgingly. The video is exactly what you imagined: Kurt shouting out names of strangers who will never, ever do this shit, then dousing himself in ice water. Your boyfriend is an idiot, but you love him anyway.
“Kurt, it’s winter for fuck’s sake. You’re going to make yourself sick, or worse, get hypothermia and die.” You huff and quickly go to wrangle your living, breathing cringe compilation towards the bathroom to dry off. While he warms up in the shower, you toss a towel in the dryer, thinking of ways to keep him alive through sheer force of will. You return with the warm towel over your arm. “Why couldn’t you do something warm, like stay inside and not piss your partner off challenge?”
“You’re mad at me?” Kurt asks, a little confused, with a head tilt. He scrunches his eyebrows and pouts, “But the video was so lit, you didn’t like it?”
You sigh heavily, gazing tiredly at your naked, wet cat boyfriend. If you had a nickel for every time you found yourself in a situation like this, you’d be part of the 1%. “Please, never say lit again. I’m not mad, Kurt, just worried. You’re always doing something dangerous with no regard for how it’s going to affect you. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, especially for some trend. Did you even donate?”
“What for?” Now, his social skills are non-existent, but he can tell when you want to throttle him and that twitch in your eye is a dead give away. Kurt shifts on his feet and, with as much remorse as he can muster, actually apologizes, “Sorry, I won’t do it again.” He twists off the shower and steps out, fighting the urge to shake off like a dog, and walks into the towel you're holding open for him.
You bundle him up, arms snug around his shivering frame, and plant a gentle kiss on his temple. You pause, furrowing your brows, asking incredulously, “You were gonna do it again?” You pull back to give him a look, only to be met with an innocent smile.
“Not anymore,” He states with a shrug as if that’s reassuring.
You sigh and take what you can get, “Thank you.” You gently take him by the hand and guide him to your shared room, “Now, how about we dry you off, get you in something warm, and maybe I’ll film one of those brain-rot cooking ASMR videos with you.”
"You will?" Kurt's eyes light up as he squeezes your hand, his excitement practically humming in the air while his grin stretches even wider.
“As long as you don’t pull something like this again, then yes,” You say, pressing another peck to his stupid face.
TRAVIS MEACHAM
You weave through the store, basket swinging at your side, bundled snugly in your scarf and coat. Travis trails behind you, so close he could be your shadow. You stop abruptly in front of the baking aisle to pick out some ingredients. Maybe you’ll make some sugar cookies; you can make them festive with icing and sprinkles, get yourself into the holiday spirit, as if that pungent cinnamon smell they’re diffusing throughout the store isn’t a reminder enough about what season it is.
Travis, caught off guard, bumps into you with a thud. He’s quick, though, arms circling your waist to steady you, he scrambles to apologize, “Fuck! Sorry! M’sorry, I didn’t think we were gonna stop. You said we were going to get milk next, so I sorta just assumed that’s where we were goin’. I shoulda stopped faster. That’s my fault. Is somethin’ wrong? Why did you stop? Did you get a leg cramp?"
A soft smile pulls at your lips. Man, you could listen to him yap for days; it’s so endearing, it’s so Travis. With a contented sigh, you turn in his embrace and cup his cheeks, your thumb tracing the constellation of moles on his skin. He melts beneath your touch, his gaze as lovesick as yours, pupils wide with adoration. “Travis?” you coo, voice honey-sweet.
“Yeah, babe?” he sighs, his voice soft and dreamy, as his face remains nestled in your palms, his cheeks squish, and his lips pout. He loves it when you say his name. His hands gently squeeze your hips, fingers messing with your coat belt, and he savors every second of closeness.
“I just wanted to grab a few things for baking, I’m fine, promise,” you say, your gentle grin blooming as your hands find the back of his neck. Your fingers weave through his soft, dyed hair, coaxing him closer for a soft, warming kiss. He sinks into you, hands moving across your back to pull you tighter against him.
“Ok…” Travis breathes against your lips, melting into you in a way that makes you giggle softly. He clings to you, unwilling to let go, and murmurs softly again, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you reply, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek, having to pry yourself from him, because if you don't, you'll just say fuck it and ravage your boyfriend next to the measuring cups. His hands are still tangled in your belt, keeping you as close as he can. You grin and say, "Maybe don’t walk directly behind me, so I don’t get trampled again." Travis nods solemnly, like a kicked puppy. You let out a soft sigh. "How about you stay here?" You untangle his hands from your belt, then slip your hand into his, fingers weaving together. "Better?"
The faux blonde beams so brightly, and it’s like you’ve found a new star, the prettiest one you’ve ever seen. “So much better, such a good idea, you’re so smart, babe,” he praises, then gives your hand a gentle squeeze, swinging your interlocked hands as you peruse the aisle. He asks, “What’re you gonna make?”
“Teacake,” you declare, straight-faced, barely containing your laughter as you watch him blue-screen. If you listen hard enough, you can almost hear his brain rebooting. You let the joke drop, your grin breaking through as you admit, “Travis, I’m fucking with you.”
Instantly, he snaps back to reality, lips jutting out in a dramatic pout, coupled with his puppy dog eyes. It had been so long since anyone had called him by his nickname. Just hearing the word gave him war flashbacks; he thought he slipped through a time vortex or whatever the fuck. "Don’t do that! So not funny!" he protests, but your laughter is so cute it distracts him from his whining. And now he’s hungry, and teacakes sound good; he hasn’t had one in a while. "Although they are pretty good…"
You give him a warm smile, “Travis, would you like me to try and make some homemade teacakes? We can have them and something warm to drink when we get home.” You give his hand a squeeze, and he instantly squeezes back.
He avoids your gaze, cheeks flushed bashfully, and softly murmurs, “…yes, please.”
JOHNNY STORM
Your brows twitch in irritation as Johnny, with that infuriatingly attractive smug grin, melts your snowball before it can even hit him yet again. You plant your hands on your hips, lips pursed in a dramatic pout as your carefully crafted ammo vanishes into thin air with a steaming hiss. With a huff, you cross your arms and glare, “Johnny, it’s not fun if you melt the snowball before it hits you.”
“I can’t help it, babe, you know I’m always hot for you,” he flirts, those blue eyes sparking with mischief as he waggles his brows at you. You roll your eyes, but a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. Undeterred, you scoop up more snow and hock another snowball his way. He melts it instantly, with a quick flick of his wrist, then he tucks his hands behind his back as he rocks on his heels, wearing an angelic smile that fools no one.
“Stupid cosmic accident making you invulnerable to snow. So unfair. You look like a baked bean when you ‘fLaMe On’. Stupid hot boyfriend with his stupid, annoying sexy face,” you grumble under your breath, gathering more snow into your hands. Johnny’s laughter rings out as he trudges over and wraps you up in his impossibly warm arms. Your icy mood melts away in an instant. You lean back into him, feeling his smile pressed against the top of your head as you relax in his embrace.
He turns you in his arms to face him, pulling you closer by your scarf, his grin teasing as his eyes glance at your cute pout, then back up to your eyes, as he says, “Stop pouting.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, and you sink into his warmth.
You huff, insisting, “I’m not pouting.” Still, you can’t help but nuzzle into his hands, letting his touch chase away the cold from your cheeks.
Johnny chuckles, nuzzling his nose against yours as he coos, “C’monnn, don’t be crabby.” His gaze lingers on your lips before meeting your eyes again. He gives you his best puppy dog eyes and exaggerated pout as he says, “I’m sorry you can’t win our snowball fight. Forgive me?”
“Ok…” you murmur with a gentle sigh, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as your hands glide up to rest around his neck. Your gaze dips to his mouth, then returns to his striking blue eyes.
Johnny perks up, expecting you to pull him in for what he’s been waiting for, a flirty smirk spreading across his face as he says, “There you are, my pretty smi-AGHH!” A horrific wet chill snakes down the back of his shirt, making him yelp and leap away from you. The blonde frantically tries to shake out the wet snow pressing against his shirt and skin. You watch with amusement as steam curls from his skin while he tries to dry off. He gives another indignant screech when a stray clump of snow from his hood slides down his neck from all his writhing.
Wearing a serene smile on your face, you raise your arms in triumph and claim a deadpanned victory, “Winner,” and without waiting, you jog back to the Baxter building before your flame-brain boyfriend realizes he can get revenge.
Johnny whips around, catching the glint of mischief in your smile as you flee the scene of the crime. He calls after you, “You get back here!” The blue-eyed beau shudders, shaking himself free of the sensations, but he can still feel the echoes of wet sludge down his spine. “Ugh, I can still feel it. What the hell?” He bolts after you into the building. You might outrun him, but he will get you back for this. "Didn't even get my kiss!"